Sorry about the slightly sporadic updates lately. I was rediscovering what eight hours of sleep feels like.

********************************************************************************

"Why should I give it back?" asked Knives, glancing at the book again. "It's too funny. See this here," he asked, opening the book and pointing out a random passage. "It is completely wrong." He looked at it; it was a diagram of how to connect the power siphon to the plants. "Ew," he said, hastily lifting his finger from the page and closing the book with a snap. "Maybe that part was technically correct, but it is just so wrong on so many levels."

He glanced back at Kiley, then really looked at her. Her eyes were downcast, looking at the sand, but there were traces of tears on her face.

"Are you crying?" he asked, his voice still not serious.

"No." Pause. "Not on purpose."

"You're crying on accident?" His voice was laced with sarcasm.

Sniff. "Something like that."

"Girl, why are you crying?" he asked, mimicking one of the books she had bought.

"Don't," she said, then lifted her chin and glared at him.

"Don't what?" he asked, snaking a hand out and grasping her chin.

"Don't mock a classic."

"That drivel? Living forever as a child in a child's playland. It's not worth the time it takes to read it," he responded, turning her head to one side and then the other as he looked at the tracks of her tears.

"Living forever is a big stretch, isn't it?" she ground out through clenched teeth.

"You don't get to stay a child forever. Most people don't even manage to stay young throughout their childhood."

"Yeah, sucks, doesn't it? Still one of my favorite books, though."

"You should not have brought her such crap. Dreams are a luxury we can hardly afford."

"Dreams suck," she agreed, hating the tear that slipped from her eye. Knives caught it on his thumb, then raised the moisture to his lips.

"I love the taste of pain," he commented.

"Oh, that's nice," she said sarcastically. "I love the taste of pain. Original," she said as she jerked her chin towards the ground.

Knives shrugged. "I don't feel the need to be very original around you. You aren't worth the trouble." A slow smile crept across his face as he watched her shoulders slump fractionally. He grabbed one of her hands and raised her fingers to his lips, then slowly licked the blood away.

Her startled eyes met his. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. "That is so disgusting."

"This is salty, too," he commented, his grip on her wrist tightening as she tried to get away. "You do taste nice."

"Let go of me." The tears in her eyes dried in the anger of her glare. Knives' smile widened and he dropped her hand.

"That's better. No more crying now, hmm?"

She slapped him. "That is no way to treat someone."

He kept his head turned to the side, smile still firmly in place. "I find it amusing that after all this time, you still insist that you are someone."

She sighed. "I find it annoying that after all these weeks you still insist that I'm not."

Knives stepped back and looked at her, his gaze traveling from her feet to her face and back. Without warning, he stepped forward and stiff-armed her in the chest.

Or, at least he tried to. She saw him coming, grabbed his wrist and elbow, and threw him to the sand near her bag. He made a satisfying sound as he hit the ground.

"What the hell was that for?" she asked as he shook sand out of his hair.

He looked up at her, grinned, and said nothing. His hands drifted through the sand, and a handful was sent towards her eyes. She backed up a step and turned her head to avoid the spray. He caught the trailing foot, yanked, and brought her down while she was unbalanced. Another handful of sand was rubbed in her hair, abrading her scalp. He placed on hand on her shoulder to hold her down, but without much success. She…rippled, somehow, and threw him off.

She attacked in the same spirit, grabbing sand and dumping it down the front of his pants. He tried to mimic her wriggle, with limited success. He did manage to stop her nefarious plan, but he could not throw her off as well. She switched tactics and rubbed sand in his hair, then jumped off.

He smiled again as she eyed him warily. He could see the suspicion on her face as she tried to figure out what he was doing, and what he was planning. He slowly stood up, hips shifting as her tried to move some of the sand from where she had left it. He ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, grimacing slightly as he dislodged some of the sand that had gotten stuck. Getting stuff out of his hair was always such a pain. He sighed, then launched himself at her again.

He caught her at her waist, even though she tried to twist out of the way. They both ended up on the sand, him on top of her. He stayed there, slowly creeping up her body as she tried to get away. He stopped when he had his knees on her hips and his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down close until his nose was inches from hers.

She was still fighting to buck him off of her, but spared a moment to glare at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said, moving his lips closer. The breath from his voice tickled her cheek.

"This doesn't feel like nothing," she commented.

"What does it feel like?" he asked.

She didn't respond. He pulled back and smiled at the glare on her face. She radiated affront, and he climbed off her.

"Are you done feeling sorry for yourself now?" he asked as he brushed sand from the knees of his jeans.

She could only stare at him in shock.