Danny's right about reaching L.A. by sunrise. They come up on the outskirts of the city just as the sun peeks over the horizon. His circadian rhythm is all out of whack, and the rising sun only seems to make him sleepy.

The car is a mess, muddy clothing tossed in the back seat, empty food containers crumpled in the floorboard. Mindy's asleep in the passenger seat once again, soiled outerwear temporarily abandoned. Curled up in a ball, she has the chair scooted forward as far as possible, vents angled toward her as they blow out toasty air. There's a streak of cream on her cheek left over from the pieces of pie she devoured with happy gusto. He's only minorly annoyed that he didn't even get a taste of the troublesome confection.

Danny isn't really sure why he drives past the address in West Hollywood that she gave him. Maybe it's fear. The closer he gets to his father's ranch house, the more he feels like he needs something to hang onto, and she's the only thing within arm's reach.

Alan is an imposing man, at least in Danny's memory, and all of his grand plans for greeting him with a knuckle sandwich look smaller and smaller as the distance closes. He holds his breath, hoping she'll sleep through the sounds of traffic in the city. It's early enough that there aren't too many blaring horns, and he quickly maneuvers out of the heart of the city, once again en route to his father's place.

She sleeps, and sleeps, until he begins to wonder if maybe something's wrong. Her purple bag of goodies still makes him nervous, and it's only beginning to dawn on him that he doesn't know her at all. How the hell would he explain a dead hitchhiker to state troopers in California? His anxiety is making his head spin with ridiculous scenarios, and he's aware of this, but there's nothing he can do to make it stop.

It's only when the GPS instructs him to turn down a dusty dirt road that he lets go of the steering wheel with one hand and tries to shake her awake. She responds immediately, his sopping wet hand unpleasantly clammy against her dry skin.

"What the hell?" Her nose is wrinkled as she sits up, more words of irritation ready to spill out, but her eyes widen in alarm as she takes him in.

If she thinks he looked like an anxious mess before, now she's pretty sure he's about to have a heart attack, and it freaks her out a little. "Pull over, Danny."

He turns to her, red faced, and shakes his head. "No, look, I'm sorry, but I don't have…" He trails off, at a loss for how to articulate what he needs from her. "I know you wanted to stop in L.A., and I'll take you back there, I promise, but-"

"What?" She spins around in her seat, for the first time peering out the windows to take in her surroundings. All she sees is open desert, miles and miles of it. The dust billows behind them as the car continues to move along. "Oh my god, you're going to kill me. You have a compound in the desert, and you need a sex slave, and you're going to kill me. I always knew it would end this way."

The last word comes out as a wail, and Danny jerks his head around in surprise. "No. I'm not- you can't be serious."

"You've kidnapped me!"

"No, not technically, I just-" He runs one sweaty hand through his hair, regretting the action almost immediately. He can feel the strands sticking up at odd angles, and knows he must look like a lunatic. "I need to borrow your company for a little while."

"Borrow my company?"

He nods, swiping at his face with his forearm. "Can we please turn the heat off?"

"It's your car."

"It's a rental."

"I don't see how that-"

"Please, just turn it off."

She purses her lips together and flips the switch off, waiting for him to finish his strange request

"I need a buffer." Danny is grasping for words. He doesn't know what he needs, just that he can't face Alan alone. A part of him would like to believe it's to protect Alan from his anger, but in truth it's because he thinks he might start asking a million questions, and blubbering like an idiot.

Her hair, a tangled mess from last night's incident, swings around her shoulders as she shakes her head. His stomach drops with disappointment and he prepares to turn the car around, easing his foot down on the brake pedal.

"Danny, you've got to figure out a way to manage your anxiety. I know what you said before, and even though a little pot never killed anyone, I guess I get it. But, you obviously need to talk to someone about..." She trails off, gesturing vaguely at him. "Whatever is causing this."

"I don't need anything. I'm fine!" He's so clearly not fine, nausea tearing at him from the inside. The bile is sitting in the back of his throat and he can feel his esophagus tightening. He recognizes the final warning sign, and dramatically slams on the brakes, skidding the car to an abrupt halt. He's out on the side of the road in seconds, dry heaving.

Following him, her hand finds its way to his back in seconds, rubbing comforting circles as he dry heaves. "I thought I was the only person who got stress barfs."

There is amusement in her voice, but it's gentle and tempered by more than a little sympathy. The spasms ease up until he's just breathing hard, full of embarrassment at her side. He can barely pull gather himself enough to take his hands off his knees and stand up straight. "That's not-"

"Look, I'll make you a deal."

"A deal?"

"Yup. You want my company so badly, I'll give it to you, but under one condition."

A/n: I appreciate people having the patience with the short chapters. I like the scene-by-scene flow though. Please feel free to let me know what you thing as it goes along.