To be perfectly honest, Sawyer had had a worrying two days. That experience at the park had ruined his entire con, as Jessica had been too freaked out to be interested in him any more. That was fine, sort of. After that weird experience, he'd just wanted to get the hell out of town anyway – as far away as he could get.
The only problem with that glorious plan was that he still owed a couple of guys in the area, and they hadn't been pleased to see him doing a runner without settling his debts. There were hospital bills to pay too, but he'd given them someone else's details and had run off before they could do anything.
It wasn't as if they'd been able to do anything for him in any case. Bruises and a broken rib – they'd given him some pain-killers and that was it. He hadn't stuck around. If he wanted pills, he knew some people he could go to for them, with no nurses or doctors or ID required.
Stepping out of the gas station, a pack of cigarettes in one hand and the keys to his car in the other, he walked slowly back to his vehicle. Everything was slow – it had to be, or he risked putting himself in even more pain. That was the last thing he wanted right now, or ever.
The door to his black car opened with a slight tug on the handle, crying out in a quiet squeal. He slipped into his seat and couldn't help sighing as he sank back against the leather. He loved this car. He loved it even more, somehow, because it had been bought with stolen money. Stolen, conned, it was the same thing, wasn't it? Running his hand over the dashboard, then up over the wheel, he set off over the dark roads. He wasn't sure where exactly he was going, but he wanted to get there soon.
With the radio playing old country tunes and the shadowy silhouettes of mountains rolling past on either side, it didn't take long for the feeling of complete isolation to return and settle over him. It was well past midnight; the only light to be found was that of the moon, the stars, and his car's headlights. It was raining lightly, with soft drizzle landing on the window of the car. After a moment's though, Sawyer flicked the control to put the windscreen wipes on.
He tapped along in time with the music, singing with the snatches of lyrics that he actually knew, and he felt good for the first time since the incident in the park. Seeing as he wasn't feeling half bad, he should have known that something was about to come around and screw that up for him.
His car was hit from behind, with a small crash. He shuddered forwards in his seat, his car swerving wildly before he gained control again and glared into the mirror. It was black out there. Whoever was behind him had their lights off.
Feeling uneasy, he put his foot down on the accelerator and sped up. The road was slim, so there wasn't room for this guy to just over-take him. Sawyer didn't like letting people in front of him when he was driving in any case. It felt like a defeat. He'd speed up – this car could handle it.
So he kept his foot down and the car went faster, rushing to speeds that would get him arrested if that was a police car behind him. But a police car wouldn't creep through the darkness without any lights; a police car wouldn't ram into the back of him like that.
With his heart pumping, adrenaline running through his body, he didn't give a thought to why anyone would do that. Who cared? It gave him a reason to speed like this, the dark mountains whooshing past him and he could just imagine the other driver back there, eating dust and cursing their bad luck. He could see it so clearly in his mind's eye, and grinned.
There was another crash into the back of his car, harder this time. The free-wheeling smile faded from his face – without a seatbelt on, he'd nearly gone flying through the windshield. That wouldn't have been the best state of affairs for his health.
He slammed his hand down on the horn, and listened to the ear-splitting noise it made. The sound rang out into the night and echoed through it. In the dark, it seemed like there was no one around to listen to the sound apart from him.
That driver behind him didn't seem like someone that would pay attention to the horn, so Sawyer kept his foot on the pedal and allowed the speed to keep rising. He didn't think that he could even control the car at this speed, but he'd try – he was screwed if they came to a corner.
"Uhn," he grunted as there was another slam into his car; his control faltered. The vehicle swerved and this road was too thin to allow it to. The car jerked off the road and onto the rough mix of grass, dirt and stone that surrounded the tarmac, up a slope.
He moved uncontrollably along, even with his foot flat on the brakes, but he was slowing, gradually. Not enough. He tugged up the handbrake. A screech sounded, and the car jerked once more before stopping. Sawyer flopped back against his seat, stunned, with his fingers itching for one of those cigarettes that he'd earned. He reckoned he'd earned it.
"Move over," that British voice ordered from the seat beside him. Sawyer turned quickly, a break-neck speed, to look to the side. Sure enough, Charlie was sitting there, looking stressed and a little bit scared. What the hell? When'd he get there?
And there was no way Sawyer was giving up his seat to some skinny little kung-fu kid who appeared inside his fucking car for no reason. No way at all. He wanted to say that to Charlie, but just ended up staring, unable to piece a sentence together yet.
Charlie prodded his stomach, thankfully the opposite side from the broken rib. "Come on! We don't have much time. They'll be back any second now."
"They? Who's they?" Even while protesting, Sawyer found himself awkwardly switching seats with Charlie – Charlie climbing over the top of them while Sawyer slipped underneath and hit his ass on the gear-stick. Ow. "And why'd the hell do they wanna ruin my damn car?"
"It's not your car they're after." Charlie sounded irritated with him, which wasn't fair seeing as Sawyer hadn't even done anything. Yet. Sure, he'd be fine with that tone of voice if he felt he'd done something to deserve it – if he'd earned it. But he hadn't, he definitely hadn't, so it just annoyed him.
Before he could say anything, the car once more roared to life under Charlie's confident hands. Confident or not, Sawyer wasn't sure how good he felt about leaving his beautiful car's life in a stranger's hands – especially when that stranger had shown that he apparently had the ability to disappear and reappear at will.
Now, though, he seemed focused on this, on guiding the car back to the road and taking off at a speed that Sawyer knew the car wasn't capable of – no car should have been. The smell of burning rubber filtered in despite the closed windows, over-powering and stomach-turning. Damn. Now he really needed a cigarette.
"I hate this car," Charlie said, but he was distracted and it was possible to hear the strain in his voice despite his attempt to keep his tone light. "Don't like automatics." He seemed to be handling it just fine, however, moving the car slickly around a corner that seemed to have come out of nowhere.
Sawyer rolled his eyes. "In that case, you just don't like cars." Sawyer wasn't sure where he'd picked up the ability to argue at these speeds. He was pressed against the back of his seat, but when the car made a whining screech on the road he hurriedly reached for his seatbelt.
A fumble with the buckle later and it was done; he had a pitiful barrier of safety, pressing down on his broken rib.
A neon sign reared up in the distance, pink and yellow against a black sky; they were approaching it at what felt like several miles per second. 'Magic Motel!' the sign said. It looked like a screwy place, but at that second he was ready to worship it just for the light.
"You're getting out there," Charlie said calmly, never taking his eyes off of the road. "You're gonna go and get a room, then I'll meet you there in two minutes."
Sawyer once again wasn't given a chance to argue before he had to cling to the door as they turned, sharply, into the motel's car park. They skidded to a stop over the gravel, and Sawyer was still trying to connect his mind with his body again as he heard the driver's door opening and Charlie getting out.
He heard the crunch of footsteps around the car, then the door next to him opened and Charlie grabbed his arm. Charlie gave him a second to undo his seatbelt again, then yanked him out of the car.
"Go get us a room."
If Charlie was a hot girl and not a short man, Sawyer would have been smirking and making inappropriate comments by now. As it was, he was ready to start demanding answers before he felt Charlie's surprisingly gentle finger over his mouth. It smelt faintly of the car's wheel. "Please, just do this," Charlie said, before looking over at the road. His finger didn't move. "We've only got about four seconds 'til the Cleaners get here, and I really don't want to get you hurt. Again. Please?"
There was something – maybe the desperate plea in Charlie's voice, maybe the inviting lighting from the motel sign – that made Sawyer listen. He nodded silently, and walked towards the reception. He reached into the pocket to take out his cigarettes, needing a cigarette by now.
Oh, god. Too close. He could remember Sawyer being stubborn, Sawyer being argumentative, but he'd forgotten how annoying and frightening those aspects of his personality had been.
But Sawyer had eventually listened, hadn't he? He'd listen and he'd ran off; he'd ran away from a fight. That would never have happened before. Maybe a few years caught in the Program had forced him to develop some common sense.
Charlie wasn't sure, didn't think he even cared, as a second car roared over the gravel and into the car park. The place was more or less empty – Sawyer's car, the Cleaner's, and a green Ford Focus sitting in the far corner. No one else.
He gripped the memory stick he had with him hard in his hand as the door opened. Two women – technically they had no gender, but Charlie always thought of them as female – stepped out, and that was good. He could deal with two Cleaners without even breaking a sweat. Sometimes. Any more of them than that and things had a tendency to get confusing in a painful way.
"You should leave," he called out across the car park, and his voice sounded strong. Good. He liked to warn them before a fight broke out – it made him feel less guilty afterwards, even if they never listened. He knew they were just programs, just coding, just the 'delete' function really, but they looked human and that was enough. "He's protected. Get away from here."
Nothing registered on their faces; they stayed blank. He wondered if they even understood human speech.
It didn't matter seeing as a second later he had both of them running forwards at once, and he'd always been bad at this point. You had to work in perfect tandem – on the outside of the program, Michael typed in the controls to lift you up and defy gravity for you. On the inside, it was all dependant on how fast could you move.
Charlie dropped down to the ground and felt the cushioning resistance of gravity that meant Michael was with him on this, and swept his foot out. He caught Cleaner One's legs with his foot, and tugged them out from underneath her. He'd hovered back up to a standing position before One had even hit the ground.
One down, Two to go. She'd managed to get two steps past him, way too close to the reception, to Sawyer. Charlie couldn't let that happen.
He ran forwards, felt Michael lift him again, then his foot hit her back and knocked her off-balance. Long limbs flailing, she stumbled forwards and skidded on the gravel. She fell, and Charlie made sure to land on her back, squishing his whole body down onto her.
Still on top of her, he twirled the memory stick once in his hand and then down. There was the sickening resistance of skin and flesh as it sank in. He grimaced, but one press of a button later and there was nothing, she vanished; his feet dropped onto the gravel as she disappeared. That was easy enough.
As he strained back up, he didn't notice the fist aimed at his face until the punch landed and his vision exploded into pretty little stars. Cleaner One was up and about again, apparently. He'd hoped that her fall might have dazed her for a little bit longer than that. The rapidly forming bruise on his cheek would claim otherwise.
Stumbling backwards, he was just starting to recover when there was a kick to his stomach; a few inches lower and he could have kissed goodbye to the idea of ever having children.
Okay, enough of that – getting beaten up while you were fighting was no fun. He blocked the next kick, by catching her black booted foot in his hands and yanking. Theoretically, that was supposed to tip her off balance again.
In practice, her shoe came off in his hand and he was just left holding it.
They both stopped moving, her with one socked foot now resting tiptoed on the gravel. He raised an eyebrow, smirking, and glanced at the shoe before raising it to his nose to take a sniff. He wasn't sure why, really – just because he could, and because he probably wouldn't get the opportunity again.
It smelled pretty bad – like a half-rotten Stilton had been stored down there for a few weeks.
She seemed to take offence at his disgusted impression (what'd you know, they have emotions) because the action had started again, with her moving forwards despite the way that she was missing an entire shoe. Panicking, Charlie chucked the boot at her; it hit her squarely on the nose.
Fighting back laughter, Charlie moved lightly backwards to try and get some space. Her nose had started bleeding, he noticed with a snort.
Pain flickered in his hand and the laughter stopped immediately – she'd thrown the boot back, aiming for his hand of all places. It seemed random, until he realised that the memory stick had been knocked right from between his fingers. Oh, bloody hell.
It had fallen and skimmed over to near the kerb, but Charlie knew that he wouldn't have a chance of reclaiming it. Maybe Michael would be able to help out, but for now that was kind of irrelevant.
He dropped and rolled as she tried to tackle him – it was painful for his shoulder as he'd never got the hang of falling, but she moved right past him so it worked. As he tried to get back to his feet, however, she reappeared, jumping on him so that she was straddling his hips and holding him down.
He tried to buck up and throw her off of him, with no luck – these things were strong. The gravel he laid on dug into his back. She punched him, hard, right where there was a bruise already forming. His head dropped to the side.
When the stars faded from his vision again, he realised that he could see scuffed jeans and rich blonde hair. Sawyer. Damn it, he'd thought getting a room might take longer than that. Sawyer, cigarette hanging in his mouth, was staring at the fight and clearly about to intervene.
The Cleaner on top of him had stopped throwing punches and was now fully focused on Sawyer, her real target. But Charlie wasn't about to let her get anywhere near him – there wasn't a lot that he could claim to do well, but he was going to take care of Sawyer.
His hand scrambled and picked up a handful of gravel. Swinging his arm, he threw the stones at her face. A few dropped down to hit him painfully, but it had the desired effect; she reared up in pain, distracted by it, which gave him the chance to push her off of him.
He didn't bother getting to his feet and just crawled ungracefully along the ground, jagged stones making his hands and knees ache, until he reached the kerb and closed his hand around the black stick lying there.
The gravity around him disappeared, so he launched himself upwards and spun through the air. She'd chased after him so she was close – he kicked his legs out as he spun and got her right in the face. Her nose started to bleed again.
He bent his legs and dropped to the ground. His arm thrust out and…. There. It sunk in and he pressed the right button. One flicker, two, gone.
He tucked the stick back into his jeans' pocket and attempted to catch his breath. Sweat had gathered quickly – he could feel a bead of it rolling down his spine.
Turning around to see Sawyer, he smiled as widely as he could, even though one of the pieces of gravel had made his forehead start to bleed, and he'd probably have about twenty bruises to have fun with for the next week. "Well," he said. "Should we go inside, then? Have a cup of tea?"
Sawyer stared at him like he was insane, but eventually nodded.