Kiley had hoped to catch up with Knives and Ace before they reached the ship. She hadn't thought that it would be too terribly hard, but she had forgotten her exhaustion in her optimism. Much as she tried, she could not press on much past sunset that first night, and the successive days took a greater toll on her than she had planned. She took to resting during the heat of the day and traveling longer into the nights, but try as she might, she was still too weak to push herself as much as she felt she ought.

She was more than slightly disappointed in what she viewed as her body's betrayal. It had never failed her so utterly before. She didn't want to take into account that she had already exceeded her personal limits, then rested for less than a day before deciding to run across nearly half a planet. She merely viewed her inability to press on as hard as she desired as a failure on her part, and as the days passed and she fell farther behind where she felt she ought to be she grew a little more depressed.

Worst was the night when she finally had to admit to herself that she wasn't going to catch up with them before they reached the ship. She didn't know what it was exactly, but the thought of that ship scared her, and acknowledging that she would need to return sapped much of the remaining enthusiasm she possessed. She lay huddled under her blanket, feeling very lost and alone. The sky above was very large, and still very alien, and she fought back tears as she faced the facts.

She would have to go back there. Resolutely, she tried to determine the root of her fear, so she could then argue herself out of it, but she could not find it. Other than not wanting Knives to feel comfortable…

That was it. Up until now, she had retained the upper hand, had been able to hold on to the illusion of being in charge, at least to some degree. But if she entered into his domain, she admitted that he held some power over her. That thought, that relinquishing of control, that was what frightened her most.

She was control; the ability to control situations to her advantage was one of the hallmarks of her character. The last time she had been out of control… Oh, those months were painful to remember. It was no wonder she was slightly phobic.

And it wasn't as if she had any guarantee that Knives would treat her any better. He probably wouldn't harm her physically, and she could still fight him if he tried it, but her heart… oh, he could hurt her badly. Just admitting that brought her pain. He could hurt her badly, and that suggestion of future injury had her scared beyond reason. She knew he was cruel and could be capricious. She wasn't sure, no she knew that she couldn't trust him with her heart.

But she was about to try it anyway. Courting pain, courting disaster, and she was willing. Just for that one last chance at happiness… just because she could not relinquish that one last ember of hope that things could work out. Maybe she was just fooling herself. But… maybe she wasn't. Maybe Meryl and Vash were right; maybe he did care. A little. Maybe it would be enough. And if it wasn't, what did she have to lose?

With that comforting thought she fell asleep. She traveled hard through the next day, pushing herself until she dropped from exhaustion so she wouldn't have a chance to back out. The next morning, when she knew that she was close, she arose, shook what sand she could from her hair, dressed in the most respectable item of clothing her bag could produce, and slung her pack back over her shoulder.

The green of the dress seemed to change color as she walked, shadow and light creating a play of depth of color that linen should not possess. She wondered what facet of this planet created such shades, wondered if it was the linen or if it was the dye, but enjoyed it all the same. Armored against what would come as best as she could, her stride was confident and strong, masking the hesitation in her heart. She was sure that Knives had the approaches to his ship monitored, but could not be positive how far out his reach extended, so beyond what she felt was a proper outer perimeter she held a fixed, determined expression on her face, allowing none of her unease to show in either mien or bearing.

She reached the entrance and the doors were closed. Unsure of how to open them, and not willing to barge in uninvited, she sat down on the bridge and rummaged in her bag. Drawing out a length of string, she tied it into a loop and began to play cat's cradle. She ran through a few of the more complex variations of solitaire cat's cradle, then began one of the longer teaching sagas. Her fingers moved easily through the complex patterns, weaving through the twisted strands while moving from one step to the next. She grew so engrossed in the task that the opening of the doors came as a bit of a shock.

She looked up and caught Knives' expression as he looked down on her. Before he masked it, it was glee. He was glad to see her… Her hopes soared again.

"You did show up." He sniffed. "I suppose you want to come in."

"Might," she said laconically.

"You do realize that you are not in control any longer," he added coldly.

She stood, unfolding her legs from beneath her and rising in one smooth motion. Her hands reached out and grabbed a hold of either side of his face. Startled, he flinched back, but she held firm. Her mouth pressed against his, firmly, insistently, as she released some of the tension she had carried with her in one melting kiss. She drew back as he began to respond, unwilling to relinquish that final bit of say in how things would happen.

"Might," she repeated, then bent over to pick up her bag. "Which room is mine?" she asked as she put the string away.