At the posh establishment known as Capsouto Frères, Aydin sat at the table across from Clay Manning, her escort for the evening. She picked at her appetizer of stuffed zucchini blossoms and fresh chevre. She faked interest in whatever it was Clay was talking about, how he just bought some antique that was supposed to have once belonged to Louis XIV, or something equally boring. She lifted her glass and sipped at her Pouilly-Fume wine, as her eyes roamed the elegant dining room.

As a server came and discreetly removed the appetizer plates, Aydin spoke up. "Clay, did you ever get the chance to go diving on the Great Barrier Reef while you were visiting Australia?" she inquired.

Clay scoffed slightly, and lightly patted her hand that rested on the ivory tablecloth as if she were a small child. "Aydin, I was much too busy while I was there to do anything of the sort." He sampled his own wine, of the same vintage as hers, and made a sour face. "Horrible!" He exclaimed. "This wine has way too many tannins, and it should have been decanted first. I want it sent back, and a new bottle brought. Aydin, don't drink yours until we get this replaced."

She smiled sweetly at him and picked up her glass, sipping the pale gold liquid again. "Actually darling, Pouilly-Fume is supposed to taste that way, like fresh cut grass, and summer melons." She then leaned slightly forward and lowered her voice before continuing. "And um, white wine doesn't have any tannins, which makes it rather pointless to decant." She straightened in her chair, nodding her head slightly, then winking at him. "Just for future reference."

Clay turned a slightly embarrassed red color. "Oh, yes of course, my mistake. Did your family ever acquire that Ming vase that was at Sotheby's last month?" he asked, purposefully keeping the conversation away from anything that Aydin might know more about than he.

"Actually, no," she replied. "Instead Daddy purchased a beautiful vintage car, everything is actually original on it," she continued with gentle excitement.

"A car?" Clay asked, as a slight frown crossed over his face. "Honestly Aydin, what is so interesting about a car? Especially an old one?"

A blank look of disbelief crossed her face and she just stared at him for a moment. "Clay, it's, it's not just an old car," she stammered. "It's a 1970 Chevelle 454 Super Sport LS-6. At the time it was one of the fastest cars in America. It's a legend, just like a '69 Charger, a '64 Corvette, a '71 El Camino, or a '66 Malibu. None of these are just cars."

"Aydin, let's not get temperamental about some old scrap metal," Clay said, shrugging off her reply. "What would you think about accompanying me to my home in the Hamptons next week?"

Somewhere in their discussion about artifacts and cars, their server had come by and quietly slipped their entrees in front of them, removed their glasses of white wine, and replaced them with glasses of dark cabernet sauvignon. Aydin looked down at her meal. The invitation caused her stomach to turn. Even though she enjoyed Clay's company on occasion, she had no desire to spend a week with him at one of his homes. The man was so stuffy and boring.

She picked lightly at her filet mignon, avoiding the question. Just when Clay looked as if he was going to attempt to pry a response out of her, a strange look passed over her unique features. "Clay, I'm terribly sorry to do this, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well. Could we maybe schedule dinner for another time?"

"Of course," he replied, "you must be exhausted after all that happened today, with the fire, and that insulting visit from, what was his name?"

"Johnny Storm," she reminded him.

"Yes, him. I should have called you before to set this up for another time. You should be at home and in bed. I'll take you there myself," he said, signaling the maitre 'd for the bill.

"No," she said quickly. "I mean, I wouldn't want you to cut your evening short because of me. Sit and finish your meal. I'm sure I can make it home on my own, and if I need anything, you will be the first person I call."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am." Aydin winked at him. "I'm a big, tough girl."

With a tiny smile, Clay relented. "Alright then. But if you need anything at all, be sure to call me."

"I promise I will," she assured him, then rose slightly on her toes to kiss him gently on the cheek. "I'll call you," she told him, then without waiting for his response, she turned and left, making her way to the lobby of the restaurant to retrieve her jacket and have the valet bring her car.

Seated in the cool interior of the Porsche, she picked up her cell phone as she wove in and out of New York traffic. She dialed the number, and waited for the line to be picked up. When a man answered, she said, "hey Chris, it's Aydin. Do me a favor will you? Get the truck and the gear ready. I'm in a mood and need to work it off. Okay, see you then. Bye." Hanging up the phone, she turned a corner and went in the opposite direction of her penthouse apartment.

In the Baxter Building, Johnny Storm sat on the couch, watching drag racing and racking his brain, knowing he had seen Aydin somewhere before. "Hey kid," Ben Grimm said as he lumbered through the room. "Somethin' up? Looks like you're thinkin' a lot harder than usual. Don't wanna hurt yourself," he continued, and laughed to himself.

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure," Johnny mumbled back. "Don't worry, safety first."

Shaking his head, Ben left the room, as Johnny got up and started to pace. He'd heard that the great minds of history paced, and Reed paced, so he figured that it seriously helped the thought process. However, in Johnny's case, pacing wasn't working.

Frustrated with himself, he made an irritated noise, grabbed his jacket, and took off to find the nearest race of some kind that he could enter.

In the large, state of the art garage, a gigantic covered trailer was being loaded with four dirt bikes. There was also gear being loaded up when Aydin hit the switch on the panel and had one of the bay doors opening to admit her.

Parking and quickly killing off the engine in her car, she slipped out of it and walked over to a guy who was covered in tattoos and facial piercings, and who also had blue hair. "Chris!" she exclaimed as he caught her up in a hug. "We almost ready to go?"

"'Course we are Duchess, but if I was you, I'd probably go and change into something other than that fancy dress of yours. Though I must say, it would be a sight to see, if you were to go off a jump in that skirt," he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her, which caused Aydin to burst into laughter.

"Not going to happen Chris," she said, walking over to where a large canvas duffle bag sat on the cement floor. Picking it up, she told him, "give me about ten minutes and I'll be ready to go."

"Cool, we should be done by then anyway. You wanna ride in the truck, or the room in the trailer?"

"I think I'll ride in the trailer," she said, carrying the large bag with her to the washroom. "That way I don't have to ride there with my helmet and goggles on."

"Sounds good to me, hurry up and change Duchess. You got eight minutes left."

At the racetrack, Johnny was in his element. Noise, speed, and women with small tops and tight jeans surrounded him. As far as he was concerned, things couldn't really get much better, unless you could figure out where you know her from, a nagging little voice in the back of him mind told him.

He strutted around the pit area in his riding pants and boots, and for the benefit of the women, no shirt. So he might have to start a new little black book after, not like that would be a bad thing. And then he saw the Avallon Racing truck, with four riders, and a full pit crew milling around it. One of the riders was on the small side though, and has their helmet on, which was strange, since he figured they were riding in the intermediate class. And that didn't start for another two hours.

Aydin swung her leg over the seat of her bike, and hit the kick-start, allowing it to idle for a moment, and then revving the engine, while her mechanic tweaked things here and there. The chest protector she wore beneath her jersey hid her curvy figure, and her hair was tucked up securely beneath her helmet.

Seeing the name on the back of her jersey, Johnny raised his eyebrows. The name on the back said Gawain, which would mean Lance Gawain. Johnny couldn't remember him being quite that short, but shrugged it off. They had raced against each other a few times, and Johnny knew his riding style to be hard and fast.

As Aydin cut the engine and swung off the bike, then walked back towards the truck, Johnny nearly swallowed his own tongue. There was that ass again, the ass he knew so well, and admired greatly on one stuck up female! It was impossible, and it was wrong. There was no possible way that Johnny Storm should be looking at another guy's ass.