It took about an hour to get to the border, and the sun had long since decided to come up and try to blind them as they drove east. Sure, California was the other way, but they wanted to make sure they didn't miss her broken down on the side of the road somewhere along the way to Route 66 according to that map. She wasn't the sort to successfully take shortcuts.

As the sun had not yet risen enough to provide a lot of heat, it appeared that Ikkaku had finally realized that he was not wearing a shirt in a vehicle with no roof. He had his arms tightly folded and his sandaled feet pulled up on the dash. Yumichika glanced sideways at him and smirked. Ikkaku glared back.

"First time you smile today, and it's to mock my bad luck. Real nice."

Yumichika tossed his hair, now nest-free, and answered in a sing-song voice. "Maybe you should have listened to me. Want to borrow a shirt?"

"There's no way I'd fit into one of your skinny shirts."

Yumichika ceased smirking in favor of a petulant frown. "I am not skinny. I'm slender."

"Sure, but your shirts are skinny."

"Well you can't have one, anyway. You'd stretch it out. It would stink forever."

"Yeah. Real nice."

"This is all your fault. Suffer in silence or you can ride in the back."

"The back is right there! There is no space between the front and back. There is no space in this thing. I can't feel my feet."

"You can ride CLINGING TO THE BACK. Then I wouldn't be able to hear you whine."

"That's rich, coming from Mr. Can't-Bear-the-Purple-Jeep."

"It's not just any purple. It's WISTERIA. No respectable vehicle is wisteria. I'm surprised we haven't been stopped by the police."

"The fashion police don't have jurisdiction on the road, pretty sure. How long is this damn trip gonna take?"

"Are we measuring from when you bothered to wake up? When we left? When SHE left?"

"I wasn't planning to take the night shift! I just didn't want to hear you complain about your complexion anymore! It's just as much your fault as mine!"

"Well that's okay then! Now I can feel completely justified in getting murdered for contributing to letting her escape!" Yumichika then realized that he had taken both hands off the wheel in order to face Ikkaku to yell at him properly, and they were veering into oncoming traffic. Ikkaku followed his gaze from glaring at him and they both let out distinctly unmanly shrieks. Yumichika pivoted back and swerved sharply, while the disgruntled commuter in the other lane leaned on her horn and gave him the finger. The drivers of the vehicles behind them decided that they were dangerous morons. They sweated in silence. Where did all of that traffic come from all of a sudden?

Ikkaku was staring grumpily out at the scenery. He spotted a city limit sign. "Where the hell is Tulsa? Did we get turned around? I think we're in Arkansas."

"It's in Oklahoma. It's always been in Oklahoma. It's literally three hours from where you live. Are you really as stupid as you look?"

"Shut up." He rested his chin on his fist and leaned his forehead against the window. "I'm hungry. I can't think when I'm hungry."

"I thought you were SO prepared. You didn't think to stow some sandwiches in your wallet before we left?"

"What, you've got some in your giant purse?"

"No, but I have some granola bars in my bag. I left my purse at home. You know that."

Ikkaku perked up at that. "You had food this whole time and you let me starve? You're terrible. The worst." He unbuckled his seatbelt and started to get up.

"What are you doing? Stop!" Yumichika looked horrified.

"What? Oh, you won't share, eh?" He deflated back against the window. "Jerk."

"Don't stand up in the car! What if we hit a bump? You'll fall out! This thing doesn't even have walls! It's evil!"

Ikkaku was once more invigorated by the possibility of food. "Is that all? No, it's good, see, I'll hold onto this bar. Fine. No worries. Good?" He was standing up again.

Yumichika cringed against the steering wheel, peeking through his hands toward the road. He managed a grunt that wasn't clearly a "no." A dignified grunt.

Ikkaku stood up on his seat, bent over the bar and began rooting around in the back to unzip the duffel bag. He had to lean REALLY far over, putting most of his weight on his stomach over the bar, to dig the zipper out from the end of the zipper-protector-deally thing. As the gods of dramatic tension did so decree, Yumichika at that moment failed to see a pothole coming up as he peered through his fingers at the road. Yumichika did not fail to grasp the ham-handed literary device in play when they hit the hole, however, and grabbed wildly for Ikkaku's foot as the latter went pitching over the rail. The wild grab caught the foot yet ultimately failed to stop Ikkaku's fall, but it changed his trajectory enough that he did not flip out of the vehicle to be run over by the horrified drivers behind them. Instead, his head (more strongly resembling a pachinko ball at that moment than any other time in his life) bounced off the spare tire and he landed heavily on the folded down vinyl top. On his face.

This event and the one preceding involving oncoming traffic firmly established for their fellow commuters that morning that this was a pair of dangerous morons, dangers to themselves and others, and they really should just go back to Kansas before somebody got hurt. Everybody just eased off the gas and let themselves be outpaced. Which was easy, because Yumichika had accidentally jammed his foot down on the accelerator as he flailed around in his seat to try to save his passenger.

In a more controlled version of his fall, Ikkaku's foot joined him behind the seat as he resituated himself on top of the duffel bag. Seeing that Ikkaku was not dead, and in no clear and present danger of being dead, Yumichika returned his attention to the road and tried to stop hyperventilating. He saw an exit and was about to take it, but Ikkaku's hand appeared out from behind the seat to grip his shoulder.

"No! It's fine! We'll never catch her if you stop now!"

Or rather, he said something very much like that, but in the way one speaks when one is holding one's nose with one's free hand to keep a nosebleed in check. Which he was.

Yumichika glanced behind him and lost any remaining feelings of worry for his passenger. "Stop bleeding all over my bag! Stick your head out the back or something!" He stopped, then, and snorted to himself (attractively). "Why don't you make yourself useful and smear some of that blood over that hideous wisteria paint?"

Ikkaku grumbled incomprehensibly, but lurched carefully away from the duffel while tipping his head and holding his nose. He had evidently decided to wait for the river to ebb before attempting the climb back into his seat, as he remained crouched in the back for some time. When he finally made his move, Yumichika made sure to keep both hands on the wheel, both eyes on the road. Only once Ikkaku was back in his seat did Yumichika dare to look over to assess the damage.

It was... interesting. Artistic, almost. Ikkaku had not been paying much attention to the state of his hands, it seemed, and had managed to plant a lovely red print on the side of his bare head. There was significant seepage now drying down his chin and neck, as well. Very primeval. Convenient that he hadn't been wearing a shirt, after all. Also, his nose was turning purple and he looked kind of pale.

At least he had managed to grab the granola bars for his efforts. Yumichika took one while Ikkaku melted into the seat, chewing and appearing to be steadfastly ignoring the growing pain in his face. Yumichika began to wonder what passing traffic would think of them, with the bloody specter sitting next to him. Nobody seemed to be around all of a sudden, though. Not even the people who had been behind them through most of Tulsa. Huh.

He was performing a cursory inspection of the dash after scanning behind him for the Tulsa commuters when he saw it. The gas gauge. Nearly empty. They had to stop anyway. They could have avoided that entire fiasco. It was pointless.