They spent the first minutes of their ride in companionable silence, an open bag of brownies between them and emptying fast. Stacy felt as if she had a piece of heaven in her mouth, they tasted so good. She made a mental note to stockpile on them before heading back to the States.

"Which reminds me," she thought aloud, and she reached behind and felt around her for her purse. "How much do I owe you for the brownies and tampons?"

Randy paused in midbite, then waved a careless hand. "Don't worry about it."

"Huh? You sure?"

"It's chump change, Stace." He slouched in his seat; if he had a visor on, Stacy could imagine him pulling it down over his eyes. "Besides, I don't really feel like figuring out the exchange rate."

"Oh, right." Stacy had forgotten that neither of them usually had more than a couple of American dollars during foreign trips, only credit cards. "Well, thanks. That's really sweet of you."

Randy's mouth curled into a half-smirk. "I'm just that kinda guy."

Stacy imitated the smirk, about to bring her free hand toward the front when she felt something else. "Oh!" She grabbed a hold of it and placed the item - a CD wallet - on her lap. "Yay, I almost forgot I brought this!"

"Didn't you spring for satellite radio for the car?"

There was a skeptical quality to Randy's voice that prompted Stacy to peep up from her perusing, brow arched. "Yeah, and?"

He frowned. "I know the kind of music you like, Stacy."

At this, she laughed. "C'mon, Randy, don't tell me you don't like Madonna."

This time, he snorted. "Yeah, when I was twelve and she had that sex book out."

"Jesus, Randy." Not that he expected a different sort of response, but he didn't have to be so cynical about it. "I'll put in a mix CD, it's got a little of everything."

"A little of everything that sucks?"

They'd had this sort of disagreement before. Once, it led to a rather nasty confrontation wherein they refused to talk to each other for the rest of the day. Now, of course, they knew better than to take things personally, but damn if Randy didn't test her buttons every so often. "Oh, and what would you play then?"

"ACDC, Zeppelin, Ozzy--"

"Too hard for a morning drive, Randy." She finally found her mix CD and popped it into the player. "God, that'd be torture."

Randy shook his head, his eyes then widening with something akin to horror as the first song started up. It was obviously familiar to him, or it wouldn't have provoked such a strong reaction. "Oh -God-, and this isn't torture?!"

Stacy had to laugh at Randy's troubled expression. He reminded her of Lucille Ball in a way - very animated, almost elastic features. However, it didn't stop her from singing along. "I got a new life, you would hardly recognize me, I'm so glad, how can a person like me care for yo-ou!"

"I can't believe you like this," he grumbled, arms crossed. "I can't believe these people existed!"

The funniest thing about this situation was the fact that he wasn't doing anything to stop the music from playing - nor could he. When they fleshed things out from their argument, they agreed that whoever had control of the wheel had control of the CD player. They had also agreed never to chuck the other's CD out the window, no matter how offensive the music was to their personal tastes.

That was her favorite Britney CD, too.

"You're dancing like a muppet."

She had been moving her hips in her seat, arms bent over her head despite being the one driving, but the comment stopped her. "Huh?"

"Seriously, you're dancing like Grover!"

Rather than feel insulted, her hands found themselves back on the steering wheel as Stacy tilted her head in thought. "Which one's Grover again? He was blue, right?"

"One of the blue ones, yeah. Skinny and blue. He was a waiter sometimes. And a superhero. He talked like this." Randy cleared his throat and spoke as though he was gargling marbles. "Hel-lo everybody, this is your old pal--" He then coughed from the tension placed on his voice. "Okay, never mind, I can't do it."

"It's okay," Stacy said, giggling. "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

"I wouldn't want you to strain yourself," Randy repeated, his tone mocking as he rolled his eyes. "You were still dancing funny. Your butt was bouncing on the seat."

"So?"

"Eh, forget it." Another hand wave. "Can you change the song?"

Stacy shrugged and did so; she still couldn't understand what was so odd about chair-dancing, but then, Randy had a habit of not explaining things she didn't understand.

"Oh God, Bryan Adams?"

She then instantly perked up when she realized that, indeed, it was Bryan Adams on the next track. "Well, we are in Canada." Her shoulders rolled back and forth as she kept her hands at ten and two. "I got my first real six-string, bought it at the--"

"I thought it was 'sex dream'."

Stacy nearly choked on the next verse. "No, six-string!"

"Yeah?" Randy soured his lips. "Damn. The song's not as fun now."

Reading the visible pain on Randy's face, Stacy reluctantly skipped to the next song. "There, you got a problem with Duran Duran?"

Randy raised his shoulders, indifferent. "They had cool videos. That's about it."

"Jesus!" No, she was not about to start another argument, but Randy was testing her patience. Besides, it wasn't as fun to listen to music if the other person didn't join in. "Did you, like, hate ALL popular music in the 80s, Randy?"

"Did you, like, hate all heavy metal in the 80s, Stacy?"

Randy grinned.

Stacy frowned.

"Touché."