Ye holy smokes! I take a break to rip wires out of my Triumph, arrange to have a new axle pressed for it and set up an appointment to get a hitch slapped onto my Subaru, and I find a review in my inbox. Wow, I feel loved! (ubergush)

Reply time:

Yurikitsune! I'm glad you read this, and reviewed! I'm so happy. :) And to answer your questions (now that I've finished flushing madly over your praise)… I'm actually a supreme Wufei fan-girl, who's taken it upon herself to learn every aspect of him and his supremely let's-kick-Zero's-worthless-arse-across-space suit. In fact, I've been dubbed his geisha for sticking up for him so astutely on some mailing lists I was once on. (laughs) However, seeing as how 'Once' and 'Mellon Collie' are attempting madly to remain 100 in timeline, he just can't show up. 'Once' took place entirely in the deserts of Arabia after Heero's self-destruction attempt – Wufei was pouting in China. And 'Mellon Collie' is taking place while he's flailing about trying to find his definition of himself, right before he tosses himself on the feet of Mariemeia (lousy brat child! Killkillkillkillkill). BTW, if anyone out there's a Mariemeia fanwanker, leave me alone. I don't like the kid. (shrug) Reminds me of too many insolent twerps I once had the misfortune of babysitting back in my tender years. :P

Pandora-chan: Riling people up is my specialty. (laughs) Here! This should be the beginning of a long and glorious Quatre-fix. Bring on the blonde! (rings nearby gong) And as for the guns, they're cool. I play with 'em. Don't own 'em – wish I did, but I can't afford squat. Plus the military wouldn't ever sell me a 50 mm. Those're AWESOME! (drools, remembering practice shots off the fantail) Girls are allowed to like guns, darn it! Call this my outlet for all the weapons I wish I could own. (cuddles her Guns and Ammo mags, which always earn her strange looks and mutters from her friends)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. Don't sue; I am simply an E5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

Nothing here ever last
nothing but memories
of what never was

Jellybelly

-- 15:45 --

"Take care, kids."

"Of course, Mr. Waverly! You can count on me. And on Trowa."

Arms crossed over his bare chest, James sighed as he stared at the pair standing before him being bathed by the light of the barely crested sun while they stood in the center of the large parking lot that sat adjacent to the walkway leading to the Santa Monica pier.

One leaned casually against the Bentley Arnage R, well-toned arms crossed over a florescent green t-shirt clad chest and white jean-coated legs crossed at their boot-covered ankles. Casually lifting one hand to reveal the print across his chest that read "Santa Monica, CA" and displayed behind said text an artistic rendition of the picturesque beach, complete with palm trees and a glorious setting sun framed by blue skies and waves, he pushed the black plastic frames of his mirrored sunglasses further up on the bridge of his sharply sloped nose before dragging his thin, long fingers through long, sweat-dampened, limp russet bangs in a desperate but futile attempt to fluff them and gather them away from his heavily sunburned cheeks.

The other young man stood before James Waverly with his hands firmly planted in his dark, baggy denim jean-shorts' pockets, leaving the black decal of his white 'Nike' t-shirt visible to be easily seen. One oversized waffle-soled Sketcher tennis shoe casually kicked at the gravel upon which he stood, the other remaining firmly planted in order for him to keep his balance. Bright blue eyes shined from under glistening golden hair which poked out from under his backwards black 'Nike' ball-cap, keeping their gaze fixated on the older, taller man who stood with them before the classic, exotic vehicle.

Another friendly smile lit the face of the blonde boy. "After all, we've made it this far. And Trowa has already proved his competence with his assisting you to stop the assassination attempt on my person at the spaceport on L-4. I believe he and I will be able to weather this time together without your direct assistance."

"Saying you don't need me around, kid?" James asked with a snide grin, letting his crossed arms drop and his stance ease. "Then I'll be taking my leave of you and these plots that whirl about your head."

"Oh, please don't leave! I'm not saying that you aren't needed. Not at all. I'm saying that it's not necessary for you to remain with us, and in fact might actually be rather detrimental to any sort of plan which I might be able to procure. We'll cover things on my end of the spectrum – you just concentrate on what's going on in your end, Mr. Waverly. After all, I wouldn't want you dead on account of paying more attention to my problems rather than your own situation."

"Heh. Meaning?"

"You're an intelligent man, Mr. Waverly," the blonde said with a wink, "so I'm certain you're capable of gathering the meaning in my statements. I'm being as obvious as I possibly can."

"In other words, watch my back because they're after me too."

"Precisely. Trowa will watch mine as you intended him to do – you concentrate on your own life and your own well being. Remember at all times that I'm not the only person who's targeted."

"I'll make certain to keep that in mind. And what about your happy little friends up in space? Certainly they'll eventually be dragged into this."

Sighing quietly, the blonde lifted thin, pale fingers free of his jean-shorts' pockets to scratch his chin thoughtfully. "They haven't been sited yet. As far as I've been able to discern, they will be contacted concerning this, but I'm the only one slated for death. If we move quickly enough, we can keep them from being involved. It's rather disappointing that one of them already had to be dragged into this fiasco, but such couldn't be avoided I suppose."

"Not if you want to remain alive, kid."

"I gathered that. After all, excluding their obvious interest in you survivors and keeping this in reference solely with the Gundam pilots, they're directing all of their forces against me instead of dividing them amongst the five of us."

"Wonder why," the hazel-eyed man muttered, a frown taking his thin, enigmatic lips.

"No idea. Might have something to do with my role with the new governmental structure that's being evolved due to the efforts of Ms. Relena and myself, but I can't be certain about that. It's unsupported hypothesis, is all. So until we find any sort of evidence that points to my hypothesis being correct, we're left in the dark. Still a mystery. That's something we'll have to figure out, isn't it?"

"Hint taken," James grunted with a nod.

"Been a pleasure seeing you again, James. Don't be such a stranger, OK? I miss hearing from you on a regular basis, you know."

With a bark of laughter, the older man shook his head. "Kid, if I had the choice I'd never lay eyes on your scrawny little hide again."

"Oh! Why are you so mean?" the blonde boy pouted cutely, his bottom lip thrust out and his brows knitted over suddenly tear-shined eyes.

"Because every time I meet up with you, I'm riding a wave of trouble that's wanting to see me dead."

"Alright, good retort. I'll take that excuse," James' fellow conversationalist said with a chipper giggle and a wink.

"Fucking damned right you'll take that excuse, kid. You're not getting another one," James said with a chortle. "Anyway, it's about time for me to be heading out of here. If we stick around too long, they'll figure out that you're already here and turn their attention away from the spaceports. That is, if they don't already have me pegged for observation and have already seen that you're not where you're expected to be. According to all records, you're supposed to be arriving, not already present. Best to move before they find out what's up."

"You're saying they're already awaiting my arrival."

"Sure as my Father's dead they're awaiting your arrival."

"You're sure about that?"

"Caught the cross-talk yesterday, kid."

A small laugh escaped the boy. "I mean about your father."

James smirked. "Killed him myself."

The large blue eyes blinked once in surprise. "Ah ha ha ha… forgot you're that kind of person. Got'cha. Then I'll talk to you later. Contact me as soon as it's safe. You've got my cell phone number."

"Cell phone's crap. I'll contact you over your satellite."

"Acknowledged."

"Keep yourself safe, kid. I'll contact you within the week."

"You watch yourself, James. And ditch that Celica as soon as you can – it's very likely already being traced."

The hazel-eyed man snorted. "You should be one to talk, driving around in a fucking Bentley with a god damned chauffeur. Try something a little less conspicuous."

"I'll leave that up to Trowa," the blonde said with a grin.

"Fine. Just keep yourself safe."

"Ditto."

Nodding to one another, the trio split ways; the two young teenagers clambered into the back of the Bentley and James hefted his surfboard under his left arm. Turning to make his way to the Toyota Celica he'd rented for the sole purpose of hauling his board to the beach, he glanced over his shoulder to watch the chauffeur slowly and carefully take the expensive vehicle out of the overloaded parking lot and onto the busy street known as the PCH - Pacific Coast Highway – or simply as 'the 1'.

He strapped his board carefully to the top of the vehicle, sighing quietly. 'At least it was fun while it lasted.'

'Time to ditch the car and the board. At least the 1's got some good, vicious cliffs. An accident will be easy to arrange.'

-- 08:02 --

Trowa glanced back towards the car. "Aren't you going to take your surfboard?" he quietly questioned, gesturing with the slightest tilt of his head towards the silver Toyota Celica his partner had rented that still had the cooler they'd stocked that morning sitting in the trunk and the surfboard they'd bought at the giant outdoors mall outside of the city of Barstow yesterday strapped to the roof.

"Later," James said with a smirk as he kicked his feet more firmly into his flimsy black flip-flops. "First thing's first – we hit the boardwalk. I've got money burning a hole in my pocket and a desire to spend it on crappy merchandise and oily, deep-fat-fried food. Might as well get some sun and some time in the presence of our fellow beach-bums before hitting the waves, yes?"

"If you say so," Trowa said with a sigh, shielding his eyes with his thin hand against the bright, intruding light of the morning sun. "Sure is bright out here," he softly commented, more making note of the discomfort he was feeling to himself than complaining to his companion.

"You should have brought sunglasses," James sniggered as he pushed his own black frames with their mirrored blue lenses onto his face, shielding his eyes from the bright white rays that poured from the heavens. Quickly gathering the long brown hair that spilled down his body to reach its longest tendrils towards the bottom of his shoulder blades into a single bundle at the base of his neck he wrapped a hair tie into it, effectively constraining it in a long, loose ponytail that draped down his bare back. Stretching, groaning delightedly as his joints and bones cracked, he sighed. "A day in the sun without any worries in the world – it's almost enough to make a person believe that the memories of our recent 'peace' are something that are actually tangible."

"You mean the peace that never had a chance of lasting?" Trowa asked, glancing enviously at his partner, noting that the large, baggy orange shorts that doubled as swim trunks James wore looked a few thousand times more comfortable than the white jeans he wore would be in a few hours given the already impending heat that radiated onto the coastline.

"I mean the peace that never was," James clarified even as he began to slather the first of many coats of sunscreen onto his already darkly tanned body, taking care to get his cheeks and his nose as he began to walk towards the beach, weaving through the cars that filled the parking lot.

"We've had peace," Trowa said with a frown, doggedly following at James' heels as they made their way through the gathered vehicles. Swinging to his right, he narrowly avoided running into the breaker wall that ran along the edge of the parking lot to separate it from the sands of the beaches and keep them from filling the spaces reserved for the vehicles driven by tourists, merchants and regular visitors.

"Negative, kid. We've had the illusion of peace. The illusion which will stop living, once people figured out that it is in no way real."

"I see. So you're saying our battles resulted in nothing but an illusion?" Trowa asked as he sidestepped a roller-bladder that roared down the asphalt road that lead towards the boardwalk of Santa Monica.

"Yep. It's nothing but an illusion because nobody won it for his or herself. They just stood back and let others win it for them, so there's no way that this peace could ever be considered real. Just wait – it'll topple and fall soon enough, crumbling before the eyes of the peoples of this Earth Sphere like stale cookies stomped on by five-year-old children. Because nothing on this Earth Sphere ever last. Nothing but the memories of what never really was."

"Too deep for me, James."

"Figured as much."

-- 10:23 --

Trowa tugged at his turtleneck sweater. "I'm starting to see the validity of your argument," he randomly commented, slumping sadly along behind James.

Glancing over his shoulder, the older man snickered victoriously, his lips turned in a triumphant sneer that screamed 'I told you so.' "I can swear that I'd informed you that you'd want something short sleeved. Let's get you something at one of the t-shirt huts, yes?"

"Sounds great by me."

The pair quickly made their way to one of the multitudes of stands that littered the boardwalk. Diving into the small shop and out of the heating rays of the sun, Trowa panted for breath. Basking in the shade that the stand's awning provided, the long-banged ex-pilot took a few precious moments to pull his sweater away from his sticky body, letting the cool air driven through the small store by its solitary fan sweep up his abdomen and chest to dance along his sweat-dampened flesh like icy, soothing fingers. Letting his shirt drop, he stared at the gathering of folding tables that filled the small shop, blinking slowly to clear the stinging curtain of sweat from his eyes as to see more clearly. "Large selection," he muttered.

"Just pick something up, kid," James huffed, even as he pulled his tube of sunscreen from one of the multitudes of pockets his baggy orange shorts held and began to slather the creamy white substance across his darkly tanned shoulders and down his heavily-muscled chest.

Nodding once, Trowa too but a moment to glare enviously at the tube of cream which was providing salvation from the burning touch of the sun that his companion held, wishing deeply that he'd had such a wondrous substance for himself to save his cheeks, hands and ears from the bright baking rays outside before he wandered to the table marked by a sheet of paper and a marker-scrawl 'L' which apparently held the larger t-shirts he'd want. Glancing over the selection, he frowned. 'I Survived the Big One,' 'I Love California,' 'Certified Tourist,' 'Doomed,' 'Fear Me for I Have the Power to Destroy You,' 'Beach Bum,' and other assorted logos assaulted his eyes, making it impossible for him to make a selection. "Too many to choose from," he groaned in dismay.

A frustrated roll of hazel eyes and a snort later, James casually lobbed a florescent green t-shirt at Trowa's head.

Catching the tossed article of clothing, Trowa arched a brow. Across the front of the shirt was an iron-on decal portraying the beach framed by palm trees and featuring a setting sun sinking into vivid blue waves and falling from an equally blue sky, overlaid by large white script lettering reading 'Santa Monica, CA.' Shrugging once, he walked to the counter, pulling his thick black leather wallet from his tight jeans' back pocket. "Florescent green?" he questioned once as he glanced over his shoulder even as he simultaneously handed his credit card over to the clerk that ran the register at the small shop's counter.

"You couldn't make up your fucking mind. Live with it."

"Fine by me," Trowa said with a shrug. "If nothing else I can pass it off on Cathy as a souvenir."

Making his way quickly to a restroom building stationed along the boardwalk with his plastic bag which read 'Thank You!' in rainbow colors down its sides and contained his precious short-sleeved t-shirt which would, he was convinced, be all that saved him from the onset of heatstroke in hand, Trowa quickly ducked inside to change. A few passed minutes saw him emerging, his well-toned arms freed from fabric restraint and his florescent green shirt hanging loosely over his jeans. Walking over to his partner, hands in pockets, sweater rolled and held in the crook of his left arm and shirt bunched around his wrists, he nodded. "Much cooler," he said with a small sigh of relief.

"Damn, kid. You need to get some sun," was the only statement that escaped James Waverly's lips as he turned and made his way back out towards the giant parking lot that accompanied the pier that dominated the beach they occupied.

"Where are we going now?"

"To toss that turtleneck sweater of yours in the car. And to fetch my board. The waves are finally rolling in and I want to hit that beach."

"Fine by me."

Trotting along after James, hands still in pocket and sweater still held tightly under his arm, he joined in the desperate search for the nondescript silver Toyota they'd rented.

Nearly thirty minutes passed before they located the vehicle and thus began their march back towards the beach, cooler held between the two of them, blankets under Trowa's left arm, a spare pair of sunglasses on Trowa's face to protect his emerald eyes from the intense light of the sun, surfboard under James' right arm, shoes scrunching on the hot pavement and sand.

After finding a good empty spot on the beach that wasn't too overly littered with rocks and was a livable distance away from the water and thus incurred no risk of being soaked by the incoming crashing waves, they set down their cooler and dropped the blankets. Immediately, Trowa began the task of tossing errant rocks aside and rolling out the blankets, staring at the design of the first he unrolled before shaking his head and pulling it straight.

Smoothing out the second gaudily colored blanket on the sand, glaring at the horrid combination of yellow and red stripes littered with green polka-dots that made up its pattern, Trowa shook his head. "Whoever designed these things ought to be dragged out into the street and shot," he commented.

When naught but the ambling conversations of those who were around him met his ear, he turned sharply to look for the man who was supposed to be accompanying him.

Trowa's eyes narrowed behind the protective plastic sheets that were the lenses of his borrowed sunglasses when he noted the presence of his companion diving into the water that was a good fifty feet down the sand from the small 'camp' location, whooping with delight as he swam out into the viciously cold water on his surfboard.

Shaking his head, Trowa opted to seat himself on the brightly colored towel, leaving the one with the naked mermaid sprawled on a cartoon-portrayal of a beach for the surfer for when he returned. Cracking open the lid of the cooler, he rooted through its contents, desperately seeking for the familiar feel of a Coke can amongst the veritable sea of ice and Budweiser bottles. Finally coming across what he sought, he lifted the can free of the chilled water and popped its top.

Lifting it to his lips, he leaned back and basked in the sun as he sipped his Coke, eyes closed as he lounged, finding the outcome of the day almost pleasant.

-- 13:16 --

The more Trowa watched, the more he had to admit that James was a much better surfer than he'd first judged him to be.

He'd been out on the particularly vicious waves driven by the offshore storm for nearly three hours, and had only spilled twice. One of those falls had been quite nasty, resulting in Trowa getting to witness the spectacular spectacle of watching a board fly nearly six feet over the crest of the tallest waves visible in one direction and its rider flounder as if in slow motion through the air in the entirely opposite vector. That alone had been enough to bring a wild laugh of appreciation to Trowa's lips, a gesture that had not been repeated since Heero had brought it forth from the pit of his gut with his lame jest concerning piloting and self-destructing.

Nodding as James made his way in once more, jumping off of the board as it was mercilessly slammed onto the sandy beach by the wickedly rolling waves and tugging at his board-leash to draw it out of the water before it could be dragged back out to sea by the strong undertow the west coast waves always brought with them, Trowa lifted his ninth can of soda to his lips to drain what liquid remained in it and add it to his growing collection of half-buried cans that spiraled in a decorative swirl beside his gaudy blanket.

He blinked as he heard applause next to him. Turning his head, he arched a brow as he drew his sunglasses down from the top of the bridge of his nose to correctly discern the coloration of the person who stood next to his procured cooler and his comfortable spot.

Trowa stared.

Grinning, the young man beside him nodded. "You should really have worn some sunscreen, Trowa. You're as red as a lobster."

"Quatre…!"

With a giggle erupting from his lips, the small blonde nodded. "Nice to see you too." Reaching down, he gently laid a fingertip underneath Trowa's chin and pushed it up, closing his mouth for him.

As Trowa stared in complete shock, James marched to the cooler and tossed its lid open even as he planted his board nose down in the sand. Plucking an ice-cold beer out of the sea of frigid water, he popped the top off and flicked it carelessly out onto the sand. After taking a long draught of the bitter liquor, he smirked. "Fancy meeting you here."

Arching a brow, Quatre mimicked James' smirk and laughed. "You chose the right spot."

"Go figure. Or did you discern that this is where I was going to be?"

"Got it right, Mr. Waverly. With the offshore storm and the predictions for high surf near Santa Monica, I figured that this is where you'd be most likely to show up."

"How'd your flight go, kid?"

"Just fine, thanks to you and Trowa. Thanks much for the save, by the way."

James' eye twitched slightly. "I'd still like to know how you figured it out."

Arching a brow innocently, Quatre clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth in his oversized Sketchers. "Figured what out?"

"That it was me involved with that."

A small laugh escaped the blonde. "Simple. I caught wind of an accident concerning a postal worker. I know that the gentleman who drives that route daily could do such in his sleep and never would have an accident, especially with the roads in as perfect of condition as they were. It would take a blizzard to throw him off course. And the news that he'd driven right off the dune cliffs made me suspicious. When I'd found out that some of the letters from his van were recovered, that drew my attention even more. And when I'd discovered that my letter was one of the ones from that truck that had been delivered…."

"Don't tell me that's all you used to figure me out," James said with an arched brow before taking another pull from his bottle.

"No. But I figured that someone was after some sort of information that the truck was holding. The fact that my letter was one of the letters to survive its destruction made me think that it might have had something to do with my person. After all, what survived was the bag of letters that had come from the Winner Estate."

"Very true."

"Very sloppy on your part, Mr. Waverly. You left evidence sitting right out where anyone with an observant eye could see it."

Shaking his head, James sighed. "Didn't realize I was being sloppy there. You're probably the only one to figure it out."

"Very likely," Quatre said with a modest shrug. "But to finish up my observations, seeing you in the office, discovering that my letter and my mail had mystically spilled from the delivery truck that went off the cliffs but a few miles removed from my home, hearing about the death of Mr. Malachi…."

"That has nothing to do with you."

"Of course not!" Quatre exclaimed, blinking. "But his office is perfectly positioned to peer into mine. And I'm almost convinced that him being involved in the lawsuit against Narington Inc. had something to do with it, but I'm doubting that you'll tell me what the true motivation there was."

Shaking his head, James snorted. "Ain't telling you anything about that one, kid. You're going to have to find another source for it."

"I expected as much," the blonde said with a carefree shrug, "and that's why I'm not going to harp on it. I'll just take it for the time being that it was a perfect observation post. But hearing about Mr. Malachi's death, then discovering that my office was bugged, and seeing a Harley Davidson motorcycle perched atop the dunes that overlook the valley that houses the spaceport on L-4 made everything click in my mind. I was being observed, primarily by you – I recall your tastes for Harley bikes." A smirk smoothly flowed across the boy's lips, even as James nodded to encourage him to continue. Clearing his throat, Quatre nodded once more and quietly continued, "And as has been made painfully obvious to my person, I've been targeted ever since taking my role in the peace negotiations that have come into being since the termination of the Eve Wars and the installation of the Earth Sphere United Nation government. So, putting two and two together and coming up with five, I determined that you were going to be staving off whatever attacks were going to come my way. And as determined by the amount of scrutiny I was under, I figured that there was very likely going to be an assassination attempt on my person. You were very likely going to stop that – namely because either you care for me-"

James scoffed.

"Exactly. Or you realized that my death at that moment in time wouldn't coincide with any dream for the successful realization of the plan."

Staring, James let his beer nearly slide from his hand, barely remembering to tighten his grip upon it as the neck threatened to leave the restrictive ring of his fingertips. "How the hell do you know anything about the plan?"

Smirking, the blonde shrugged. "My little secret."

"Damn you," James growled softly, "how many contacts do you have out there?"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out. I'll not be putting anybody's life in danger by revealing them to you."

"Not at this stage in the game?"

"Precisely."

Trowa just looked from one to the other, completely confused and lost.

19:40 –

The blazing fireball lit the early evening sky, illuminating the soft navy blue that had begun to touch the space between the clouds and brightly coloring the sandy cliffs and rocks. Another loud explosion rocketed off the cliff-sides, muffled by the dull roar of the crashing waves lapping against the tiny stretch of thin beach that snaked as a protective barrier between the tall cascading cliffs and the mighty ocean. The dry grass that dared to live upon the craggy rocks and in the cracks of the poorly paved highway crackled with the intense heat that simmered from the bright flames that sputtered and flared upon the ragged rocks that jutted from the lapping water below. The sizzle of slag dripping into the cold ocean water hissed along with the fire's loud growls, screaming of the utter destruction that laid upon the rocks and the slender beach far below the line of sight that was available from the straggling highway.

James frowned, shielding his eyes as yet another bright flash lit the early evening. 'That fire ought to rage for a few hours. And considering how remote this location is, the 'accident' won't be discovered for nearly a day. All evidence will be destroyed. They'll probably conclude that anything that could have remained of the driver was incinerated in that mess. I'm in the clear.'

'I'm in the clear, but I'm also in the middle of nowhere.' A frown touched his lips as he shook his head. 'Damn near forty miles out of Santa Barbara. Might be able to get a rental car there, then head off to Fresno to follow up on those merry little tidbits of information I was able to snag from my dear old buddy.'

'Looks like I've got a damned long walk ahead of me.'

A soft sigh escaped James' lips as he hiked his collar up around his neck to protect him from the cold he knew would soon be coming. Lifting his heavy duffel bag to his shoulder, he jostled it a couple of times to get accustomed to its surprisingly extraordinary weight on his frame before picking up his equally heavy suitcase in his left hand and a slightly lighter briefcase in his right. Setting a determined gaze upon the road that laid before him, he made his way to its edge and began to walk, steadily headed north.

Nearly an hour had passed before the artificial light cast by a vehicle's headlamps illuminated the road before the walking man. Stepping to the side of the road, he gestured with his thumb to the road directly before him, pointing north.

He sighed with relief as the old truck pulled over.

Glancing in, he cast his most friendly smile at the young lady that sat behind the wheel. "I was dropped off a bit back. I'm trying to get back to Santa Barbara. Think I could get a lift?"

Arching a brow, the young girl smirked. "You pay for gas, I'll drive you to Santa Barbara no problem. Just remember, Mister, that I've got a tire iron right where I can reach it."

Laughing as he tossed his luggage into the back of the truck and pulled open the stubborn, rusted passenger door, he slid onto the torn, age-stiffened vinyl bench and pulled the old, tattered seatbelt across his lap. "No worries there. My girl would never speak to me again if I were to even think about doing anything with another woman, anyway."

"So, what's your name, Mister?"

"James."

"Nice to meet you. Name's Lyssa."

tbc...