Jak And Daxter Fan Fiction ❯ Red Hot ❯ Day Three ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Jak and Daxter, nor am I profiting from this fanfiction.

Red Hot

Day Three (Note: What I’ve been calling “Wastelanders” I just found out are actually “Marauders,” so I’ve changed that.)

It was hard for Torn to get to sleep later that night. The ache in his arm was much more sensitive than he’d like to it to be, making him wince every time he moved it using certain muscles. Though the pain was only just enough to make him grimace slightly, it was still a huge hindrance.

He’d seen many people, men and women alike, gain wounds on the battlefield which eventually took their lives. Some of them had been well taken care of; others so small it denied concern, but they still ended up infected badly enough that the person lost his life. It was too dangerous of a gamble, he admitted to himself, to have such a wound and five additional days to spend in the desert with it.

The wound, however, wasn’t the only thing making it difficult for him to sleep.

Engaging in verbal banter with Ashelin, he found, was more entertaining the longer they were together. The time she spent binding the puncture in his shoulder had been full of harsh teasing and outright insults, from the both of them. It amused him and allowed them both to relax.

But relaxing might’ve been the downfall, so to speak. He started to notice things about her proximity, things he wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been helping to fix his wound. The heat of her body, for one – and it helped to keep him warm, since he’d had to take off his shirt to keep it from getting bloodied. Another very pointed thing he noticed had been her hands. Although they were rough and calloused as every soldiers’, she still had slender fingers and a certain grace. The touches had an air of intimacy that was only strengthened by her occasional lean nearer when she reached for the pack he held.

So many times he’d thought of leaning in as well and catching her mouth in a kiss. And how easy it would have been, how close she unknowingly was.

It was these thoughts that shocked him most, so surprised to find that he was so drawn to her. In the end he chocked it up to minor blood loss, trying to force himself to forget about it.

But there she lay, innocently asleep, not two meters from himself, a small fire between them. She didn’t have a single thought that mirrored his own, did she? She may have begun to trust and respect him, but she didn’t like him. If her words were any indication, then she wanted to tear him apart -- would if she could.

And certainly remembering the previous night’s dream wasn’t helping any. With a harsh sigh, he shifted, careful of his wound. On solid dirt and rock, one could only become comfortable to an extent, but it would have to do. Shutting his eyes, he began to count backwards from one hundred in his head. He wondered how many times he’d reach “zero” before the night ended.

- - - - -

When Ashelin awoke, forcibly blinking open her eyes, she found that the sunlight was pouring into the cave. With a small, protesting groan, she pushed herself up, stretching her arms. She glanced past the fire pit to where Torn had laid last night – where, she saw with surprise, he still slept. How long had he stayed up, to have that almost-dead look on his face?

Raising her brows in shock, she climbed to her feet. Well, while he was out. . .

She more or less snuck out of the cave, finding herself a nice, enclosed spot to relieve herself before coming back in. Though it only took about a minute total, she still felt surprised to see he hadn’t so much as twitched. She wondered if it was wise to wake him up or not.

The better question was, is there a choice? Of course not, she told herself. Even so, she didn’t want to cause him any discomfort – she’d done that enough already – so when she came over to wake him up, she tried to do it as subtly as she could. Reaching out, she tapped his good shoulder. When he gave no response, she nudged it a little. Nothing.

Bah, she knew this already, didn’t she? He could be a heavy sleeper. Wasn’t it just the previous night that she’d felt him over, and he’d only shifted once or twice?

Her face flamed. With a shake of her head, she decided she’d better get her blush under control before waking him up. But what would work, if not touches and nudges? Sound? Smell?

She glanced over at the fire pit once more, an idea forming. She could burn something foul, create an awful stink, couldn’t she? Surely he would wake up for that.

She slapped the thought from her mind. That would count as discomfort, wouldn’t it? If only for today, she told herself firmly, I won’t make myself a nuisance. That vow in mind, she thought over how she’d wake him up once more.

With only one option left, she said, “Torn.”

. . .Nothing.

She huffed. “Fine.” She reached out to touch his chest, intent on shaking him awake if need be – glaring at her hand when she hesitated – and steeled her reserve. He had to get up. Rationally, she told herself that she’d never make it back to Haven City on her own.

“Torn,” she said again, more firmly. She shook him a little.

He gave a groan, turning his head away from her. It sounded like he tried to say something, but apparently he was still too far asleep to do it successfully.

“Wake up,” she snapped with another shake.

He batted at her hand. “I’m awake already,” he sighed. “Stop that.”

“You’re still laying,” she pointed out, refusing to remove her hand. She gave him more little jerks.

He groaned. “I said stop that,” he repeated, pulling on her wrist now.

She pulled right back, only partially surprised at her own stubbornness. “I will – once you get up.”

“You’re going to make some part of me get up,” he shot back.

She yanked her hand back the moment she realized what he meant. Her eyes darted to his lower half before she could stop herself, and she almost groaned aloud at herself. She pushed onto her feet, crossing over to her side of the cave as though it would help somehow.

Torn took several deep breaths before sitting up, rubbing at his neck. She saw him glance at her, then the cave opening. “How long have you been up?” he asked.

“Inwards of five minutes,” she answered. Which reminded her that she hadn’t eaten. Reaching over, she grabbed her pack as he stood up, trying not to look when he stretched. She didn’t say a word when he strode from the cave, instead digging out more dried meat for her to eat.

When he came back, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Change of plans.”

“Oh, so now you’re telling me the plans?” she shot back, before she could stop herself.

Surprisingly, she heard him laugh. “Just this once,” he promised, taking a seat. As he continued, she saw him testing the range of his injured arm. “When only you showed, I changed the plans to going around this hill, down a valley, and curving back to the other side. There’s a spring on the way back to Haven, so I could avoid going back to the oasis we stopped at before.”

She narrowed her eyes, starting to understand.

“But since my own strength is roughly cut in half, I’ll have to take the safer path,” he went on. “We can still go through the valley, but instead of going around the mountain, we’re cutting through it in a tunnel. It’ll lead us almost directly back to Haven – and the oasis is on the way.”

“So,” she said as the pieces fell in place, “that’s the safer path?”

“There’s a lot of small ankle-biters in the tunnels,” he warned her, “and if you get swarmed, you’re as good as dead. But it’s still safer than dealing with Marauders.”

“Is there some kind of well or spring in the tunnel?” she asked.

He nodded. “A whole river, in fact. I wouldn’t trust the water too much, though, if it’s stopped flowing.”

That drew a question from her. “Stopped flowing?”

He looked over at his wound, touching it experimentally as he answered. “Yeah. I have no idea why, but most of the rivers you’ll find in the mountains have a tendency to start and stop flowing.”

“And you haven’t figured out a pattern?” she blurted, shocked.

He turned a glare on her. “Do I look like a researcher? I spend most of my time in the city, so no, I haven’t figured out a pattern.”

She bit her lip on a sharp retort, remembering that she promised herself she wouldn’t be a nuisance today. “Fine,” she sighed. “If the water’s undrinkable, I’ll boil it.”

He raised his brows. “You brought pots?”

She clenched her jaw. “Nevermind then.”

It didn’t take much more than a few minutes for them to be packed up, ready to go. He carried his own pack again, reassuring her that even if his right arm wasn’t much use, his left still was. She followed him out of the cave, down the hill, and back out into open desert. She wondered, not for the first time, exactly how he knew where he was going. Even with a map, she couldn’t see anyone really having a sense of direction out here. The difference between now and the previous two days was that she strode on his right side, essentially making herself a shield for his wounded arm.

If you’d have asked her why she felt she had to, she’d have given you the same answer she’d been telling herself since that morning: “I caused that wound, so now I have to take responsibility for it.”

They had to keep their eyes peeled more so than before, which she was expecting with Torn wounded. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was his explanation that other Marauders would’ve found the remains of the previous day’s battle by now, and would be searching for the two of them – even if the Marauders didn’t know there were two of them.

She understood the hidden meaning in the way Torn had said that: the Marauders would be expecting one person, not two. That meant they had an advantage, should the Marauders find them.

Later, when he seemed to laugh out of nowhere, she inquired as to why. And he replied, “The Marauders might recognize me.”

Just how many times had he been out here?!

Like the previous two days, he led them to a place to rest about halfway through the day – lunchtime. This time it was a shaded overhanging rock face, the thing seeming out of place in the desert, as it was just the four or so rocks placed together. Not for the first time, she wondered how the Wasteland became a wasteland; was there a whole civilization beneath them even now, covered in thousands of years of dust and sand?

It would explain what happened to Mar and his people, if the stories about him vanishing were true. She considered asking Torn if he knew anything, but that would be a stupid question. Most of the archives concerning Mar were kept in the palace, away from those who didn’t have clearance for it. Even Ashelin had to sneak around the palace at night to get more information.

She glanced over at Torn multiple times during their break, between eating and scanning the horizon, noting the way he moved. Every time they met eyes, she looked away again as though she were simply staying alert. She doubted he fell for it.

When the sun began setting and she couldn’t see any safe place, she grew worried. “Torn,” she started, “where are we stopping today?”

He nodded ahead of them. “See that mountain in the distance?”

She bit her lip. “I was hoping that wouldn’t be it.”

He gave a laugh. “That’s it, little girl.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “But that’ll take another hour, at least.”

“At this pace, yeah,” he agreed, throwing her a smirk.

Her brows lifted. “Are you suggesting we jog?”

“I could always order for us to jog.”

She blew out a sigh.

“What, can’t do it?” he teased.

“I’m worried for you, not me,” she snapped back. Realizing what she said a second too late, she looked hard in another direction.

His laughter rang out, an engaging sound she didn’t want to end. And she hated herself for liking it so much. “Don’t stress yourself over me,” he finally said, voice rough as usual. He nudged her shoulder, making her stumble to the side. “I’m your superior, remember?”

“I never acknowledged that, remember?” she returned. In the fading light, she found, somehow she thought he looked more handsome. She decided not to look at him anymore.

“How about a race, then?”

She chuckled. “Not much of a competition for a wounded man.”

“Maybe not, but how do you think a wounded arm is going to affect my running?”

He was right. And it burned her up inside to admit it. Fine, she thought, wanna race? Let’s race.

Her only warning to him was a glance, meeting his eyes, before she took off. The interesting part was, he seemed to know what she was thinking. They both started off at the same time.

Running on sand was tougher than obstacle courses, harder to keep your strides even. Plus the dunes went up, down and sideways on the course they were taking, making it that much more difficult. She found herself leaping every so often rather than slide down a dip.

They were neck-and-neck, though she had her suspicions that Torn was adjusting his speed to hers. Wanting to prove to him that she didn’t need handicaps, she pushed herself harder to overtake him. At one point she had the genius idea of stepping off a rock for some stability, and it worked in her favor – even if she had to adjust her course to reach it. She veered off to take the smoother route, glancing down with amusement to see Torn notice her new trek but stick to his own.

It made her worried when he grinned up at her knowingly, thinking that he did know the desert better than she. What did he know now, concerning this course? Was there a sudden drop ahead? Quick sand? An unseen obstacle?

There was a pond, she found, though she didn’t see it in time. Just a small pocket of water that led to an equally thin stream. She had no choice but to trudge through it to keep her speed, soaking her legs and boots. When she was through it and Torn was in sight again, she could clearly see the amusement in him, even though they were at least four meters apart in fading light.

“You asshole!” she yelled at him.

His response was laughter – more like a cackle, really.

Now that she was thinking a little more sharply (despite the uncomfortable sloshing in her boots with every step) she saw, in time, a drop. From her side she couldn’t tell how sharp it was, how steep nor how deep. But she decided that Torn wouldn’t let her fall off a ten-meter cliff without some kind of ample warning first and went for it.

Long jumps, after all, were a specialty of hers.

- - - - -

She was right. Torn knew about the drop ahead of her – and knew it wasn’t but a meter and a half if you fell straight down. It levels out fairly quickly at that; anyone able to jump three meters in length would find it easy to keep momentum. And if that person was Ashelin. . .

Well, he could imagine her somehow failing that jump but still managing to keep up. She was that type of girl, after all.

He kept a fairly attentive eye on her, given he knew this course blind. Stumbling upon that little pond had to have been a blow to her pride, and her resulting curse at him was amusing. Now he wondered if she was regretting her new path, hitting two large obstacles in close succession.

He wondered if she would give up that trek or not. It was deceitful, he knew; it appeared smooth, but it wasn’t. After this jump, she was going to hit an outcropping of exposed rocks that also happened to be loose.

Oh, she took the jump. And she had excellent form, he noted, especially for long jumps. He saw her expression go from calculating to arrogant in less than a second. He found himself impressed with her quick thinking, knowing her capabilities in such a quick time.

But her immediate stumble after told him she was getting tired, fast. He had a while to go himself, but then, he’d had stamina training. There was no way she’d make it through those rocks ahead while feeling fatigued; it was a recipe for disaster. More than likely she’d fall and hurt herself, possibly seriously.

He was just about ready to yell her a warning when she seemed to notice it herself.

She stumbled to a stop, breathing hard, and so he stopped, too. With a shake of her head she headed down the dune, to his course. “I’m done,” she told him, her voice rougher than usual.

He wasn’t surprised. He was breathing hard, too; the difference is that she had extra weight thanks to wet pants and she’d inadvertently chosen the harder course. “Right. I win, then?” he teased.

She gave him a glare that said no way am I going to admit that.

He chuckled to himself, thinking, That’s my girl.

That run, though it only took about five minutes, really ate up the distance. In another ten minutes they were at the entrance he’d been searching for, and breathing even. He took out a handheld electric light to shine on the inside, since the sun didn’t shine on this part of the mountain. A few passes and seeing nothing in the form of little swarmers, he motioned her after him and went inside.

Once they had a few fires going (since this cave was quite large and could use the extra illumination) he noticed her pause to look around. Her gaze eventually settled on what was a very obvious pool of water. She came over and took a closer look, saying, “I think it’s flowing.”

The sound of rushing water had already told him it was flowing, but he didn’t feel like pointing it out. “Good,” was his answer. He peeled back his bandages slightly to take a look at the wound, being satisfied after a second that it hadn’t reopened – his only real concern.

She was shivering.

He knew she would be, but somehow knowing she was cold unsettled him. Before he could say anything, she dunked a hand into the water. Then, surprised, she said, “It’s warm?”

“Yeah, when it flows, anyway.”

She threw a confused look at him. “Why’s it warm?”

He shrugged. “How would I know? Underwater volcanic activity?”

She bit her lip on a retort.

Wanting her to come out and say it, he prodded, “This is the second time today you’ve assumed I know anything about geography.”

When she still didn’t reply, he went one step further.

“Was it one of your expectations of me as your C.O?”

“Shut up and suck it,” she snapped at last, throwing him a glare. “You’re not my C.O.”

He held up a finger. “I’m older than you,” lifted another, “higher-ranked,” a third, “and obviously smarter. Plus I have something that makes me more important than you anyway.”

Her face showed utter disbelief. “How the hell could you ever be more important than me?”

“I have a penis.”

In an instant she went from offended but curious to complete and utter fury. She launched herself at him – precisely what he’d been expecting. He stood, caught her wrists, and twisted. In the end he had her facedown with her left arm stretched out ahead of her and her right arm behind her back, both of his hands gripping the corresponding wrist, and one knee in her back.

She cursed at him vehemently, only able to see him from the corner of her eye. She struggled, of course, but those struggles quickly died down when it became apparent she was pinned.

“Now,” he told her once she’d quieted, “that’s the Ashelin I’ve been traveling with. What’s with you today?”

He’d surprised her. She managed a confused stutter before asking, “What do hell you mean? You’re the one being an asshole!”

“And you’ve been too docile,” he pointed out. “For the past two days out here – and before, in Haven – you’ve fought with me. But today, you changed. Why do I have to prod you so hard to get you riled?”

She shifted her shoulders and jerked her left arm, so he tightened his hold on her, reminding her that he wasn’t letting her up just yet. “Look, you – let me go already!”

He scoffed. “Would you answer me then?”

He was expecting her to say “no,” which is why it surprised him so much when she snapped, “Fine!”

Well, if it made her more agreeable. . .

He released his grip and got to his feet while she pushed onto her knees before standing, herself. She turned a glare on him, rotating her wrist experimentally. “Well?” he prodded.

Her glare spoke volumes. “Before I tell you anything,” she started, “did you mean that ‘penis’ comment or are you just jerking me around?”

“Prove me wrong.”

He’d never seen such a judgmental look in a person’s eyes before. Had he shaken her so much, to the point where she lost her opinion of him? If that’s the case, he thought, I’ll just have to prove myself again. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

Finally, she said, “I thought I had something to make up for. But apparently, I was wrong.” The last part she said with an accusing tone.

He lifted his brows. Gesturing his wounded arm, he replied, “You mean this?” At her nod, he gave a laugh. “You don’t understand a damn thing about the military, do you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I was raised under the care of a military father, thank you. I think I have a good grasp of how it works.”

“No, you don’t,” he shot back. “You know how your father thinks it works. Are you sure it’s the same thing?”

Judging by the shock in her face, she hadn’t thought of it like that before. “Because of me, you were wounded,” she reasoned.

“Which is my fault for failing to prepare you for battle,” he countered.

Her jaw worked as though she were trying to come up with a fault in his logic. “But. . .wait. You’re saying my failure isn’t my failure?”

“Whatever you fail in,” he replied, a little exasperated at having to explain, “is my fault for failing to teach you.” He pointed at his arm. “This is practically a wound I gave myself.”

For a moment her entire disposition was disbelief. The most reaction she had was the occasional blink, until she gave a shake of her head. Lifting her hands in a “I give” gesture, she said, “Alright, fine. You don’t want any guilt from me, I won’t give you any.”

“Good,” he replied with a smile. “Now take a bath.”

Obviously that wasn’t what she expected him to say, given how sharply she turned her head.

“You need to get warm before you catch a cold,” he advised her, passing her by when he noticed the fire was starting to die. “And before you ask, I don’t care how much clothing you take off.” As long as it’s everything, his mind supplied unwillingly.

She made a sound that was half a growl and half a huff, burning a hole in the side of his head with her eyes. It made him twist his pose to see her, lifting his brows silently when she didn’t move.

“This isn’t a joke or a tease or a build-up to something,” he reassured her, facing the fire once more to move the sticks accordingly to keep the flame going.

After a few long moments, her booted feet moved away from him. Against his will, he found himself listening very aptly despite having something to devote his attention to. However, he was happy to find, as the sounds keyed in on her fiddling with her belt, that she didn’t seem to find a need to tell him not to look. On the other hand, he couldn’t quite decide if that meant she trusted him not to look or (optimistically) if it was a wordless invitation that he could look.

He found himself damning his own lust, and glad he was facing away from her so she couldn’t see the reaction in his lower extremity.

“And don’t flatter yourself,” he added, upon hearing the splashes that meant she was in the water. “You’re not that hot.”

Smack, he was hit in the back of the neck by something heavy and soaking wet. Pulling it off his shoulders, he found that he’d been struck with her pants, wadded up and dripping wet. The back of his neck stung slightly from the impact.

She couldn’t honestly expect him to sit there after declaring war, could she?

He twisted around to see that she’d submerged all but her eyes and nose beneath the water – and those eyes were pissed. Lifting the wadded pants, he teased, “Can I keep them?”

This time, her movement gave away her intention. She surged up and chucked her shirt at him next, which he caught with a throaty laugh. And although he knew it already, he noted that she wore a top still, practically the same thing as her tank, except that it showed her stomach.

An extra-sexy stomach with water cascading down it, if he did say so himself.

As though she’d woven some kind of playful web, he threw first the shirt then the pants back at her. But she hadn’t been expecting him to retaliate, judging by her surprised shriek. She resubmerged them, however, and once more, her sopping clothing flew across the cave.

Some time later, they were both laughing, and Torn had been effectively soaked. Well, he was planning on bathing at some point anyway, but now it was a solidified plan. After all, he’d told her to get in the water so she wouldn’t get a cold, and now he was in the same position.

He took off and wrung out his shirt while Ashelin finally climbed out, modestly doing her best to remain unseen by him. He kept his back to her for that reason, until she told him he needn’t look away anymore. More than the will to feast his eyes upon her, that meant it was his turn to hop in the spring.

He was untying his boots when she entered his field of vision to sit by the fire, and he noted how she’d wrapped herself in her blanket from the waist down. “That’s going to be too wet to sleep in,” he pointed out grimly.

“Guess I’ll have to use yours then,” she retorted sharply.

He knew she meant it as a “you’re give it up or I’ll take it” way, but he ended up thinking of her pressed against him, which inevitably led to thoughts of what her lips might taste like. . .

He finished disrobing quickly and dunked into the water, wishing it was cold rather than warm. Then maybe he could do something about –

I do not have a hard-on, he told his lower half harshly. It wasn’t that sexy! His reasoning, he found, was useless. He had imprints in his mind of Ashelin dripping wet now, not to mention last night’s proximity and now his imagination playing scenes of them sharing his blanket.

It was all her fault, damn the witch.

You mean, damn that steaming-hot witch, his mind replied against his will. With a defeated groan, he let his head fall back as the images of her began rampaging unchecked in his head.

“Did you just groan?”

He blew out a sigh. “The water feels good,” he lied.

She scoffed. “You sound like an old man.”

“And it’s your fault, little girl.”

“Ass.”

“That’s my girl.”

“You’re not my C.O.”

He couldn’t help but grin. He wondered if she knew that they weren’t arguing this point anymore – that they were arguing because it was an argument, something they both fully understood. “I wasn’t talking about ranks,” he retorted.

He heard her laugh. “There’s nothing else we have in common.”

That’s when he turned to look over his shoulder, noting how she was facing the fire and not him. Silly woman probably thought he bared himself completely – he was still wearing his briefs, as he didn’t trust her not to look anymore than she trusted him not to.

Well, that and he knew she’d likely shriek at him if he actually did decide to get in totally nude (should she look to see, of course.)

“You really think that?” he had to ask.

She leaned to the side on her arm to twist around and meet his eyes. “Do we have anything else in common?” she returned.

He shrugged. “I thought our attitudes were pretty close,” he answered honestly. Not as close as we could be in a few minutes –

It was times like this he wished he could turn off his inner monologue. He just hoped his expression didn’t betray where his thoughts were wandering. He knew she’d crow victoriously if she knew he had lustful thoughts about her. . .shortly before deciding he needn’t grace the world with his presence any longer.

If he had her pegged right, anyway.

“It would explain the fire,” she agreed lightly, gesturing with her hand as though it was no big deal. “But being stubborn is hardly an exclusive trait,” she pointed out.

“There’s being stubborn,” he countered, “and then there’s strength.”

He had her full attention now, as she turned around to face him. “You think I’m strong?”

It clicked in him, then, that this was important to her – probably more important than anything else he could say. Even so, he couldn’t help but tease her a bit. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Physically, you’re very capable.”

She narrowed her eyes with a sigh that said she didn’t appreciate the joke.

“. . .Or did you mean personality-wise?” When her expression shifted from disappointment to curiosity, he went on. “Absolutely, you’re strong. I’ve seen a lot of soldiers, a lot of comrades and superiors,” he told her. “If they don’t have the will to keep going, you find out right away. For instance. . .everyone who didn’t show up to this outing.”

Her face became unreadable about halfway through, and now he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. But she wasn’t looking away, still holding his gaze. He couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing, however; despite his years of soldier’s training, he found himself completely without clues. Maybe if she would just blink he’d have somewhere to begin. . .

“I showed up just to prove you wrong,” she finally said.

He cocked his head skeptically. “Would just a stubborn person risk their life just to prove me wrong?”

“If it’s you,” she sneered, “just maybe.”

“Maybe doesn’t make you keep going when you could easily turn back,” he pointed out. “At any time you could’ve said you want to abandon the trip, and I’d be obligated to get you back to Haven safe and in one piece.”

A lingering silence spread out between them then, which broke when she sighed. “And I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t,” he laughed. He relaxed against the rocks in a position that let him continue looking at her for however long this conversation would last, then continued, “Hell, you’re showing a lot more tenacity than I usually see in new troops.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he met her eyes, “that you have potential. To do what, I couldn’t say. But it’s possible you could rule the world some day.”

She scoffed. “That’s bull.”

“Prove me wrong,” he repeated himself. He settled comfortably back into the rocks to actually wash then, considering the conversation essentially over with. “But in this case,” he added thoughtfully, “that’s probably a bad idea.”

She didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. In his mind, he was hoping she’d quit putting up fronts and trying to decide things for him, and instead choose to be herself. So far he’d come to the conclusion that she was tough, but it was an act erected to be seen as the daughter of Praxis. When she choked yesterday at the thought of battle, that was her real self emerging.

He was a firm believer that nobody can be blamed for being who they are; but a person who wants to change himself, to better himself, is a person of strength and will. It was this thinking which got him where he was today, from a poor boy with no name who happened to be good at strategizing, to an up-and-coming soldier at the top of his class. Ashelin had that in her as well, the potential to change if she chose to.

And either she was unaware of that strength – a possible side-effect of pretending to be strong for so long – or she truly believes she was who she pretended to be. Whichever it may be, the fact remains that she was lying, to herself and to others. Most especially to her father.

So he made it his goal to make her realize that. He had four days left to try.

Sometime later, she had to call him to get his attention, half-dozing in the water. He had to shake the lethargy from his limbs to get moving, a clear sign that he was out of it for far too long. His clothes, neatly placed near the water but not close enough to get wet, remained perfectly dry.

And, he saw with a cocked brow, Ashelin had helped herself to his blanket, leaving hers stretched out with her clothes on some rocks to dry.

He came up beside her, crouched down, and cleared his throat. She merely looked at him with a sweet smile. Gesturing between them, he started, “And what are we going to do about this?”

“You’re going to be cold all night,” she told him smartly.

Not wanting to sit down (which would get sand on his rump) kept him crouched and uncomfortable. He hung his head, allowing a few laughs to escape. If this was the real Ashelin as well, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to uncover the rest anymore.

“I do need to dry off, and I will fight you for my blanket,” he all but snapped. With cold beginning to set in, his patience was stretched thin.

“Then use my blanket,” she retorted, jerking her head in the rough direction of the item.

He raised his brows. “And you’re alright with me rubbing your blanket all over my wet body?”

She narrowed her eyes. “When you say it like that, no. You can freeze,” she said carelessly.

With a sigh, he got to his feet, deciding that if she wanted to play hard, he’d play hard. He strode over to the blanket, snatched it up and made a show of wiping himself off, from chest to back to groin –

She had enough at that point. “Fuck man, fine!” she yelled, and he was promptly smacked with his wadded blanket. With disgust evident, she yanked her own blanket from his hands and laid it back as though she didn’t want to touch it. Her reaction, in fact, was strong enough that he was offended.

“I didn’t piss on it,” he snapped.

“Close enough,” she sneered.

Holy shit, she was pissed. From there the insults were slung with much more venom than ever before, neither of them able to back down. The rage between them just kept building until it became obvious that they were both all but starving. It was a mutual decision then, to leave the fangs behind in order to eat. They remained silent throughout the meal, glaring daggers every time their eyes met.

Afterwards, when he was dry enough, he put his pants back on, successfully keeping his legs warm. He was just considering whether or not he’d need the shirt (the cave was fairly warm thanks to the spring) when he caught Ashelin inspecting her own clothes.

For a moment he had to marvel that even though they were far from getting along at the moment, they were still thinking in sync. Must be the training, he reasoned, narrowing his eyes when it appeared she wasn’t going to get dressed.

“They’re not dry yet?” he asked, honestly surprised.

“No, they’re not,” she retorted sarcastically.

Had things degraded quite that far? With the way their relationship was going, it was like they were allies one moment and bitter enemies the next. But he’d had enough of the bad attitudes.

“Do you need my blanket?” he offered, trying to keep any anger or annoyance from his voice.

She looked surprised, but ultimately shook her head. “Then you’d be cold.”

He spread his arms. “I still have a shirt and jacket,” he pointed out.

“And you’d still be cold,” she said more firmly.

She had a point. Yet she didn’t seem to understand that he could take it better than a half-naked –

Stop scoping her legs, he snarled at himself. Even so, he came to the realization then that she was probably freezing all through the meal, unable to use a dry blanket or even her own clothes. All at once he felt like an unfair brute and cursed himself for it.

So he made the decision that if he had to be cold tonight, so be it. When she sat before the fire, hands outstretched, he came up behind her and draped his blanket over her. Without waiting to see her reaction, he crossed over to the clothes he hadn’t put on yet, starting with the shirt. He knew she was likely staring at him in disbelief, but hell, he wasn’t going to let her suffer just because they couldn’t get along.

He wondered, briefly, if she had any idea that he was thinking of her and not himself.

- - - - -

Day Three: Completed.