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It was far into the early morning hours, and the two travel-companions were still on the road. Brendon had insisted upon driving straight through the night, and into the next day, a fact that Margot was not very happy about.

"Come on, Brendon. I'm tired, and I don't feel like sleeping in the car. Can't we just stop at a motel, or something?" she whined, sighing heavily and rubbing her eyes.

"No, Margot. I told you, we'll get there that much sooner by just driving straight through the night." Brendon was also very tired, but wasn't about to let on to Margot.

"But this is a two day trip. I don't wanna have to do this again tomorrow night--"

"Tonight, actually; it's four in the morning," Brendon interrupted.

"Tonight," Margot corrected herself. "And you certainly can't go two full days without sleeping, while driving a car, no less. It's not safe."

"Margot, please. Just trust that I know what I'm doing. I've been driving a lot longer than you have." The conversation had dropped there, and neither one said a word for quite some time.

"Hey, Margot," Brendon said a few hours later. "What book are you reading?"

"A collection of Henrik Ibsen plays," she murmured without looking up.

"Oh," Brendon said, not knowing who that was. "What play are you reading, now?"

"A Doll's House," she replied shortly.

"What's it about?"

Margot sighed, as though she were putting a lot of effort into keeping her patience. "It's about a woman who takes a loan out to save her husband's life, but he doesn't know anything about it. Many years pass, and she gets into trouble, because she's led such a sheltered life with her father, and now her husband, that she didn't know anything about any laws concerning borrowing money. She has a very child-like view of the world, perpetuated by the fact that she's more like her husband's pet than anything else. He's constantly calling her his 'little songbird' and a 'singing lark'."

"Is he mean to her?"

"That's the thing," Margot said, finally looking up. "He doesn't hit her, and he takes care of her, but it's almost like he's training her to perform in public to reflect well on himself. And if she doesn't follow his rules, and do as he tells her, he scolds her like a child. She might as well be another child of his." Margot nodded, her eyes lit up at the discussion of the play.

"Hm..." Brendon hummed, nodding slowly. "Does he tell her that he's the one that knows what's best for her?"

"Oh yeah," Margot said, rolling her eyes. "Every time she tries to oppose him, he--" She stopped, suddenly, looking sharply at Brendon. "Oh, no," she warned, shutting her book with a snap. "Save it, Brendon. I don't want to hear it. You're not comparing my relationship to a tragic play at seven in the morning, especially when I haven't gotten any sleep."

"Hey, all I'm saying is, you act like it's so ridiculous to happen in your play, but when it happens in your relationship, you think nothing of it. Don't you think that's a little hypocritical?" Margot didn't answer; she just returned to her play. She happened to glance up a few minutes later.

"Oh, look," she said offhandedly. "A Starbucks."

"Starbucks?" Brendon half-yelled, yanking the wheel so that the car veered into the parking lot.

"Jesus, Brendon!" Margot yelled, grabbing the dashboard so she wouldn't fall off the seat. "Whatever happened to wanting to get there that much faster?"

"Oh, please," Brendon said, waving his hand at her as he turned the car off and got out. "Ten minutes at Starbucks is not going to make a difference. Besides," he added as an afterthought. "You said yourself, I can't drive two straight days without sleep. This'll wake me up." Margot rolled her eyes, but followed Brendon into the café.

"Hi! Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you today?" the barista behind the counter greeted too cheerily for Brendon or Margot's liking.

"Hi," Brendon said, stepping forward. "I'm just gonna have a grande black coffee. No room for cream and sugar."

"Would you like to make that a venti for an extra forty cents?" The barista, a girl of about nineteen or so, never stopped smiling.

"Well, if I'd wanted a venti, I would have ordered one in the first place," Brendon told her in the duh-voice.

"Alrighty, sir!" she replied cheerfully still, the grin on her face never faltering for a moment. "And you, ma'am?" The smile faded a bit. Margot was already put-off by how peppy this barista was, so it was with a slight tone of disdain that she answered,

"Can I just have a tall Passion-Tea Lemonade? Sweetened, please. Oh, and a toasted croissant," she added, spotting the pastries beside them in the display case.

"You sure you wanna do that?" Brendon muttered. Margot ignored him.

"Alright," answered than barista, finishing scribbling on the cup and putting the croissant in the toaster. "Your total's gonna be $11.42."

"Here," Margot said, handing a gift card to the barista before Brendon could get his money out. "I've had this forever, and I keep forgetting to use it."

"Thanks," Brendon said as they walked to the counter where the drinks would be.

"Yeah," Margot answered, still put-off by the too-cheery barista. Was it just Margot's imagination, or had she been flirting with Brendon? Not that she cared, she hastily told herself. No, it was just...well, if they were in Starbucks together, shouldn't she just assume they were a couple, and back off? How classless. If she and Brendon really were a couple, Margot would probably have been upset by it.

And, why Brendon, anyway? Oh sure, Margot reasoned. She supposed he was good-looking enough, but...it wasn't like Margot thought so, and why should anyone else? Not to mention, he had a perpetual piss-poor attitude. Had no one noticed how rudely he had replied to the girl when she'd offered a larger size? Well, maybe he'd also just been put-off by the girls obvious flirting attempts. Yes, Margot decided. That was it. He just--

"Margot? Margot. Hey, Margot!" Brendon nudged her out of her reverie.

"What!" Margot screamed, jumping back and hitting the counter.

"Your tea," he said, handing her the cup with pink liquid inside.

"Oh," she said, sighing heavily and taking the cup. "Sorry. Thanks. Wait," she said as they headed for the door. "Aren't you going to put any cream or sugar in your coffee?"

"Nope," he said. "I drink it black." To illustrate this, he took a long swig, then jumped. "Fuck, it's hot." He fanned his mouth, and Margot giggled. "Not funny," he informed her with a grimace.

"I thought it was." They were back in the car, and Margot was unwrapping her warm croissant.

"Whatever, fatty," he said, taking a more tentative sip of his coffee. "You know how fattening that is, right?"

"Oh, well. Want some?" she asked, ripping the pastry in half and offering one side to Brendon.

"...Yeah."

"You know what my mom would say if she were here, watching us drink coffee and tea and eating half a croissant, right?" Margot smirked, knowing he'd know.

"Breakfast of the champions!" Brendon exclaimed, raising his cup and taking a long swig for effect. Margot laughed.

"Exactly." She drank her tea through the straw, smirking at her travel-companion.

They set off, again, and the hours continued to pass. "Hey, look! State sign!" Margot exclaimed, pointing. Her excitement didn't last long, however, when she saw what state they were entering. "Brendon," she said slowly, thinking. The last sign she's seen was an Ohio one, but she'd just thought it was a goodbye sign...Oh, no. "Did you get turned around after we left Friday's last night?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "Why?"

"Because that's a sign welcoming us to Pennsylvania. And I'm pretty sure that Pennsylvania is not on the way from Ohio to Nevada." Brendon pulled a hasty, illegal U-turn, veering to the side of the road. Yep, sure enough...

"Shit!" Brendon got out of the car, slamming the door and stomping around in the grass. "Dammit! Shit!" Margot sighed, exiting the car, as well.

"Brendon--"

"I don't want to hear it, okay, Margot?" He continued storming around and kicking things. "I know, I fucking know: it's my fault! Fuck!"

"No, Brendon," Margot said in a voice that was trying to be calm and soothing. "It's not your fault. It was late last night when we left, and neither one of us was paying attention. It was an honest mistake that anyone could have made."

"Do you not fucking understand what this means, Margot? I'm going to miss my own father's funeral!" He backed up against the car, sliding down the side to crouch in the dirt. He banged his head back against the tire, and Margot could see that he was finally crying.

"That's not true, Brendon! We could make it. We could--" Margot couldn't let Brendon miss his father's funeral, not for anything in the world.

"No, Margot!" he interrupted. "It's over. It's fucking over. My dad died, and I wasn't there for him. And I still can't be there for him. He's gone, and I won't even be there to say goodbye." Brendon leaned his head forward, pulling his knees to his chest, and cried. His shoulders shook with sobs, and it broke Margot's heart to know that he was hurting so much. She slowly walked toward him, sitting beside her companion and, after a moment of contemplation, slid her arm around his shoulders. He didn't resist; he even leaned into her, allowing himself to be coddled by Margot.

"It's not your fault, Brendon. It could never be your fault," she cooed. "You loved your dad, and he knew that. Whether or not you get to say goodbye at his funeral won't change that." For a very long time, the couple simply sat there. Brendon's sobs eventually subsided and died down, and his breathing slowed down and evened out. His arms slid around Margot's waist, and they were in a position where they were holding each other gently. After a while, Margot nudged Brendon, and they both stood.

"What do we do, now?" Brendon asked once they were back in the car.

"Well," Margot began thoughtfully. "I'd say...let's get to the nearest airport."


Mehh, sorry this chap is so wicked-long. I guess I got a bit carried away. Whatcha think? Too much, with the whole "now they have to drive" thing? I dunno, I figured it would get monotonous and boring if it was just regular-old driving for the rest of the story. In my book, boring is not good. And, since it's my book that you're reading, I'm guessing you agree. Okay. So...go comment/subscribe and tell me what else you think could possibly go wrong. Oh, and mention what you liked about the chapter, whilst you're there. Thanks. OverAndOutxx