wounded pride, hurt feelings, bruised hip.

witch

Rafael's wisdom holds over til morning. He does not point at her, say HA!, call her out for that soft little pronoun, that moment of tender possession. Perhaps it isn't even in his mind to lay claim to the words, hold them up, make her look at them. He does not answer them in kind with his own my, mine. He just thinks it. Is easy and quiet with her in the shower. Gentle. Leaves her some time alone, too, which sometimes might feel like a rejection but now feels like a relief. They've had precious little time to themselves since leaving Denver, and given that neither of them is the most sociable, it can wear them thin. Wears her thin, at least.

Morning comes, and swells bright and warm into late morning. She rolls over in bed and wraps her arm around his middle and dozes some more. They wake and stretch and order room service, though it's relatively simple fare. She sits up in bed while he's wandering around doing something or other; she's got the sheets wrapped around her and her hair is askew and she's scrolling through some stuff on her phone.

"Mum says Recife," she tells him, without preamble -- she's barely spoken this morning, except to pass along what she wants for breakfast. Drops the phone on the nightstand again. "We should try getting there by New Year's. She said it's pre-carnival right now. Parties, parties, parties."

Crawls over the bed. They can get there, she thinks. She pulls on a t-shirt, which appears to be his, and eats breakfast, legs folded up. She rubs a bit of stubble on her shin mindlessly while she eats buttered toast. She suggests they stay a few days in Recife. Get off the road for a while.

wolfman

Wolf is packing. That's what he's doing. Not much to pack, but still: gathers up their toiletries and throws them in a bag, then throws that bag into another bag. His duffle, and hers. Brings them out and puts them on the bed behind her when he's done.

That's when he notices she's wearing his t-shirt. Which makes him snort a little, amused. Doesn't make him complain. He comes over to inspect breakfast. Stands there by the bed, and by the girl, while he folds up bits of scrambled egg with his toast and eats it like that. Messy, casual.

"Not much one for parties." As if she hadn't figured that out already. "I'll go to one with you, though. Since it's New Year's and all. How far's Recife?"

witch

At this point they don't even seem to care whose what goes in which where. Some of his dirty socks get shoved in a pocket of her bag; her toiletries go into his pack. Neither of them consider the implications of this, or the bizarre intimacy or trust of it, and if they do, they don't talk about it. Perhaps it is merely her infecting him with her own rather slapdash approach to life: her way of deciding if something is clean is looking it over and sniffing it. She doesn't wash her hair for days, sometimes even after being in the sea. He has had to get used to frequently encountering stubble on her legs. Or this morning, picking up a shirt at random and putting it on, regardless of who it belongs to.

She gives him a Look at what he says. A no, really? sort of Look. A raised eyebrow, a dry smirk. But he'll go with her, and she eats some toast to pretend not to care.

Shrugs at him. "Don't know. Where are we?"

wolfman

He'll go with her to a party. To one party. Was rather specific about that. Fucking hermit.

Scoops up some more eggs on some more toast. Eats it. Is wandering around shirtless again the way he does, because it's been eighty-five degrees every single day for days. Is wearing those faded grey board shorts that he keeps clean primarily by dunking them in the ocean and then sometimes scrubbing them out at night. With bar soap. In hotel bathrooms. Probably doesn't complain about the stubble on her legs because he hardly has the right. Hardly Mr. Clean, himself.

"Just north of the border. Here, show me a map."

She pulls out her phone, or he gets his. Leans over the little screen and pinches and swipes and zooms until he finds it: "Here. That's where we are. Now search for Recife." Chews toast. "Oh, okay. It's like two days if we don't stop. We can make it in time for your parties."

witch

She sits at the little table by the window. He walks around. Stops by occasionally to get some more breakfast. She's not helping at all. She's tangled up in a chair watching him. Likes the way he bends to pick up a sock. Likes the curve of his back. She's used to the sight of his scars by now. She barely notices them anymore. He comes over and she thinks of his body pressed up against her body. That warm chest. Those arms.

Smirks at him, leaning back, refusing him her phone. He has to get his own, just because she seems to have a coy moment. He eats toast; she taps Recife in. They both peer at the screen, looking at what the map says. Two days without stopping. She smirks up at him, that your parties comment.

Then thinks of something that makes the smirk go. Curiosity replaces it.

"When was the last time you went hunting?"

wolfman

Wolf picks up his phone, slips it into his pocket. Crappy single-core low-tier Android. Could certainly afford better, but doesn't. It's not even willful resistance of riches. It's just laziness. He hasn't gotten around to it.

Packing's pretty much done now. Before they leave he'll take one more prowl around the room, make sure they didn't leave anything. They've been here for two nights, after all, waiting for their visas. Enough time for little things to disperse and get lost. For now, though, wolf kicks out one of the chairs at the table, drops down with a satisfied sort of grunt.

Sunlight comes in the window. Gleams on his skin. Sparks off that faint, faint hint of reddishness in girl's otherwise dark hair. Wolf picks up a slice of toast and starts heaping egg and meat on it, glancing up at the question.

"City hunting or country?" Euphemistic way of putting it, or maybe that's just how he thinks of it. "A while, either way. Thought about going a couple times, but didn't."

witch

Her eyes follow him to the chair. She sips some coffee -- no decent tea in these hotels, she's said, and she ran out of her own blends a long time ago -- and gives him a little furrow of her brow. Doesn't understand the question at all.

"Why's that?"

wolfman

Furrow of brow. Flattening of mouth. Subtle grimace as he shifts in his seat, like suddenly he's sitting on an uncomfortable lump.

"Didn't want to leave you alone," is what he comes up with. Not meeting her eyes now, until he realizes he's avoiding. Looks right across the table at her and spills the rest of it. "Out on the road. Seems safe enough but don't really know the lay of the land. I go out looking for trouble, leave trouble to find you. Just seemed like a stupid idea."

witch

Her brow stays furrowed, partly out of bewilderment.

"That's dumb," she says, without entirely thinking. Then, with thinking, she confirms: "That is kind of dumb," her brow smoothing. Devon sets down what's left of her toast, an unbuttered crust.

wolfman

Now he's frowning openly at her. "What. Going hunting, or not going hunting?"

witch

"Not hunting."

wolfman

"Fuck off." Up on his feet; riled. Walks over to the bed and yanks the two duffles up, heaves them over his shoulder. "Dumb of me to give a fuck about you, obviously. Taking our shit out to the car."

witch

"Oh, stop it," she snaps at him, frowning again, half exasperated and half... something else. Something closer. Not warm, not soft, but something else. "You know that's not what it's about."

wolfman

[look how manee empafee dices i haz!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

witch

He's looking at her, for that something else, that something more. Knows it isn't the warmth and tenderness and softness she has for him sometimes -- rare times. There's just a tightness in her voice there that hints at a feeling outside of annoyance with his reaction. Hard to describe, hard to pin down, hard to name: a desire for him to stay and at least try talking, try working it out with her. A desire for him to not feel that way. Whatever it is he's feeling that makes him snap at her, storm away from her. Because it's a sad feeling, a hard one. She doesn't want him to feel it.

wolfman

Pause for a moment. Can't quite call it hesitation. He looks at her, though. Sees her. Not just the thick hair and the long legs and everything else on the surface that makes her so fucking appealing to him.

The stuff that runs under the surface. The hard, curving edges of her personality; the vulnerability just beneath. All those fucking things

that make her so appealing to him.

Wolf sighs. At least it sounds like a sigh. "Just gonna run this shit out to the car," he says. "Then I'll be back."

--

Which is what he does. Takes him maybe five minutes. Comes back and lets himself in with his keycard, of which she has one as well. Comes back to the little table by the window. This time there is a hesitation. Then he sits.

Stares at her for a while. Then picks up his thus-far untouched mug of coffee. Takes a swallow. It's lukewarm.

"Not easy for me to give a damn about someone else," he says. "Feels like I'm laying myself open. Makes it worse when I admit it and get called stupid. Makes me think I was right all along and it's easier not to care."

witch

She just scowls in answer; doesn't read under the surface, doesn't see what he means. Is annoyed. She lowers her legs from the seat and finishes her breakfast. When he comes back up she's in the bathroom. She's sitting on the edge of the tub and she's shaving her legs.

So he gets his coffee, maybe. Comes in. Sits on the lid of the toilet, or on the floor. And she shaves and she listens.

"Wasn't calling you stupid for caring," she says, roughly, looking away from him. Has to focus, after all. She's wielding a razor blade. Four of them, actually.

wolfman

Girl's not there when he walks in. For a moment wolf's annoyed; beneath the annoyance, panicked. Just a little. Doesn't know where she's gone. Doesn't know how to find her.

Then he hears her. Remembers: that's right. Girl doesn't have a scent. Doesn't mean she's a ghost.

Shoulder to the doorjamb, coffee in hand. Looks in on her shaving her legs. Quiet a moment and then he comes in. Puts the toilet lid down and takes a seat, folded over elbows on knees.

"What, then?"

witch

Devon exhales, heavily. A big, thought-induced sound. "I go for a walk, I might get hit by a car. You go hunting, some monster might pop into the room and go after me." She shakes her head, with a slight roll of her eyes. "And it'd be fucking stupid not to go for a walk because I might get hit by a car. Not like skydiving, that, yeah?"

Shakes her head, rinsing her razor and tapping it against the side of the tub. "Fucking stupid not to do something normal. And hunting's normal for you." A practiced, quick, smooth slide of the razor up the back of her leg, clearing a path through the soapy foam.

"Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly," Devon says. Rinsing, she looks over at him. "When was the last time you even shifted?"

wolfman

Wolf gives her a look.

Flashes into his lupine shape. Sudden but liquid-smooth; rage lingering in the air like ozone after a lightning-strike. Gives her another look, yellow-eyed, maybe a little smug. Lopes out of the little bathroom.

Girl hears him lapping up the last of breakfast. Then bounding up on the bed and rolling around on the covers. Now he's just being frivolous.

witch

Gives her a look, which she doesn't have time to read. And he shifts, quite suddenly, and she is startled, and jerks back without thinking, and

falls into the tub.

Luckily she has the reflexes to lift the razor in the air so she doesn't slice open her leg. Does hit the tub hard, hip and shoulder, but doesn't crack her skull. Legs are half-foamy and dangling out of the tub. Is wincing, though he may not see it.

wolfman

Oh, he sees it. Lingers long enough to see that she isn't bleeding, hasn't cracked her skull or passed out. Is fine, mostly. Maybe a little bruised.

Wolf laughs at her. Dick. Lolls his tongue out at her, anyway. Goes trotting out to eat the rest of breakfast and roll on the bed. Leaves soft little tufts of undercoat on the sheets. Jumps back down, shaking his fur out.

Comes back to stand in the doorway of the bathroom, poking just his head in to see what girl's up to now.

witch

When he comes back, still in his wolf shape, she is up again. She's finishing her legs deliberately and now she's rinsing them off. And her face is pink, and perhaps it's just embarrassment. She glances over him for a brief moment, then away again, rinsing her razor a final time and rinsing her legs. Gets up and walks past him, his shirt falling around her hips, and uses hotel lotion to smooth onto her patted-dry legs. Doesn't look at him again. Or speak. She does slip into the underwear she laid out before he packed everything up -- steps into panties, pulls off his shirt, puts on her bra while looking in the mirror.

wolfman

Doesn't move out of the doorway. She has to brush past him. Turns, when she's out in the room. Awkward to do that in a confined space on four legs, so wolf shifts as he does it. Slower this time. A wolf in the doorframe. A hulking monster in the bathroom. A man, or close enough, walking out after her.

Not smirking anymore, at least. Has his shorts in his hand. Steps into them, commando again. Hell knows where his underwear has even gone. Bottom of her duffle bag maybe. While she's putting on her underwear he comes over. Picks up his discarded t-shirt and shakes it out, then tosses it over where she can reach it. Sits on the edge of the bed.

"I'll go hunting next time I feel like it," he says. Maybe intends it as some sort of olive branch.

witch

"Fine."

wolfman

"Why the hell are you mad at me?" Exasperated. "Didn't push you. You fell in that tub yourself."

witch

Devon finishes adjusting her bra. She picks up the skirt she chose to wear today, a black thing, sort of swishy but short. Doesn't get her shirt on yet: she's finger-combing her hair, working it up onto the top of her head to keep it off her neck. It's so warm down here.

Turns around after her hair is up, hasn't said a word. Does, eventually, as she picks up the black sleeveless t-shirt she's going to wear, with its random designs in silver and white. As she's pulling it on over her head: "Don't know what the hell you were trying to prove," she says, snipping the words off as though with shears. Adjusts the fall of the shirt around her waist.

wolfman

"Nothing. You asked when the last time I shifted was. And I shifted." Shrugs. Bare shoulders, bare chest. Girl's bare too, but putting clothes on. Adjusting her bra, which makes wolf glance at her tits. And then away.

"So maybe it was petty one-upsmanship. So what. Not like I meant for you to fall."

She gets her hair up. Shirt on. Skirt on. Wolf looks back at her. Reaches over, a whim. Catches the hem of her skirt.

"Devon. Come on. First I'm mad and then you're mad and it's stupid both ways. Let's not fight."

witch

She huffs a little breath, a mean laugh, when he says it was maybe petty one-upmanship. "Right. I'm pissed because of some bruises. Not 'cuz you were being a prick."

He tugs at her skirt, or catches it, and she looks like she's about to haul off and punch him. Jerks away, teeth momentarily on edge. Is walking away, a bit too heavily, picking up her phone and sticking her feet in those sandals she bought at a roadside days and days ago. Looks at him, irritably. "I'm not being stupid," she snaps at him. "I was fucking trying to talk to you."

Devon pulls up her skirt, showing him her hip, the splotchy pink that will grow, in time, to a black and purple bruise. "And you know what? It fucking hurt and you didn't give a shit, Mr. I Have To Stick Around to Protect You. So go fuck yourself." Drops the skirt, her cheeks pink again.

wolfman

"Did give a shit."

Some part of him -- some remote, logical part -- is baffled that they're even fighting about this. Going back and forth like children. Did not! Did so! Did NOT! Did SO!

Rest of him is just fighting. Hackles up, angered by the way she jerks away from him -- like he's trash, like he's filth, like he'll contaminate her or something. Angered by her showing him the bruise -- like it's his fault when she's the one that fell in. Angered by her obviously ruffled feathers, too -- like she's a cat, and he just caught her doing something inelegant and clumsy.

"Stopped, didn't I? Made sure you weren't seriously hurt. And you weren't." Flicks a glance at that hip. Cords twist in his heart. Wolf tamps it down ruthlessly, insists: "Aren't.

"Done talking anyway. Next time I wanna go for a hunt I will. End of story."

witch

"Yeah," she seethes. "I could tell when you were done talking. That's when I stopped, remember?"

Which, on the surface, is true. He shifted. She stopped talking to him. Conversation over.

And that's it. She has her phone, leaves the key car on the table, and walks out of the motel room to head down to the already-loaded car. That's what they're doing. They're leaving the motel to drive to Recife and party and ring in the New Year and enjoy themselves on beaches for a few days. This is their awesome road trip and LIKE 10 HOURS AGO she was kissing him like her life depended on it and calling him mine and now she's leaving the door open behind her and walking away to go wait for him in the car.

Because not all fights resolve when they happen. Maybe some never resolve and are just forgotten. She takes her wounded pride and her hurt feelings and her bruised hip and also-bruised shoulder and slinks off to curl up, nurse them in the safety of... one seat, protected from him by a few inches of air and little else. Which is weirdly enough. They can turn on the radio, at least.

wolfman

Wolf doesn't follow her. Doesn't charge after her, obnoxious and shouting. Just lets her go.

And girl takes herself out to the car. Wolf picks up the car keys and he's angry, and so he's resentful: thinks to himself that now she isn't telling him he drives too much, let her have a turn, is she? Feels shitty, then, to be so resentful. Takes that one last circuit around the room. Make sure they've left nothing behind.

--

Checks out, dropping their keycards in the slot. Late morning by the time he gets out to the car. So close to the equator here: few degrees north of it, just as Recife is a few degrees south. Blazing overhead sun cooks his shadow into the asphalt. Lifts humidity from the oceans. So hot here; like Denver's another planet. Wolf opens the driver's side door and climbs in, the car sinking on its shocks to his weight.

Girl's curled up, nursing her wounded hip, wounded pride, wounded feelings. Wolf glances at her and decides to leave her be. Buckles in. Backs out. Hits the road again.

wolfman

[CH-CH-CH-CHANGES!]

wolfman

Wolf doesn't follow her. Doesn't charge after her, obnoxious and shouting. Just lets her go.

And girl takes herself out to the car. Wolf picks up the car keys and he's angry, and so he's resentful: thinks to himself that now she isn't telling him he drives too much, let her have a turn, is she? Feels shitty, then, to be so resentful. Takes that one last circuit around the room. Make sure they've left nothing behind.

--

Checks out, dropping their keycards in the slot. Late morning by the time he gets out to the car. So close to the equator here: few degrees north of it, just as Recife is a few degrees south. Blazing overhead sun cooks his shadow into the asphalt. Lifts humidity from the oceans. So hot here; like Denver's another planet. Wolf opens the driver's side door and

finds the girl there. Curled up, nursing her wounded hip, wounded pride, wounded feelings. Wolf looks at her. There's that twist in his heart again. Shows on his face this time. Beat of pause; then he leans down. Wraps his hand behind her head, kisses her temple if she lets him. Rests his brow to her hair for a moment, if she lets him.

Then he hands over the keys. Circles around and climbs in, slamming the door without meaning to. Just heavyhanded, is all. "Tell me when you're tired," he says. "Switch."

witch

Oh, she's nursing it all right. Nursing her pride, her feelings, her hip. And her anger. Nursing it to keep it alive a little longer. Sits in the driver's seat with her arms crossed over her chest. Already sweating. Wondering what the fuck is taking him so goddamn long. Staring ahead, mouth a flat line.

He doesn't see her but she senses him. Glares at him openly when he opens the door and looks at her.

Looks wary, when he reaches down to touch her. Frowns, as he kisses her temple. Doesn't really want him being all tender and affectionate right now, but she doesn't smack him in the head or snap her teeth at him. She just tolerates it, and exhales through her nostrils, and takes the keys. Turns the car on as he's getting in, turns on the air conditioning.

"Yeah," is all she says, though she doesn't put enough verve into it to sound cruel or harsh. Checks behind her, and pulls out of the parking lot.

--

There is at least a little talking. He navigates her to the main road they're to take southward. She clarifies a couple of turns. Eventually one of them turns on the radio, cycles through some stations. Or he has it play the music on her phone, or his. They've exhausted whatever else might have been in the car. Hell: they've probably exhausted whatever was on their phones by now.

Maybe they drive in silence most of the time. She leans her arm on the driver's side door, head propped up, keeping the wheel steady with one hand. Cruise control. Monotonous, endless-seeming driving, until they stop to piss and grab a couple of drinks. She gets back into the driver's seat and they're off again. Midafternoon and they stop to get some food from some outdoor market. There are greasy burgers and sandwiches, Indonesian fried rice, crepes, noodles. They sit outside near the car and eat, still in silence. She's looking at her phone.

Then frowns. Then shows him the map. The route in bright blue going all the way west, looping around the mighty river before heading east again.

"We have to basically go around the Amazon," she says. "Road we're on --" she points to 156 on the zoomed-in map, "basically stops at Macapá. Right on the river."

Looks at him.

wolfman

Crossed the border early in the day. Not much of a line, really: not a lot of people making trips into the goddamn Amazon Rainforest from French Guiana, after all. Tourists into the forest come from Brazil. Tourists into Brazil damn well fly.

Except them. They drive. That coastal road skimming the river's drainage basin: ocean a few miles to one side. That ancient, primordial forest, full of undiscovered species and wet, verdant, savage life, to the other. Sometimes they find outdoor markets, greasy burgers. Sometimes they go miles and miles and miles with hardly another sign of humanity in sight.

--

Road goes around the river. Wolf is gnawing at some herb-rubbed quarter-chicken. Leans over to look at the map, frowning, shading the screen with his hand.

"Let's go to Macapa anyway." Pronunciation's a little off but she can understand, at least. "Gotta be a ferry or something there. Take us across the river, or maybe up the river a bit." He points with a blunt finger. "If we pick up the road again in Altamira, we'll be in Recife a day or so later."

witch

The mosquitos here are enormous. They love Rafael.

A faint flicker on her lips when he says they should go to Macapa anyway. Ferry or something. "Don't think there's ferries," she tells him. "For cars." Gives him a slight shrug. "There's an airport there too."

She puts her phone away, then leans against his arm. "I wanna see the Amazon. Cross it."

wolfman

Something stirs in the wolf when girl comes over. Leans against his arm. First time they've been close since this morning. Since they started fighting, really. Over stupid shit. Stupid, childish shit that he regrets.

Wolf wraps his arm around her. Turns to press his mouth to her hair, the way he does. Exhales a little, a wolfish whuff.

"Fuck it, let's just sell the car at Macapa. We'll get a boat and sail down the Amazon 'til we find a town with an airport. Fly to Recife. Might not make it in time for New Year's though."

witch

He wraps his arm around her and she stirs; too much, really. It was a lean. Doesn't have to be more. She doesn't quite stiffen and she doesn't quite pull away but she's uncomfortable. Also: hot. The air. His arm. Everything is so humid that her clothing sticks.

She exhales, sitting up a bit more, perhaps unwinding.

Perhaps leaning against the outside of his arm again.

"All right," she says. "Don't care if we drift on the river," she murmurs. "Just need to see it." Walk into it. Touch the surface. Feel it. The power of that river. The antiquity.

wolfman

Want to, she said.

Need to, she says.

Wolf hears that. Doesn't understand it, but intuits something there. Necessity. Need. Like hunger.

"Let's go see it then." They're just sitting on some plainhewn bench. There's shade, but it doesn't help the humidity, the heat. Girl pulls away and then girl comes back. Leans against his arm. Nobody out here cares that he goes around half-naked, without underwear. They get it. It's so hot.

"Drive out somewhere wild. Spend a half-day. Swim. Then we'll come back. Sell the car and fly to Recife."

Pause.

"How's your hip? And your shoulder."

witch

She says nothing while he says plans aloud. Thinks of a dog with a ball, gnawing on it, chomping thoughtfully. Never got around to telling him why she cared if he shifted, if he hunted. Still sort of pissed at him for not caring why she cared. Not noticing that she cared, she thinks. Made fun of it. Made fun of her for caring, blew it off, with that shifting, and loping off to eat and roll around the bed.

That's a pretty deep bruise.

He asks her how she is, as she's eating the last bite of her burger, wiping her hands on a thin, coarse paper napkin. She sits up, still chewing, and lifts the edge of her skirt. Fell on her left side, and fell in such a way that it was partly on her ass, right below her tailbone. Yes, Rafa, she is a skinny thing; there's not much fat there to cushion her.

Bruise is vivid as a view of a star system: blacks and purples, hints of green and pink and yellow. It's a big, nasty bruise. She drops the edge of her skirt and frowns a little to herself.

"Shoulder's a little bigger but not as bad." Still frowning. "I'll put some stuff on it back in the car."

Stuff. Stuff she has. Stuff to heal. "It'll be fine." Looks at him. "Can you drive a while?"

wolfman

Ow.

That's what wolf thinks, looking at the bruise. Just that one syllable. Not even really a word. Not even a syllable; an emotion. A feeling, gut-deep.

Ow.

Puts his palm over the bruise. Frowning now, aching. Leans over and kisses her, and it's not a lustful thing, it's not even really desire. Just wants to be close. Wants to apologize, though he hasn't the words for it.

"Yeah, I'll drive," he confirms, drawing back. "Probably make Macapa tonight if we eat dinner on the road." Beat or two. Awkward. "Can just bandage that. Gonna be hell trying to dance with that bruise."

witch

His mouth touches her cheek, presses into it. She hurts a little; doesn't quite flinch at the hand covering her, but it confuses her and hurts her in a way that feels like a bruise but made up of different colors. Brighter ones. Ones that aren't so ugly, somehow. A hurt that isn't ugly, either. She doesn't know what to do with it.

But he leans over, covering her gently like that, kissing her, but not her mouth, because she's turned away and doesn't want to kiss him, doesn't want to be kissed on her mouth. Is kissed on her face and sinks in on herself, feeling that strange panic that she sometimes gets. She just flares her nostrils, breathing in. Her chest opens up with it. It deflates again as she exhales through her nose.

He draws back and she nods, and takes a breath, and just shakes her head, starting to get to her feet. "I have something for it," she repeats, standing up. "It will be all right. You'll see." Looks at him, holding a crumpled-up greasy napkin in one hand and the other one at her side, slightly turned. Blink, and you'll miss the willingness to have her hand held. She doesn't reach for him.

He might not notice.

They go on back to the car. She got some toilet paper and some snacks at the last stop; just in case. This place you can't expect to have gas stations and Holiday Inns every few miles. They have extra gas in the trunk. He goes to the driver's side and she to the passenger side. Digs around in her backpack and finds a bottle of what looks like a very dark lotion -- a grimy green, hints of yellow, more gelatinous than lotion usually looks.

Smells fantastic. Like it'll wake you up in the morning, but it isn't some form of mint. God knows what it is. She hikes up her skirt and rubs it generously on that bruise, rubbing it in until she winces and hisses, but until it vanishes into her skin. Is sort of sticky so she sits awkwardly on her right hip for a bit, ass pointed at him, and turns her back to him, stripping off her shirt while they're still parked. She tugs her bra strap down on her left shoulder and hands him the bottle. Hard to reach all of it. Doesn't need as much as her hip. After he's helped her out, Devon leaves her shirt off. Wears that little skirt and her bare feet now that they're in the car and the purple-and-teal bra she has on. At least until the AC kicks back in.

She curls up on her right side, seat leaning back. Doesn't fall asleep right away, but looks out the window at the sky, the clouds. Forgets where she is, because the sky is so the same as everywhere else. And yet, every other moment, remembers, and can't believe it's the same sky she's seen over Denver, over Boston, over London.

Closes her eyes, eventually. Rests with her back toward him, while he drives.

South. Towards the largest river in the world.