against the soft sand. "I needed a shower."
Seth narrowed his gaze, knowing exactly what she meant by that. He also knew that he no right to complain. She had done whatever she had done, with whomever she had done it with. He could hardly be angry with her now.
He left her alone, choosing to focus on unpacking his welding equipment and raw material instead. It was the kind of physical labor he enjoyed, though he suspected it would grant him no peace at the moment.
Miranda was on his mind, and had been the entire night. He felt as if he'd spent every hour before sunrise with her demons, and now they somehow become his own.
It had always been unclear to him, what exactly constituted a relationship and what didn't. The timelines and the rules about how it happened, or when, or to what degree…the definitions that human minds, smart as they were, made up only to later deny or sabotage.
His connection to Miranda was real. It didn’t require definition. It didn’t have to be acceptable to her ex, to the FBI, or to anyone else. It was just there, something he couldn’t ignore. No matter how bad her situation was, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see it.
Exactly what he was going to do about it, however, was a different question. If everything that Pete had told him was true, she couldn’t simply be coaxed into the back of an RV and driven out of the desert. There were psychological land mines waiting to go off, injuries he couldn't see, problems he could only make worse.
And yet, working for the FBI didn't exactly fall within his comfort zone. He had a hard time trusting them, especially when they weren't making any sense.
So if he wasn't going to haul her off on his own, and he wasn't going to become an FBI informant, he had no choice but to try and reach her here, in this environment, while trying to appear to her captors as if that was the last thing on his mind. It all sounded great, as dumb ideas went, but promised to become tricky in practical application.
He clenched his teeth, heaving the steel tubing out of the RV's storage compartment and stacking individual lengths in the shimmering heat. He dragged out his welding rig and began organizing a space to work, setting up his tanks and a small sunshade, complete with a picnic table and plastic chairs.
Sweating in the heat, he shrugged off his shirt and covered his dark hair with his cowboy hat, catching an admiring glance from a girl in the neighboring camp. He pretended not to see it, figuring that he already had all the trouble he wanted.
Cecilia staggered out from under the RV and collapsed in one of the plastic chairs, wincing into the hot sunlight. Her eyeliner had run down her cheeks. Her hair, skin and clothes were covered in dust.
She grimaced, as if she were about to throw up.
"You okay?" he asked.
She gestured for him to be quiet.
He shook his head, drawing a bottle of water from the plastic cooler under the table and placing it in front of her. She looked at it in disgust.
"You came right back here, didn't you?" she asked.
He held her gaze without reply.
"And now you're judging me," she accused. "You think you know what I did last night, all the things I did, and you think you know the reasons. You see me like this, and you're… it's like you're disappointed."
"I'm not judging you."
"It's not like I'd expect you to understand. Burning Man is about exploration and freedom, and you're not free. You may be an artist, Seth, but you don't really know what its like to live as an artist, to push the limits, to free your mind and live like it's an adventure."
"You should really drink that water."
"See?" she asked, leveling a dark look. "I'm trying to explain something profound here and all you can think about is the fucking water."
"Excuse me," a young woman interrupted. She stood a few feet away, a short, blonde haired girl with tight ringlet curls and blue eyes. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I came here with an important message."
Cecilia's
Going Too Far (v1.1) [rtf]