If everything seems under control,

you're not going fast enough.

– Mario Andretti

Automaton

Please.

The purr of an engine, shuddering breath, an all-too familiar smell. Flashing trees, the grind of gravel, starlight budding passionately. Exhale; let go. Blue never lies–

Neither does a V-8.

One mile marker, then another, all leading up to the roads I loved. A final check, one last chance to back out. No blue lights or glaring icons, speedometer climbing, RPMs hovering at just the right spot:

Too late to back out now.

Pressing the accelerator, static rained from the radio, filling both ears with cotton as I neared the first curve. I loved the solidarity of mountain roads: narrow lanes, tight turns and seldom used at night, they were best suited for drifting, far enough away from the city that cops didn't patrol them often. Oddly enough, the perks of such a place were also its worst qualities. These roads were unforgiving, savage–

One mistake and you're dead.

Smirking, I downshifted, turning into the curve. Glaring at the cliff face, I dumped the clutch, toes and heel working on it and the break while moving toward the rocks, guard rail glinting. Pumping the accelerator, tail lights came around right on time, glowing cigarette butts lighting up the night. Easing off the gas, I spun the steering wheel once more, slipping into the straight-way as if nothing had happened.

The process repeated again and again, each drift hinting red hair, green eyes peering from each tree, pale skin painting the mountains I loved. No, he didn't get to have his way, to waffle between being a lech and a gentleman. He couldn't talk to me about mothers–

He didn't have the right.

Please.

Growling, I matted the accelerator, taking the curves faster than I should, each drift tighter than the last. This was good practice: after months of not seeing a crash course, I'd been cast for a driving role in one of those stupid race movies, the ones where men always drive muscle cars and women wear next to nothing. As luck would have it, this flick needed a female stunt driver, something the industry lacked even in this day and age:

I could think of only a handful in all of Japan.

Let me make this right.

One last curve, another by-the-book inertia drift. The '87 obeyed without complaint, turning first this was then that before finally facing knowing stone, nose inches from the guard-rail as we rode around the bend. My green machine let me hug the curve longer than expected and I grinned, thrilled with blowing past a personal best. Everything was fine, my body remembered what to do. Why was I so–

Please.

Screeching brakes and I gripped the steering wheel, killing the engine and coasting onto the nearest shoulder. The GT ground to a halt and I sighed, forehead resting against the leather steering wheel cover. Crickets and cicadas chirped through raised windows, safe from the city, content to serenade the night.

He seemed better than before, Minamino with the flowing hair and strange speech patterns. Did he learn to talk from the books he read? Each word crisp, placid, polite to the point of arrogance–

Did he have any idea how ridiculous he sounded?

An owl joined the song and he appeared again, brown slacks belted to narrow hips, yellow shirt breathing life into his face. Slender hands; the hands of a musician, if not for the thin scars marking his knuckles, the calluses tainting each finger. Long legs with an abdomen to match, head rising a few inches above mine.

Funny, since I was taller than most women I knew.

Those eyes found me hunched in the driver's seat, dark emeralds set in honeyed molding. A slender face, delicate to the point of being feminine. With that hair and those cheekbones, how many times had he been mistaken for a woman?

The thought made me snicker.

There was nothing gentle about the way he carried himself, though. Shoulders erect, back ramrod straight, his every move oozed confidence, a quiet assurance; perfection. Rolling, soundless steps both inside the cafe and out, sure feet, flawless grace:

A dancer's grace.

I shook my head, banishing faded images. Sure, he had a nice body and steady footing but that didn't explain why I'd picked there for our final meeting. How many years had passed since I'd seriously thought about dancing, watched someone with an eye trained for the art? A woman's smile; childish laughter and floor wax flooded my senses, threatening tears. I shuddered, curling into my coat.

The answer?

Too long.

The stereo glared midnight as I turned off the main road, engine humming in the still air. Beneath the street lamps, my apartment building waited faithfully, faded brick face glaring like a sullen mother.

As I crept toward the parking garage opposite the complex, the promised meeting with Minamino surfaced, along with a pang of guilt. Sunday was my only day off this week. Ayumu knew better than to ask me to work Sundays – I'd quit on two directors before him who tried to make me. He never asked why, simply accepted my one and only rule as an action double. Some actresses demanded X-amount of money and I asked for one solid day off a week–

Really, it wasn't that much of a sacrifice.

Sunday was always reserved for Mom, had been for about ten years now. However, when he insisted on making this up to me, nearly causing a scene at Black Lotus, I gave in and carved out some time. If I got to the Sanatorium as soon as it opened for visitors, I could stay with her for a while and then get back in time to meet him. True, I could have put him off until filming was done but that didn't sit right with me.

Besides, I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Hey."

The voice caught me off-guard and I stopped, car idling just under the garage's awning. A guy stood leaning against a concrete pillar, half-hidden in shadow. Ankles crossed, he appeared to not have a care in the world: rumpled white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, both hands stuffed into faded black jeans; stained sneakers that had definitely seen better days. Black hair which possibly started the day presentable had given up the ghost, choice snatches falling over his ears, bangs cresting brown eyes. Those eyes stared hard at the open window now, dusky amber striving to match the glow of the cigarette dangling from his lips.

Then, a hand emerged to grasp the burning stick, flicking ashes as smoke trickled from his nose. "So, you gonna give me the keys or what?"

I fought the urge to act irrationally, searching instead for a way to deescalate the situation. Running him over obviously wasn't an option. This was honestly a first: no one had ever tried to rob me, not even as a teen living on the streets. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, that's right." He cleared his throat, crushing the cigarette before thrusting it in the spare pocket. I saw the muscle outlined beneath that shirt, the scars left bare by rolled-up sleeves. What was in that other pocket? "Good evening, ma'am. How was your evening?"

The words fell flat, a poor recitation with the inflections of a robot. Did he really think I was going to buy this?

"Allow me the honor of parking your car." He extended his hand, posture lax, reassured. "I'll take your keys, if you don't mind."

He couldn't be serious. Yet when he didn't rise from his bow, eyes closed in faux respect, I sighed, leaning back against the seat. "Actually, I do mind."

"Thank you. Have a good–" Then the words registered and he stopped, head rising to stare. "Wait, what did you say?"

"I do mind. A lot, actually."

A beat of silence and he sighed, nose wrinkling before his face became pleasant once more. "Sorry ma'am, I'm just trying to–"

"You're trying to steal my car, and doing a bad job of it. " His eyes widened, nostrils flaring as he opened his mouth. I cut him off before he could utter so much as a syllable. "Did you think I came in on the stupid train or something?"

I couldn't stop the last bit, not with him. Something told me deescalation wouldn't work on this guy.

Finally, he mustered the wherewithal to straighten, shutting his trap before taking a deep breath. "Look lady, I don't want any trouble."

"Good, that makes two of us." I tipped my head back further, never breaking eye contact, watching his shoulders in my peripheral, his hips. Tatsuo's words trickled in, relaxing my grip on the wheel: People always tell on themselves before they strike. if they're going to punch you, the shoulders move; if it's a kick, look out for the hips. If all else fails, remember the eyes are the window to the soul–

They can't hide anything from you there.

Another sigh and he rolled his shoulders back, making a show of endurance. "Alright, some guy you don't know wants to park your car and that freaks you out. I get it. So, let's start over." He relaxed, holding out his hand. "I'm the new valet, just started today. Name's Yusuke, Yusuke Urameshi. What's yours?"

I felt a brow rise but didn't let him break my focus. "Valet? We've never had a valet, management's too cheap for that."

"Uh hello, did you miss the part where I started today?" Suddenly he stopped himself, retreating a step, hand combing those troublesome bangs. "Look, can we just get this over with? I'm ready to go home."

"Finally, something we agree on." My Mustang struggled not to choke down from idling so long but he didn't seem put off when I revved the motor, hand moving to the stick shift. "I have better things to do than watch you playing adult."

Yusuke sputtered, red rushing to his face. "Excuse me?"

"You even tried to look the part, that's cute." I couldn't help mocking the wannabe gang-banger, propping my elbow on the door and looking him up and down. ""Did your mommy dress you this morning?"

"No, my wife did!" He cursed at my smirk, kicking the ground. "Look, you're my last customer of the night and you're starting to tick me off. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, doesn't matter to me." Swiping at his nose with one hand, he extended the other to me palm-up, fingers wiggling. "You gonna give 'em to me or not?"

Rather than answer, I mashed the gas, jetting into the garage before he knew what hit him.

"Hey, wait!" Footfalls and more curses, his calling me everything in the book and then some. Approaching the first ramp, I gripped the steering wheel and gear shift, mind racing. If this nutcase wanted to follow me until I found a parking space, I had to be ready, have a game plan set. Killing him wasn't an option and I really didn't want to see someone else in the hospital after the Minamino incident. Just enough to scare him, make him leave me alone.

What he did determined how far this went.

Suddenly he appeared in front of the car, legs spread and arms outstretched, as though he thought he could stop it with his bare hands. I slammed on brakes but the Mustang slid forward anyway, right into his waiting arms, sending him careening onto the hood. For a moment, I feared the worst because he didn't move, laying there with his head nearly touching the windshield. Yet as we slid to a stop, he lifted his head, hands gripping just below the wipers.

"Are you always this stubborn?"

His voice didn't contain an ounce of pain, as if he hadn't just been hit by over two thousand pounds of metal. "Are you insane?" I demanded, sticking my head out the window as he raised himself on his elbows. "I could have killed you!"

"Wouldn't be the first–oh, hold on a minute." The man child looked over one shoulder, digging into his back pocket. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled myself back in and waited, not even daring to touch to touch the accelerator when the engine gurgled.

After a moment of searching, he made a satisfied sound, pulling both knees beneath him and sitting up. "You wanted proof, right? That I really work here?"

I nodded mutely and he held up the exploring hand, from which now dangled a lanyard. Accepting the window-offering, I glanced at the plastic square as he crossed his legs, knees pressed to the glass.

Sure enough, the name Yusuke Urameshi along with the complex's name and the job title 'valet' glared back, both seated atop a picture of him. He wore a goofy grin in the photo, just like a kid scoring his first job. Hair gelled back, shirt pressed and without wrinkles, he appeared almost professional – something about the look in his eye shattered that image though, or perhaps the T shirt he wore.

Still, even I could see a thief wouldn't go to this much trouble just to steal a car–

And I'd just rammed into complex employee.

"I am so sorry!" A twist of keys and the car died. Stepping onto dry pavement, reality set in and my hands went to work, pressing at his chest, his ribs. "Don't worry, I have insurance. I'll take you to the hospital–"

He snorted, batting me away. "Didn't seem worried about that a second ago."

This time I was the one fighting for calm, grip tightening on warm metal. "I already said I'm sorry. What more do you want?"

He pretended to think before resting his cheek in one hand, hand extending once more. "How about, I don't know, you let me do my job and go home? Got things to do."

Still I hesitated, staring at his abdomen. The white shirt now held a perfect imprint of my car's grill and a button was missing now, an unwilling casualty. From the flesh peeking through the void, I saw angry skin stamped with a mark – a mark matching my Pony emblem. I couldn't feel any broken bones but that didn't mean they weren't there; the threat of internal bleeding was also present. "I'd feel a lot better if you got checked out–"

"And I'd feel a lot better if we could get this over with!"

We glared at each other for a moment before I gave in with a sigh, forfeiting the keys.

"Thank you." He hopped down without pretense, whistling and twirling my key ring. I remained silent as he got in yet when I slid into the passenger seat, he paused his tune, glancing my way with raised brows. "What are you doing?"

"It's my car." The seat belt clicked closed and I shut the door, settling into the seldom-used seat. "Can't have you passing out in here."

"Is that still bothering you?" He leaned back with a groan, fingers already working at the remaining buttons.

"Hey, try not to move so much–!"

My complaints fell on deaf ears and then he opened his shirt, baring his abdomen shamelessly. While a welt had indeed formed in the shape of the emblem, I didn't see any other injuries: no bruises, swelling, not even a hint of redness.

"Satisfied?" He released the shirt but made no effort to button it, staring back with a smirk. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

Rather than rise to the bait, I motioned to the dash, the keys in his hand. "Still my car. There's no rule saying clients can't ride with you, right?"

He paused, brow creased, considering. "Nah, don't think so."

"Then I'm riding along, deal with it."

A moment's hesitation and he laughed, warmth filling the cab as he turned over the engine. "Fine by me. Just know that if you try to get freaky, my wife will hunt you down – she's great like that."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. "I'll do my best to resist the urge, Mr. Urameshi."

"Ugh!" He scrunched his face and shifted to first gear, creeping up the ramp. "Don't call me that!"

"Then what am I supposed to call you?" We barely knew each other, there was no way I was calling him by his first name.

"Urameshi's fine." He turned and we cruised onto the second level, already full. Our complex shared this garage with two more in the area. "What about you? You got a name?"

"Odawara." Somehow, in a world of pretentious, stale people, his rudeness actually came across as warm. Genuine. "Azumi Odawara."

Another ramp, another full floor. Not that he seemed to mind, amber eyes searching as he handled my car in a way few could – most people didn't know how to drive stick anymore. "Alright Odawara. Since we're dicking around looking for a parking spot, let me ask you something – what do you do for a living?"

A/N: Hello and welcome back to Hey You! Sorry it's been a while, began a new fic and it's held my brain hostage for a month. Divergence is my first crossover (FMAxYYH) so if you get a chance, please check it out!

So, we have a scheduled meeting, drifting in the mountains, and Yusuke finally makes an appearance! What, if anything, will come of this acquaintanceship, and what will happen at Azumi and Kurama's rendezvous? Find out in the next chapter, please leave your thoughts in a review!