A/N: This was a pain in the ass to finish. It took me over a week before I was finally happy with it. It's inspired by the song "End Transmission: by AFI.

Enjoy, and reviews are love.

South leaned back, pulling off her helmet and allowing the slightly cool night air to touch her pores, her hair, everything. She had the urge to pull off all her armor, but with nothing else to wear she did not have the luxury of doing so.

The sky was black, littered with stars to create a streak of milky white and silver against the darkness. South felt her breathing ease, the first true sense of calm she had experienced in years.

It was the only place she could clear her thoughts; the fucked up shit that was running through her brain. She would grab a Warthog, rev up the engine and see where the night led her. Technically, she was breaking about five different rules and regulations by doing so, but what the Councilor didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

She could hear footsteps behind her, barely audible as they sunk into the deep sand, and she jumped, her cheeks flushing at her own weakness.

"Who's there?" She called out, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat, trying to sound more threatening, "Don't even think about getting closer- I can kill you with my eyes closed."

A laugh, his laugh. "Not very scary, you know."

Wash pulled off his own helmet, his messy brown hair sticking up in all directions, like he had received an electrical shock.

She couldn't help it; she began to giggle, and he wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"Your…hair…"

South managed to breathe between fits of laughter, "Now who is the not so scary one?"

"Shut up." He ran his fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to flatten it.

"Better?" He asked.

"Yes."

"How did you figure out where I was?" South raised an eyebrow, "Did you follow me?"

He looked at the dunes, almost nervous as he met her eyes, "I heard you kick starting the Warthog. Not very subtle- I'm sure they heard you all the way on Earth."

"Bullshit."

They sat in silence for a few moments, South tilting her head upwards, staring at the stars. Finally she licked her lips and spoke, her words directed towards the heavens, rather than him.

"My father always told me that the stars would follow me wherever I went, no matter how lost I was." She sighed, thinking of the locket that burned a hole in her heart, "But I'm still looking."

She was startled when he replied, his eyes on her, "What are you looking for?"

"I don't know, actually."

She paused for a moment, peeling off her gloves and picking up a handful of sand, the gritty pieces running through her fingers.

She wasn't quite sure what it was that made her open her mouth again, but before she could stop herself she blurted out, "I've missed sand. When I was twelve my family spent the summer on Prince Edward Island, where my aunt had a house. My father's sister- they came from an old family line up in Maine, property owners that had land on the island itself. She was the one who taught me to ride horses, on the beach. What I remember most was the ocean, the feeling of being beyond gravity, the wind in your hair, and salt in your face. You know?"

Another five minutes of silence, and South felt irritation coming on quickly, wrestling with her thoughts.

Way to sound ridiculous. What is this, a Nicholas Sparks novel? Why are you even confiding in him in the first place?

He frowned, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, "Not really. Sort of. I mean, when my family ended up in places like that it was one boring party after another."

South nodded, pushing small groups of sand into piles, molding clumps between her fingertips. She had been part of that experience more times than she could count- usually downing several glasses of Cristal were the only thing that could make such gatherings bearable.

"I remember the welcoming gala they threw for the opening of the library wing at Markham."

She grinned, once again her fifteen year old self, who had taken Ecstasy for the very first time and ended up making out with a man who she would later recognize as the 11th grade Latin teacher.

Whoops.

"Yeah," he said softly, "You were so wild at boarding school; I'm surprised they didn't expel you three times over."

"They tried, but my mother donated enough money to help them see the error of their ways- and a reminder to keep me quiet, that I shouldn't even dream of messing up my perfect brother's future. I fucking hated it so much."

She wanted to stop the flow of words that were coming out of her mouth- she had kept her lips sealed for so long, the exoskeleton she had cultivated was cracking in front of him, the way it did all those years ago, when she had been a headstrong girl with a crush, determined to get what she wanted despite being rejected.

The thought that was constantly swimming her mind came to the surface yet again, and before she could begin to harden herself the words were spilling without discretion, dizzying in their power and force.

The five words she had been desperate to ask, but never did, cultivating her hurt into hate, her anger into rebelling, convinced that she would never truly be loveable.

"Why did you say no?"

He didn't reply, fidgeting, as he looked out into the desert, a crease in his forehead. After what felt like forever he moved to get up, simply saying, "I should go."

"Wait! Stay, please."

She hated herself for the neediness that oozed out of her very being- it was a weakness, and she could never let it show, not to anyone, and especially not to him.

What was wrong with her? She didn't need anyone; she didn't want anyone- live alone, die alone, and kick anyone in the balls that dare stand in your way.

She would never be part of a pair again- not with North, and certainly not with Wash.

Her voice seemed to be high pitched and foreign, as if it didn't belong to her at all, that she was watching herself, some other self, outside of her own body.

That strange Agent South Dakota person watched him walk away, his head bowed and shoulders hunched with tension. She ran after him, the hot blooded anger she had shattered only moments earlier coming back full force.

"You are not going to walk away from me again, you fucking douchebag."

She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he pulled away.

"Don't, Cassandra. Just don't."

Her grip tightened, but he wrenched her arm away, walking towards the Warthog he had commandeered.

"Why?" She challenged, overtaking him and standing right in front of him, her face dangerously close to his, "What the fuck are you running away from?"

His eyes were clouded over; he would not meet her expectant stare. "Nothing."

"Bullshit," she snapped.

"What do you want me to say, Cassie?"

"The truth."

---

He had been studying, pouring over his Calculus textbook- there was something mind numbing about math, an automatic process that let him turn off his thoughts every once in a while.

It was late; he had glanced at his clock, past 1am.

He had left the window open, and now the late night breeze ruffled his papers, breaking his concentration. With an annoyed sigh, he made his way to the sill, the faint red glow of a cigarette catching his eye.

A slurred voice weakened and tinged with sadness, almost child-like, thick with tears.

A sniffle.

"David?"

He leaned out the window, straining to see.

And she was there, crumpled in a heap on the lawn, her blonde curls, always messy, now even more so, tangled and smeared with dirt, as if she had fallen into mud somewhere along the way. Pathetically taking a few puffs from her cigarette, hunched over and huddled for warmth, her knees drawn close to her chest.

She looked as though she hadn't sleep in days, weeks, broken into pieces he wasn't meant to see. There was something indecent about watching her this way, something hidden he shouldn't bear witness to.

But something more kept him from wrenching his eyes away. That same feeling had him calling out to her.

"Cassandra?"

The words felt thick in his mouth, the confusion of syllables. They were acquaintances, classmates, nothing more, nothing less. He was friendlier with her twin, William, than he was with her. And yet, oddly enough, it him she called for.

She didn't respond, and taking a deep breath, he opened the window further and slipped out.

It wasn't much of a drop from the window to the ground- a mere foot- but he landed hard on his ankle, wincing.

He called her name again, clearing his throat. Cassandra didn't sound right, too formal, not what he intended.

He tried again, "Cassie?"

A slur of words, more sniffles, "I'm heresh."

He could see her stand up, and crumble once again, and in an instant he was at her side, supporting her.

Under normal circumstances he wouldn't even dream of pulling a girl he barely knew so close, to wrap his hand around her waist in such an intimate manner.

But with her it came to him as automatically as breathing- when she stumbled again he lifted her into his arms, the scent of vodka, cigarettes and despair radiating off her.

She mumbled words into his ear, drunken slurrings he didn't pay much attention to. The situation was all wrong- her exhaustion, fragmented spirit, intoxication.

But he couldn't help but re-imagine the scene in his mind- her smiling as she kissed him, him placing her on the bed…

He shook his head, trying to clear the murky thoughts threatening to overtake him.

Focus. He had to focus on what was going on now.

He could pick apart the lengthy list of things that were wrong with him later. Not here, not now.

He knew which dorm she was in, gently letting her down on the front steps,, pushing the door open for her.

"Take care of yourself," he said softly, turning away.

"Wait."

He shouldn't have gone back. He should have kept walking until he got to his dorm, sure that she was safe and secure in hers.

But he didn't, and when he faced her she met his lips with a kiss he could feel all the way to the bottom of his feet.

More importantly, he shouldn't have kissed her back.

It was wrong. It was beyond wrong.

But why did it feel so good?

"Please," she whispered in his ear, and he pulled out of her grasp.

"No."

He felt bad enough leaving her there, with the beginnings of a hangover, but he would not take advantage of her that way, no matter how much she begged.

And so he walked away, and when she woke she was left with a kiss, one hell of a headache and very few memories.

---

When he finished speaking she was sitting in the sand, her head in the palms of her hands.

" I didn't…I don't remember…"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, once again walking towards the Warthog.

"You're doing it again," she said pointedly, her eyes blazing.

"Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry, damnit!"

"Sor-fuck it."

She laughed, and he found himself thinking, what the hell, joining her.

"Please stay," she said, but this time it was without a hint of desperation, rather, it was warm and inviting.

So he did.

Without thinking he shucked off his gloves, running his hands through the sand she had been touching earlier. She was right; it was soothing, the feeling of grains between his fingers, in waves that would never end.

It was she who reached for his hand, but he was he who pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulders.

And just like that, everything was right with the world.