A/N; Enjoy!

"She likes me," murmured Duncan, slashing at the headboard of his bunk, "She likes me not. She likes me. She likes me not. She –"

"Duncan," hissed a very familiar voice, and he looked up to see the door swing open, moonlight streaming in and illuminating the figure that was his best friend.

"She likes me," he finished, putting in one last slash into the headboard, forming a perfect skull, before sticking the knife in his hand into the wood and standing up, making his way to the door. He noticed that Gwen was already dressed, as usual, but was wearing his spiked collar. A grin spread across his face.

"Come on," she called, and he followed her out, snagging a black T-shirt from his bed and pulling it over his bare torso. They made their way to the bridge, not bothering to get any food on the way, where she perched herself upon the railing. She swung her legs as she looked down onto the water, her back to him.

"Something bothering you, sweetheart?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You know what's bothering me," she sighed, not looking at him.

"Trent, huh?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I'm worried about him," she said, "I don't know anymore. He was this laid-back, cool guy when we were on Season One, and now he's become so obsessed with me, and he just isn't that guy anymore, and I don't know what I should do, and it's driving me nuts."

"Hey," said Duncan, folding his arms and placing them on the railing, "So you're just meeting the new side of Trent, huh? It's like with Courtney. There's the side of her that's the bossy, psychotic control freak that I sometimes want to strangle…"

Gwen turned to him, a smile on her face, "But?"

"But," he said, "There's another side to her that's all full of danger and surprises, which is the part that I fell for."

"Hmm," she mused, looking back up to the sky, "Y'know, we should've trashed the boat instead of the bus. That way, we'd still be at Camp Wawanakwa. You can see the stars better from there."

"You a fan of star-gazing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded.

"I've always been enamored by the sky," she said, "Every night, I'd perch myself on my window sill, and stare up into the stars. Wondering what it would be like to just jump off and fly, all the way up there….."

She shot him a wry smile, "Silly, huh?"

He shook his head, utterly serious, "Not at all."

She grinned brightly, and then pointed upwards, outlining a cluster of stars with her finger, "I know most of the constellations by now. That's Hercules, right there. Do you know any myths about him?"

He shrugged carelessly, "Eh, mythology never interested me. I know he's a really strong Greek dude, and something about Atlas and golden apples."

She laughed, "Well, I won't bore you with any star talk."

He nodded absently, going back to gazing at the sky. She counted two more constellations, naming the stars in them to herself, before she looked to him. She couldn't help but notice how gorgeous his teal eyes looked when they reflected the light of the moon. There was a small, thoughtful smile on his face which made her feel like she was intruding on a personal moment; his shoulders weren't as stiff as usual, his expression was serene and untroubled, and as he looked to the stars he seemed to be just blissfully happy, his form exuding that careless yet handsome look that he pulled off so easily –

She shook her head, mortified of what was going through her mind. She needed something, anything, to distract herself and derail the train of very dangerous thought. She turned around so that her legs now dangled on the side of the bridge, and dismounted from the railing, before turning to look to the sky.

"Hey," she said conversationally, "Is it just me, or does that constellation look like Harold pancake butt, with his spaghetti legs attached? See?"

She turned to him, expecting him to laugh or at least agree, but he just continued to stare at the stars, unaware. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I just gave you the perfect set up for a dig and you leave me hanging?" she asked incredulously, "What's your damage?"

He sighed, resting his chin on his hand, his elbow propped up on the railing, and asked, "Do you thing Courtney might be looking at the stars now?"

She felt something squeeze in her chest; a sort of disappointment she couldn't explain, before rolling her eyes and snickering, "Wow, who knew you were such a sucker for the A-type."

He turned to her, a playful grin on his face, the dreamy look no longer there, and punched her lightly in the shoulder, "Wanna make something of it?"

She grinned widely, a hand going to where he had punched her, and said boldly, "You can do better than that."

His eyes glinted with mischief, and she realized what he was about to do too late, for his arm shot out and hooked around her waist, deftly picking her up, her back pressed to his chest. No, he wasn't going to throw her into the water this time.

She tussled with him, neatly turning so that she was facing him. One of her legs hooked behind his, and she tugged it forward, the both of them letting out a cry as they fell forward.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt her back hit the bridge, but more importantly, felt his torso press to hers, his face inches from the planks and his warm breath against her neck. He grunted, before placing his palms against the wood and pushing himself up, hovering over her, still dangerously close.

"Oooh," he cooed, tilting his head as he studied her, and she held back a blush, grinning at him.

"Alright, lover-boy," she said, placing her hands to his chest, "Get off me."

"Nah," he drawled, smirking, "I think I like this position."

"Perv," she accused, rolling her eyes yet grinning, "If you don't move I'll have to make you."

"I'd like to see you try," he taunted infuriatingly.

Her gaze hardened with concentration, and she moved her hands, placing them firmly on his chest, before her whole torso jerked forward to push him off her.

She should have realized that he'd be stronger than her.

It all happened at once. Her eyes widened in surprise as he budged only slightly, she moving forward so suddenly she slammed into him, her mouth crashing against his. They stayed there in a shocked silence, lips pressed together and eyes wide in confusion and surprise. His lips, she noted unconsciously, tasted of smoke and chocolate, and they were chapped yet somehow smooth –

She pulled away suddenly, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed as she scrambled out from under him, getting to her feet. She turned to see him slowly standing up, a confused look on his face. He lifted his head to look at her, his teal eyes reflecting no emotion, and she had no idea what he was thinking. Her heart was pounding against her chest and she wanted nothing more to run far, far away. One moment ago, he was talking about how much he liked Courtney, and the next, she had kissed him! Accidentally, of course, but she had just kissed Duncan! How could she? What would Courtney say?

"Well," said Duncan finally, his voice hoarse, "It's a good thing I don't have a lip piercing."

And that was when, like a deer caught in the headlights, she ran all the way back to the cabin.

Duncan walked slowly back to the trailer, his expression pensive. He knew it had been a mistake, and the look on Gwen's face had been one of pure horror, but he didn't understand why she had run. Had kissing him been that bad? He supposed his comment had been a little tactless, and maybe he should've just…..Alright, he had no idea what he should've done. He didn't even know how he felt about what just happened.

He walked into his trailer, sitting down heavily on his bunk. He looked up, spotting Harold performing some weird-ass spasm-like movements in his bed, before crying out and falling to the ground.

Duncan guffawed loudly, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

"What a loser," he wheezed, looking to Harold who was getting up slowly, glaring at him, "What, were you fighting off LeShawna in your dream?"

"Were you out in the crafts trailer, eating paint?" Harold retorted. Duncan paused, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Dude, was kind of lame insult is that supposed to be?"

"Your mouth is blue," Harold accused, "What do you have to say about that?"

His hand went up to his lips, brushing against them, before holding it up to his eyes, and he noted the blue lipstick on his fingers. Gwen's lips had had the distinctive taste of blueberry bubblegum, he mused. He remembered that, the first time he kissed Courtney, she had just puked a PB&J sandwich.

Despite himself, a lazy grin spread across his face, and he leaned back into his pillow, forgetting Harold.

As first kisses went, this one had been pretty damned good.

"Now, this," said Michael, smiling slightly, "I think we can give."

Camilla looked at the video-cam thoughtfully, and said, "Sure. But a little editing first."

Duncan had no idea how anyone in their team had the gall to vote off Gwen. He watched as Chef slapped the handcuffs onto her wrists and escorted her to the lame-o-sine, and the scowl on his face only deepened. Damn them. Damn them all. Especially Heather, that stupid bitch.

He ran past his so-called team-mates towards her. They never even got to resolve the whole kiss thing. He didn't want them to part on such a weird note.

"Wait," he called, skidding to a halt in front of them, "Take me instead!"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How was that supposed to help? It wasn't like she'd see it like some sort of gallant gesture. She'd probably just think that he wanted out of the game really badly.

"Alright," said Chef gruffly, deftly taking the handcuffs from Gwen and holding them out to him. Duncan reeled back, memories of being cuffed and stuffed into police cars resurfacing. There was no way he'd put those on willingly. He wondered if he'd be able to convince Chris to swap Heather out for Gwen. Who knew, maybe the guy would -

"You're not getting out that easy," said Gwen, smirking at him, taking the handcuffs from Chef and walking towards the lame-o-sine, "Good luck, Duncan."

He froze, stunned by this perfectly normal exchange, before turning and walking towards the vehicle, "Gwen, wait."

She looked up, a knowing smile on her face, "About yesterday, right?"

He nodded, "I wasn't exactly -"

"Save it," she said, rolling her eyes, "What happened, happened. Oh, I almost forgot."

Her hands reached up to her neck, deftly undoing the clasp on is dog-collar, which he just realized was there. She held it out to him, smiling sheepishly.

"I forgot to return this," she said, "I did leave your shirt back in your cabin, though."

He looked at the collar in her hands, and wondered momentarily how none of his team-mates had noticed that he wasn't wearing it, before saying, "Keep it. It looks better on you, anyway."

She looked at him in surprise, before turning around in her seat and pulling something out of her back. She held it out to him; a small, black notebook with a teal heart on the cover.

"Then I want you to have this," she said, flushing slightly. He took the book, running his hands over the cover.

"...Is this your diary?" he asked finally, and she snorted, shaking her head.

"As if I'd give that to you. No, that's my sketch book. I want you to have it."

He smiled at her, strangely touched by the offer, "Thanks, Goth-girl."

She shot him a grin, shutting the door and peering at him through the window, "Win for me, Bad-boy."

Duncan laid back in his bed, holding the book up to his face, and looking at it thoughtfully, before opening it to the first page. There, in spiky handwriting, a single line was scrawled.

This book belongs to Gweneira M. If found, return or suffer a painful death.

He chuckled slightly, then marveled at how only the first page could've told him something he didn't know about her. He'd always thought Gwen was just...Gwen. He'd toyed with the idea of her being a Gwendolyn or a Gwyneth, but the name Gweneira had never occurred to him. He smiled to himself. It suited her; it was an unusual, unique name.

He turned the page, now looking at a rough pencil sketch of two people; one was her, and the boy who stood by her looked younger; her brother, Xavier, he assumed. They were making faces at each other, and he could almost picture how he looked in real life.

He flipped through the next few pages, all of which were done in detail; animals, wild life, random scenery of a park or a shady street. He liked how the pictures had no particular theme. He paused at one page; a rough sketch of Trent in his swimming trunks, before involuntarily scowling, the page crinkling under his iron grip. He realized what he was doing a bit late, and let go, noticing he had caused a small rip on the side of the page. Sighing, he continued to flip through the pages. He could tell that the drawings he was looking at were from when she was on the show; there were pictures of some of the contestants, and the sets, and a little caricature of her floating on a cloud of dollar signs.

He laughed, and flipped the page. And froze.

It was him. In his white undershirt. He turned the page. Him leaning against a tree, looking bored. Next page; him smoking. The next page; him, that day on the bridge, his arms on the railing as he looked up at the sky.

Unconsciously, his hand ran over the page, admiring the intricate detail that his, and the way she'd captured his expression. A slow, uncharacteristically soft smile spread across a his face.

He would win this for her.

Here's the next chapter. I'm sorry for the delay, but I've been so busy :/