A/N:Hark, my next-to-silent return from a long and depressing bout of writer's block. This PB actually started out as Kitt/Lance. :P
This is a future fic, and most probably AU. It is also a oneshot.

Disclaimer: I don't Own Dragon Booster. I don't know who does.

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Another bead of condensation travelled quickly down the side of the glass and pooled on the bar. Kitt studied the circle it made as she raised the glass for another mouthful. The drink was tangy and sweet, and a bright pink colour. She'd chosen it for its colour, an unexpected reminder of her past, and seriously doubted it'd take much to go to her head.

The Down City bar was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night, especially for this part of the city. Only a certain level of patrons could get past the bouncers and the manager, but they'd still be considered scum in higher levels. An Academy Racer such as herself could afford to drink in Sun City's most fashionable locations, but it was nice to dress down from time to time and return to her roots.

She'd occasionally turn down her Academy friends' invitations to go clubbing, or whatever the night's plans were, for the chance to sneak away and think. It was also her way of remembering anniversaries, something that came up quite frequently for a woman with super-heroing in her past.

She raised her glass again, catching a glimpse of herself in the barely cracked mirror. She cut a darker figure these days, pink and red had been difficult to combine, she'd found long ago, and now she preferred the latter. The fashion for strangely coloured hair had eventually passed, too, although her own locks still dried out easily after all the exposure to chemicals.

The door squeaked as it opened, and a rush of cold air stirred the hem of her coat. Kitt continued to watch the mirror as the new customer, a stocky young man in a bulky coat, entered. He walked under the building's main light as he approached the bar, and it reflected off his bald head.

Of course he did . . . Kitt half smiled, in spite of an odd disappointment. She'd always liked his mop of bright red hair.

He looked even more like his father now than when she'd last known him, a kid of eleven-going-on-twelve with teary eyes and a runny nose, wearing a warrior's armour.

"You're making me feel old." She offered him a smile as he took a seat beside her, although her voice sounded strange to her own ears.

He looked as though he were surprised to hear her speak. "You look great, really great."

Even his voice had changed. His own smile came easily, though, and was painfully familiar.

"Can I get you something?" She tipped her near empty glass on its edge, so he knew what she meant. Or maybe to prove that a person could drink the stuff and live.

"Just water, thanks. I need a clear head for tomorrow, I'm in a race."

"So am I." Kitt smiled again, and ordered two waters. "So, I guess we're all."

Lance nodded. "Sorry I'm so late, I was . . . held up."

Trying to convince Artha to come, she supposed, but held her tongue. He seemed to guess what she was thinking, anyway.

"He's really busy, you know. World-famous racer by day, Hero by night. It's tough."

Kitt nodded, but her offer was slow in coming. "He knows what to do, if he ever needs help."

"Yeah," Lance agreed. "But sometimes I wonder if he knows how."

"Some things never change." Her glass met the bar in a single, angry movement, dull light glinting off droplets before they splashed on her hand.

"He still blames himself." Lance shook his head, worried, resigned, but not angry. "He doesn't want something like that to happen again. He doesn't want to force anyone into that position again."

He sounded truly saddened by this, and Kitt knew it wasn't herself she should feel sorry for.

"He can't stop us forever, you know." It wasn't a threat, it was just facts. A caution without 'Little man' attached. "I'm as justified as him in wanting revenge. You too. And just as qualified to get it. We were all there together."

Lance closed his eyes, trying to shut out a memory she'd given up on forgetting long ago. Some things couldn't be blocked out so easily.

Kitt shook her head and stood, holding the edge of the bar briefly as the memories and alcohol combined in a wave of dizziness. It soon passed, and she moved her hand to squeeze his shoulder. He held her fingers and her gaze for a moment, and she was reminded again of the boy he'd been. But he wasn't a child anymore, she told herself briskly, there was no hair to brush from damp cheeks, no need to hold his hand. He could hold his own now, and so could she.

"I'm done with waiting, Lance," she spoke to a man now, she knew.

Artha had had his time, and she was sick of waiting for hers. The time for that had passed long ago, if it had ever existed at all.

"I'm done with it. And I think you are too."

She stepped away from him, and the bar, and into the cold night.