"How's my girl?"

Stephen Gray appeared in the doorway, came curling around her. His fetching smile was darker than the black t-shirt he was wearing over his rolled-down boiler suit. "Feeling good today?"

Tyche snorted. "I'm not sleeping with you, Stephen."

The man's eyes glittered with barely suppressed intention as he slid up closer behind her, touched her hair. Spent engine oil and tobacco mingled with the warm familiar scent of his body. He loved their little games."I'd be disappointed if you did." Her hair fell through his curious fingers and he added, "But then again, not at all."

She bounced a shoulder. "Isn't there something you should be doing?"

"Nope!" Gray's wolfish grin spread further to see her huffing irritation. "I'm all finished for the morning."

Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms and remarked in his typically bored tone, "What are you trying to do exactly? Tear your arms off?"

"I'm trying to replace one of the hydraulic valves running to the oil pump on this bulldozer, but I can't... seem to... get it to... "

"Need a hand?"

"No!" She glared at the valve. "I can manage! This is simply going to take time and a liberal amount of patience..."

"You don't argue convincingly for patience when you're beating on something with a wrench."

"Leave me alone!" Impatiently, "I'm plenty patient!"

"An admirably cavalier attitude, patience. You don't have time to burn, yet h..."

Her glare shifted to the man. "Can't you think of a single thing better to do than to stand here and make me feel frantic and close to failure?"

Arching a sarcastic eyebrow, Gray remarked, "I could make you feel frantic and close to heaven, but you've already said no to that."

"Big fat oh well!"

"Don't be ashamed to change your mind."

"I won't!"

Grey snorted.

"Mindless physicality," the girl grumbled.

"Don't need your mind to enjoy everything." He slid next to her, put his nose by her ear. "Think about it, Tyche. You know you'd be safe with me. A smile on your face. No regrets..."

Wryly, "Listen to you... There's greater things than being gratified."

He lowered his eyebrows. "And just how would you know?" Shooting her a vaguely contemptuous look over the curve of his neon smile, he'd added, "Your soul is shining, woman, but your body resents you."

In spite of herself, she colored a little.

"That does it." She wriggled away from him. "Why don't you go bother someone who'll actually give in? Or have you slept with them all..."

Stephen glowered, then grinned brightly. "Now, now, my testy angel! I'm not that much of a libertine. It requires way too much effort and I have to stop to eat some time."

He shoved a cigarette between his perfect smirking lips and paused with a lit match flaming away before his face. "You're such a glorious scold. I need you to keep me out of Hell."

"Since when do you believe in Hell?"

"I always reserve the right to alter my opinion."

"Then Hell will have us both if you don't knock it off."

Stephen had taken a drag, disappeared his own haze, waved a careless hand. "I'm not worried. I've seen you, Tyche. You pray harder than anyone in the history of your kind. God would forgive us."

"Don't I screw up enough already? You want to hurry my soul into eternal flame?"

"Is that so wrong?"

Her withering look caused Stephen to burst out in appreciative insolent laughter. "All right. All right. I'm awful."

"You're not awful. Just the devil."

Stepping back she barked peevishly, "This thing has to budge! I've been attacking it for over an hour!"

"Darling, you're the most determined woman I know and frankly I love you for it, but..." Languorously stretching, Grey plucked the cigarette from his lips. "But I've dealt with this particular type of valve before and from my vast personal knowledge of pre-war hardware, determination alone won't help. You have to know how to finesse these monsters. How does one do that, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. Experience."

Rolling her eyes, "It's fine, Stephen. I've..."

"Been fruitlessly hacking at it for an hour."

"Go. Away."

He spread his hands, said in a haughty tone meant to irk her, "Madam, I ask you. Do you have this required finessing experience?"

Sullen. "No."

"Here. Hold this."

She took the cigarette, tossed it on the floor and mashed it out with her boot. "Oops."

"Look at that. Vile harpy."

"Sue me."

Grumbling to himself, he passed both of his arms around her in the confined space.

Flushing, she said, "You know, ... I can... move..."

"Don't bother."

He laid his hands on the valve and executed several elaborate moves. It was clear he knew what he was doing which profoundly irritated her. She felt chest across her back, his shoulder against hers, biting into the resistant threads.

His tone was low and conversational as he worked. "We used to have these damn things all over the place when I was in the Navy. They were the scourge of my existence. Didn't break too often, but when they did, life would grind to a halt while we made repairs. We finally had the good sense to relegate them to non-vital areas. I remember back when I got my first commission, my boat ruptured three of these valves during the first week of our maiden cruise. Three. That was a record. I even fail grandly."

She watched his hands -- he had nice hands, strong boned fingers, hard knuckles that jutted through the skin like peaks. When he wasn't touching people -- hugs, hand shakes, pats on the arm -- he was rubbing his hands on the back of his own neck or gripping metal overhangs just above his head. It was as if it were impossible to not be touching something.

"So you were captain. That must have been exciting."

Shrugging, "The rank was high enough to saddle me with unbelievable amounts of responsibility, but not high enough to pay much. All captains were known to be a little loose in the head for taking the job in the first place."

"Crazy. Well, then you qualified."

"I was nuts, but wasn't quite crazy enough to enjoy the cruddy lifestyle."

"How did you ever support your expensive bad habits?"

Catching her teasing jab, he smiled softly. "I wasn't so bad then. In fact, I was very disciplined and conscientious and nauseating." His voice brightened. "I've been making up for my good behavior ever since."

"And," he continued, turning his face into her neck. "I haven't done anything truly profane lately."

A short laugh escaped her as she gently pushed him away. "I'm not sleeping with you, Stephen."

"There's no wearing you down, dammit."

"No. Not even for you."

Large blue eyes stared at her sidelong. Jamming the valve back into correct alignment, Stephen leaned his encircling arms on the bulldozer and said nothing for a moment. "We'd be good together."

"Stephen..."

"I know I joke around and give you hell, but I... I don't mean..."

"I'm not out for a fling. I need love. There is no halfway."

He suddenly grew intense, bleak, agitated. The joking mood had abandoned him. Very quietly, "I've always been your slave, angel. You know that."

Tyche's sad eyes seemed to bottom out into darkness. "It'll be a struggle, but I could be realistic if you'd just stop... stop trying to snag me. I can't take being teased anymore."

He was speechless and drowning as she added, "If we want to do this right, you go your way and I go mine and we act civilized when we cross paths. You could marry again, or live it up without any complications... It could be easy."

Grey's frustrated whisper quivered in her loose hair. "That's bull. It wouldn't be easy. I already want you, and I know you love me."

"And just what do you care about love?"

"I didn't have a reason to care." Nervous morbid humor interjected itself. "With my terrible habits, you won't be cursed with me for long." He cracked a lopsided grin. "Besides, it'll be a new experience for you. A man who doesn't automatically die when you come near him."

"That's not funny."

"You can't kill me. I refuse."

Desperate tears began to threaten. "But you must think about it," she demanded tightly. "You can't ignore it. I might kill you..."

He stiffened. "It's too late for the both of us. I can't handle being with you or without you, so I might as well be with you, for as long as possible. Furthermore, no guy in his right mind would approach you knowing how many men have died in your wake. I'm not afraid of you or your little hex. So if you want a life with someone, it'll have to be me or no one."

She was trembling, whispered. "We're setting ourselves up for misery."

"We're already miserable."

"I know, but..."

His exasperation was mounting. "You expected something maybe a little more perfect? A blissful, lobotomized kind of happy that's even more impossible than the two of us together? You planned on falling in love with Mr. Disgustingly Appropriate who died over and over, and now you've got Mr. Broken in the Head Who Understands You and you're stepping back? Don't run hot and cold on me, Tyche. You said you need love. I can do that."

Muttering, he pulled her close, dropped his face to hers so their noses were touching. "You're my girl. Reason can't save you."

"Stephen..."

"An annoying nasty habit of death can't save you either."

Her fingernails dug into his arms as he drew her head back, bated at her lips without touching down. Barely audible, he ended with an odd sadness, "You've always been mine, haven't you?"

Tears dribbled down her cheeks. Whispered, "Yes..."

"Get too stroppy with me, baby, and Stephen will make you eat pomegranates. Then you'll never leave Hell."

She shuttered an involuntary laugh, eyes glowing. "I hate you."

The glittering smile returned. "Good. Nowhere to go but up then..."