Visions 2: So We've Been Told

[ReneeLouvier]

Still...wow! That...will be quite interesting to see play out in the resulting chapters, Beau. Gonzo and Miss Piggy. In-tres-ting! Whoo!

 

[Beauregard]

Ok...I can't deny that Gonzo and Piggy are...becoming close-er, but there are still a lot of things going on in their heads (particularly Piggy's) that need to be sorted...I'm trying to handle this whole thing carefully becuase I know it hurts and...well...you'll see, but I'm really trying not to rush anyone into anything.

Anyways! On to happier things...I set myself a challange with this chapter, and have incorperated every line of "We Couldn't We Ride!" into the scene. If anyone can find all the lines from that in here, they get a prize of invisable badges becuase some of them are hidden pretty deeply...

Enjoy...or don't...here's the next chapter:

Chapter 11

It was a pretty day with a sunny sky.

Gonzo and Miss Piggy left the apartment and headed down to the lobby. Miss Piggy pulled the stiff front door open and then leapt back into Gonzo in surprise as a tiny white dog shot between her legs and dashed up the stairs. Gonzo shook his head and stepped around to get the door.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Miss Piggy asked as they climbed onto a bus and settled beside a window. They'd raided Piggy's bank account for the bus-fare and entry fees to a motor-bike race on the outskirts of the city. Bus was the best was to get there, and the race was there new last hope.

The bus pulled away and drove slothenly past yellowing walls where graffiti stick-figures striked ungainly poses.

"Lovely pictures," Gonzo said, leaning towards sarcasm.

"No. They aren’t." Miss Piggy turned her back on the window, locking a barrage of images back in their cage.

"You can shut them," Gonzo said as he noticed fear or something dance in… "Your eyes," he said. "You can shut them"

"I'm fine," Piggy insisted. She shifted uncomfortable until Gonzo looked away from her face.

"We can do this," Gonzo assured her. "Besides the fact that we've got to and need the money, it all seems so right."

"It all seems to rare," Piggy objected with a hint of bitterness. "Chance doesn't play fair, Gonzo."

Hydraulics squeaked as the bus cranked to a stop. Doors opened and closed and the bus lurched on. A brush of cold air trilled up the bus from out doors. Spring was still bubbling slowly to life, hinting at summer. Soft mud squelched beneath the thick tires.

"Who knows? Maybe we'll get a sudden breeze of good luck," Gonzo suggested as the bus turned off the road into the outer limits of the city where fences held back wildlife. Gonzo lent forward to see around Piggy to where he could watch the wind play tag in the trees. At least with them taking this step, doing this, they were the wind, not the trees, the finger not the ripple.

The bus crunched to a stop beside an abandoned stretch of buildings which had sunk into a slump and collapsed into various states of rubble with piles of bricks, sloping roofs, and solid staircases. For a dirty bike race, it was the most perfect and dangerous setting in the world.

"Is so bright," Miss Piggy exhaled, catching glances of sunlight off broken windowpanes. "Oh. Wow."

Men and women in leather stomped out of the bus. Gonzo and Piggy followed, the doors hissed closed, and it trundled away up the road. They felt out of place as they made their way around elbows and legs. Miss Piggy was dressed in a red suit of protective leather. She carried her helmet under her arm. Gonzo wore just a pale blue shirt and jeans. He'd told her that he'd be safe. He was very flexible, he'd said. She raised an eyebrow at that.

A hastily erected PA system barked the rules of the fight, or, race rather. "You start here. You end there. You do this by any means. So, perfectly fair play is out the window. Got it?" A roar from the crowd implied an affirmative.

The race track was a road running through the broken down ghost town, winding around various houses and corners, then cutting through a park and ending out soon beyond the other side.

Piggy ground her teeth. "After vous," she muttered.

It had been Gonzo's great idea to compete. He'd felt it was time to be the ripple…and he'd gone for it. The winner received a cash prize, it was big. They had every reason to enter, and no good reason not too. Assuming they could both ride a motorbike. Piggy had smiled at that. Did she ever!

The crowd they were moving through acted like a mob, bunched close, shoulders touching, hands clasping, feet stomping. There were singles, couples, and lovers. Singers dressed in punk stood on a platform. Their grating voices screamed encouragement and insults through the PA. As far as Gonzo could see, there were no children.

Dance music on stereos fought with the punk rock, arguing for a beat in everyone's ear drums.

"For a minute," Gonzo yelled towards Piggy, "We’ve got a chance, alright?" They broke from the crowd and made their way past a huge chain-link fence to the starting line where a row of motorbikes, both gleaming and rusty, angled for attention.

Gonzo went up to the roster and signed their name in the book. Miss Piggy handed over the money and strapped her helmet down. They were pointed to two nearby bikes. Piggy's was almost new, probably stolen, with red handlebars that, naturally, accented her dark suit. She climbed up on, sliding one leg over the seat.

Gonzo's bike was old, held together with mismatched bolts and a wish. "Let's do it," he said, jumping up on.

"Ready to fall flat on your face?" Miss Piggy asked, optimism rising.

"I would be. But my face isn't flat." He touched his nose. "Besides, why couldn't we fly?" he said mischievously as he adjusted his position on the seat and grabbed the handles.

Piggy raised an eyebrow and revved her engine. "I know we'd get by," she said.

Gonzo grinned. "Ready!" he shouted.

"Ready!" Miss Piggy echoed.

A stream of steady Ready!'s filtered down the field.

Pushing to the front of the crowd, a purple dude with dreadlocked hair, and his yellow girlfriend stepped out of the mob and ran towards the roster. "We're ready, too," Clifford yelled, throwing down a handful of notes and taking Skeeter's hand in his. Originally, they had come to watch. Motorbikes were a hobby of Clifford's. But the sight of the bikes and the scream of the singers excited him. He had to do this. Skeeter had tagged along. Neither had helmets.

"Don't do anything dangerous," Clifford told her as he climbed onto a blue-painted bike.

Skeeter tugged her pale leather jacket tighter. "I'll do whatever you do," she said, ignoring her bike and swinging onto the back of his. "Is this ok?"

Clifford's face ran through a variety of emotions, then he shrugged. "Sure. But…why?"

"If we go down," Skeeter whispered, suddenly close to his ear. "I want to be with you."

Clifford turned around on his bike and met her mouth with his. Skeeter held the side of his face with her hand as she fought for a better grip. Eventually Clifford pulled back, releasing her, and turned to the race. Skeeter wrapped her arms around his waist. "I love you," she said.

Clifford nodded grimly. He was going to have to be careful. He revved the engine.

Gonzo and Miss Piggy held one another's gaze as they waited for the singers to stop and for the crack of a gun indicating that the war…the race rather, was on. There was still the signs of a sunny sky up above, but the pretty day was gone, replaced by a day of grim determination.

The announcer hit a button. Just a push, and the music, all sound in fact, ceased. He lifted a gun, aimed, and fired. The bullet embedded itself into the solid wood of the announcer's desk beside at least thirty others.

"We're on our way," Piggy thought as she felt her bike accelerate from nothing to double numbers in a moment, reaching higher every second.

"YES!" Gonzo shouted, feeling the wind scrape against his body.

"Couldn't we ride!" Miss Piggy yelled as their bikes meshed into line, side by side, kicking along the roughly laid out track, skidding around bricks and debris.

Engines stirred the air. Dust kicked. Eyes narrowed. Fingers squeezed. Crows lifted from a crumbled roofline, flapping across the sun. Gears shifted. Front and back tires lifted off the ground. Rocks spat. Steering veered. A biker collided with a wall. Another skidded, lowering till its rider lay almost flat, then raising rapidly, spinning around a corner.

Smoke shook in the air

Skeeter clung to Clifford who watched buildings swerve in and out of his view. Gonzo yanked his steering and side-winded into a house rather than round, bouncing through an empty doorway, rushing through a living room, barrelling out the back, back onto the track ahead of the pack.

Piggy slowed up behind a gang of three riders and saw Gonzo skid out of the house in front of them. She avoided a tree. Someone else didn't. An explosion burnt hot against her back. She pushed on forward.

The three bikers up ahead divided, two of them splitting and overtaking Gonzo equally on opposite sides, the third racing behind. They reflected off Gonzo's mirrors. He swerved left, then right, then left again.

The biker on the left over-compensated his steering to avoid him and met a bump in the road, spinning his bike way up into the air and over twice before it landed. The man on the right slowed, levelling with the other biker behind, who then split left.

Gonzo steered off the road, jumping onto what had once been a pavement but was now a pit-hole heaven. He danced the steering back and forth, avoiding each and every bump.

The man who had been on his right, dove after him, following suit. Ancient lampposts flashed past. Lamppost, one, two, three, lamppost, one two three, lamppost, one, two, steer! Gonzo swung back onto the track road. His following friend attempted the same move, one, two, three, lamppost, one, steer, two, lamppost! He was kicked up from his bike and landed in the road.

Miss Piggy shot her bike around him levelling beside the man on Gonzo's left. She glanced ahead as a right turn rushed towards them and drove a little closer to the leftie.

Gonzo spotted her for an instant as he took the turn. Then she was gone. He studied the mirror. Two more bikes took the turn, only one made it. Gonzo recognised the red suit and allowed himself a proud smile. A set of railings appeared on his left, a fence of what had once been the park. The gate was open. Gonzo steered though it and ate up the dirty grass playing field with his tires.

Miss Piggy's eyes danced as she followed her leader. Gonzo made for a good chase. This was how she won races, she chased and then, at the last minute, overtook. More bikes span into the park after them. One or two mangled the fence with their front wheels and were automatically out of the race.

Skeeter shifted her grip from both arms around Clifford's waist, to one arm bent around each of his shoulders. She buried her head into his jacket. Mud flew under their tires.

Metal frame playground toys zoomed up in front of the bikers, swings and roundabouts and a slide.

Using the width of the playing field, four daring bikers in a team surrounded the leads, cutting across Gonzo and Piggy's paths. For the factionist fraction of a second, Piggy and Gonzo levelled and their eyes met sideways, then they changed direction, together, aiming for a new target, the park slide.

The solid slide started on the ground and rose up to a set of handles and steep steps down the other side. They would use it backwards. Their competitors gathered closer. Gonzo's tires screeched as they hit the bottom of the slide and shot up the silver surface, leaping into the air above the steep steps.

Piggy's bike rose up behind him.

A bolt fell from Gonzo's front wheel and tumbled towards the ground. The other bikers spread out from under them. Gonzo's front wheel shook. He pulled his handlebars higher and the bike began to flip into a 180. He felt more than saw Miss Piggy's bike shoot under him, released all grip on his own bike, and dropped sickeningly to land behind her on the bike's seat. This was how he won races, as a team.

Piggy's tires touched the ground, bumped, and settled, racing far ahead of the others once more. "Why couldn't we fly!" Piggy screamed in exhilaration.

"I knew we'd get by!" Gonzo yelled from the back.

The sunny sky reflected the un-pretty daylight accident as Gonzo's bike smashed into the ground at the foot of the slide, shattering into an explosion that threw shards of metal in a dozen different directions.

Clifford saw the explosion and felt it run through the ground, through the wheels of his bike, through his steering. He pealed to the right and avoided the wreck, just. A push against his back from Skeeter brought his concentration back and he slipped the engine down, slowing rapidly as the bike lost it's proper grip and span, like a fast motion roundabout, the back revolving around the front in a barely controlled spin. Skeeter clung on. Clifford released the gas control. The bike slowed and shuddered to a stop. Clifford and Skeeter leapt together from the bike with a push and landed on the hard ground, rolling. Somehow they were still connected as they rolled together, over and over. They laughed and choked and kissed in exhilaration and exhaustion.

Gonzo hung onto Miss Piggy as she expertly revved her motorbike around obstacles and shot back out the park gates, back onto the road track, back in the lead, back in the winning position. Their bike screamed across the finish line to floods of shouting and clapping and a myriad of lost bets among the crowd.

Piggy angled her bike to a stop as other bikers rolled in behind her. She hopped down onto the asphalt and turned to Gonzo with a gleam of unbelieving triumph. She unclipped her chin-strap and lifted her helmet free over her sparkling eyes.

Gonzo leapt down beside her. He grabbed her hands, then her shoulders in a hug. "We're on the way!" he yelled in her ear. "We are on our way!"

Piggy let the helmet in her hand drop to her side as she responded to Gonzo's embrace. "Yes," she said!

Gonzo's grin was wide as he kept hold of her hands but moved away to look at her. Piggy's face reflected his own in her flashing eyes. "Couldn't we ride!" Gonzo shouted elatedly. "Couldn't we!"

Piggy's emotions slowed. She felt his hands through her gloves but didn't let go. "Side by side," she said.

Gonzo saw the emotion in her face and carried it. "Side by side," he repeated and Miss Piggy met his questioning eyes confidently and with an unexpectedly eager gaze.

"Why couldn't we ride?" she asked, and it wasn't exactly a question.

*****​

That night they hid the cash prize in their apartment, dividing the hiding places in case of robbers. They had barely spoken a word on the way home, except to compliment one or the other on his or her driving skills. Or to discuss the changes that having free cash would bring. Of course, they had to save it, but surely there was some little thing that they could-

Miss Piggy opened the fridge and examined the contents. There wasn’t anything here that caught her attention.

Gently, Gonzo pushed the fridge door shut in front of her. "I have a better idea," he said.

Miss Piggy tipped her head and noticed that his wispy hair was combed back, his hands were washed, and his shirt was tucked in.

"Would you," Gonzo started, "join me," he went on, "for dinner," he added, "maybe," he said, "tonight?"

Miss Piggy shut her eyes as a memory of a frog and a faint scent of pond scum flashed into her mind, followed by other memories, the smell of paint and an image of an artist friend she had trusted. She saw saw herself cutting her hair in front of a mirror. She felt Murray's fingers touch her shoulder with his cold fingers as he helped her into the apartment. She pressed her face into a green towel, deeper and deeper and took a breath and opened her eyes to meet Gonzo's curious gaze.

Gonzo managed a smile, but he was almost unsure as he repeated the question to her. "Will you dine with me Miss Piggy? See, there this fantastic Greek place on the corner of eighteenth street and I thought..." He trailed off.

"I, um, really…" Miss Piggy swallowed back her original answer. "I'll need a little time to get ready," she replied.

To be continued...

 

[The Count]

Magnitrillyscent! The bike race/war was everything it could have been... And more so! Such daring, such do, and the song mixed in hereabouts. This was quite clever of you Bo old bean... Now, could we get some more please?

*Leaves humming... Oh couldn't we get more fanfic...

 

[ReneeLouvier]

A wonderful story! I loved the song somehow strangely mixed in throughout. Nice touches.

 

[The Count]

So... We gonna get more of this Bo? Or do we have to turn the hoses/super soakers on you again?
After all... It's soon becoming spring, when a young weirdo's fancy turns to, um, dunno what exactly. But I think there was a chicken trapped in a cage at the beginning of this story, she needs to be set free and Uncle Deadly's plan needs to be explained, or at least sprung.

 

[theprawncracker]

OH WOW! Beau! That was great! Touche with the bike race and song mixed through, I wondered if I was just seeing things or if it was really supposed to be there, very cool!

 

[The Count]

Hello... This is a message from your friendly nagging service. This message is simply a reminder that loyal readers are in need of an update, soonerishkibbible
if not sooner than that. So please post more, your fans will thank you.

That is all... Thank you and please post more!

 

[Beauregard]

Before I post this chapter, I have to place a small shipping warning, athough I've never seen this as shipping in the common sence on the word. (Shipping, for those of you who don't know is "A term used to describe fan fictions that take previously created characters and put them as a pair. It usually refers to romantic relationships, but it can refer platonic ones as well. [Just think of "shipping" as short for "relationSHIP". ]").

Athough this story ships a relationship between Miss Piggy and Gonzo, I have never looked at the story purely as shipping. The characters, while the same, as NOT the happy-go-lucky Gonzo we know, nor the deeply-in-love Piggy we love. Instead, it is this Gonzo and this Piggy. Kermit is not here. They deserve a chance of happiness.

So...you have been told. And I hope it doesn't put you off. And I do hope you enjoy this next chapter dispite (or because of) the ushy-gushy moments.

- Beau

Chapter 11

Gonzo went ahead to wait for a table and one was found at the back of the restaurant where Gonzo was promptly seated and presented with a vase of breadsticks with which he could fiddle until his lovely date arrived. She wasn't his date, Gonzo informed the ever so helpful waiter, actually, no, quite the opposite. This was a congratulatory dinner. The waiter bowed out of the conversation with a knowing smile and Gonzo twirled a breadstick around and around in his fingers.

A dainty cough brought him out of his meditations and he glanced up, up, up into the flatteringly full eyes of Miss Piggy. Her short-cropped hair was curled with a bounce around her ears and down the back of her head in a flourish. She had done something to her face, although he couldn't…quite distinguish what. He just knew it enhanced her features into something almost…he struggled for the right word, telling himself that beautiful or delightful were too something, and that nice or smart didn't cut it, so he would have to go with something more simple and in the end all he managed was an exclamation. "Wow," he said at last. "You look fantastic, Miss Piggy." He winced at the sound of the words, then cringed at himself for wincing.

"Oooh, thank you." Her lashes flickered as she realised he was uncomfortable with her new-found daintiness. It amused and intrigued her. She gestured at her seat. "Shall I sit down?"

Gonzo hopped up, helped her into her chair, and offered her a breadstick. She munched it nervously and quickly, biting her way down the breadstick towards her fingers. She glanced up sharply to be sure he wasn't watching her or judging her etiquette.

Gonzo was watching. He wasn't thinking about etiquette.

The young waiter appeared with menus. He complimented Miss Piggy as he handed hers over and she blushed. Gonzo ignored them and studied the specials. Miss Piggy trailed her hand around and around the rim of her bread-and-butter plate. The waiter reappeared with a free bottle of tap-water and Miss Piggy asked if that meant he thought she looked thirsty. He produced glasses and assured her it did not.

Gonzo ordered a salad with feta cheese. Miss Piggy asked the waiter what he would suggest. When he indicated an olive starter, Piggy fained indignation and insisted he was implying she needed to lose weight. No such thing, he exclaimed! But olives are for dieters, Piggy gushed. Actually, they are very good for the complexion, though, he hurriedly reminded her, with a blush of his own, her skin was perfect as it was. Gonzo crushed the end of a breadstick between his fingers. The waiter caught his eye and dissolved into other parts of the restaurant, leaving them alone again.

"Friend of yours?" Gonzo asked.

"No? What makes vous think he's a friend?"

"Well, you seemed awfully…"

"No." She said the word without hesitation, then ran on in clarification, "No, aheh, silly dear. I do not flirt with friends. It tends to…ruin things."

"Things?" Gonzo asked.

Then the waiter was at their table again. Apparently they were all out of feta, sorry. Gonzo ordered the same as Piggy. There was no way, he assumed, they would be out of that.

*****​

Conversation dipped as Gonzo shook salad dressing over his lettuce and Miss Piggy skewered olives with a long-pronged silver fork. They'd already discussed what an unbelievable coincidence it had been that Gonzo's bike had crashed when it did, and not before or after. They'd already speculated on the mangy white mutt that seemed to dog them whenever they left the apartment, yapping up and down the stairs. After that, conversation seemed like deja vu all over again. Gonzo attempted to settle on a new topic. Had she always lived in the city, he asked. Or…?

No, not forever. In fact, she was quite the country girl.

A farm? Gonzo was surprised.

Did he have a problem with that?

Well, no, he was just surprised. He knew about farms. They were harsh and awkward places to grow up. "You're not awkward," he said.

Miss Piggy laughed, drawing glances from nearby tables. "But I can be harsh," she warned, squishing a black olive under her thumb.

Gonzo warmed to her laughter. "Yeah, well, I knew this chicken once, Farm bred. A pretty tough bird. She never let me get close to her."

"Her?"

Gonzo tried filling his mouth with salad to avoid the question, unable to speak for a long, silent, food-chewing minute and a half. He found himself wishing that Miss Piggy's handsome waiter would return. Eventually he had to swallow. "Her name was Camilla," he said, staring firmly at his almost empty plate. "She was nice, smart even, but we never were…We were never close."

Miss Piggy leant back in her seat. "And did vous ask el chick'ino out?"

No. Yes. Well, no, sort of. He was young. She was a chicken, and, yeah, she turned him down, three times. See, it was nothing.

"Mhmm." Miss Piggy tapped her glass with the edge of her fork, creating an almost inaudible ping. Within a moment, her waiter was by her side and Piggy ordered a glass of the house wine, white. Gonzo said he was happy with water. The waiter tried to stare him down, but Piggy cleared her throat, and he swiftly dodged away from the table.

"Three times," she said. "Then vous chased her?"

"I…a little while," Gonzo admitted with an embarrassed catch in his voice. "Then I got a part in a small production. We went our separate ways."

Wine arrived and Piggy sipped.

"What about you?" Gonzo asked.

"What about me, what?"

“The same,” he asked. Any boyfriends? Any secret crushes? Loves?

Miss Piggy angled her head to look away from him and found herself focusing on a candle three tables away. The candle flame bobbed and weaved. The wick bowed. Wax smudged into tear droplets that rolled down the neck of the candle. An amorous couple were directed to the table and seated themselves, letting their interlocked hands settle in front of the flame light.

"Some," Miss Piggy answered, "But, they, um, they weren’t secret." Her eyes left the candle and refocused on Gonzo's eyes. "And they weren’t love," she finished.

Gonzo swallowed and set his fork down on his plate. Miss Piggy adjusted her seat.

A voice interrupted. "Are you done?"

"I beg your pardon?" Miss Piggy snapped her head up to look at the waiter and noticed him for the first time. She discovered he was really not that nice. His shirt, she noted, was untucked on one side and not the other. The underside of his supposedly smooth chin had actually not been shaved properly this morning. There was something oddly crooked about the guy's nose, and his eyes were lazy. His eyebrows met in the middle. Piggy saw his bitten nails as he pulled her plate out from in front of her and complimented her healthy appetite. His voice was actually annoyingly grating as he asked if they wanted to see the sweet menu, remarking that the lady pig was sweet enough already, so perhaps they should go straight to coffee.

Piggy's face grew hot as she stared at the waiters faults. She felt embarrassed and flustered. She should not have been flirting with him. He was not a nice guy. She stood up in one motion, and snatched her handbag off the table to her side. "Shall we go, Gonzo?"

The waiter was all surprise. "No desserts? No caffe con leche?"

"We'll take the bill," Miss Piggy growled.

Gonzo arrived beside her. "Everything ok?"

"Its fine."

"Er, we'll take the bill," Gonzo repeated to the struck dumb waiter. "We're leaving now."

The waiter practically tripped over himself on his way to the kitchen, returning in seconds with a hastily written up bill. Gonzo paid in cash, added a small tip, and they left the Greek restaurant behind them, stepped out into the night.

*****​

"I'm sorry," Piggy repeated as her heels click-clacked off the pavement ahead of Gonzo. "I over acted."

"You did not," Gonzo assured her, taking longer strides to keep beside her.

"I over re-acted then."

"You did not over act. You were brilliant."

"Pardon?"

"You were brilliant, Miss Piggy. That waiter was a pi-" he swiftly avoided the word pig replacing it at the last moment with, "-prig. He was shamelessly angling for a tip."

"And I was what?" Piggy asked, never slowing. "Angling for attention? Demanding sweeter service? Hinting for a discount? Why was I playing his game, Gonzo?"

Gonzo hunted for an easy answer as he kept up with her pace. "You were…"

Now she stopped and turned to him in front of a glass store front window. A glow from night-lights inside silhouetted her frame and Gonzo lost track of the sentence.

"I was…?" Miss Piggy prompted.

"You were…" He pushed his hands into his pockets and swung his body slightly, lifting up on his toes and dropping back to the flat of his heels, unsure how to go on.

Piggy probed for a reply. "I…?"

"You…" The word trailed off and Gonzo shifted up and down again. "Perhaps you weren't able to resist," he suggested eventually.

Miss Piggy's gaze steeled, clamping a cage in front of her eyes. "What?"

"You were unable to ignore him," Gonzo said. "He was good at his game. You couldn't resist."

Miss Piggy adjusted her shoulders. "You think moi am weak?" Her voice was anything but.

"No. I think-"

"Then you think I'm not strong?"

"You are, Piggy, but…"

"What? I am not pathetic. I'm not weak. I didn't need his attentions. I didn't ask him to give moi olives!"

"This isn't about olives."

"Oh? Oh? This isn't about olives? Then what is it about? Cheese? Hmm! Or the wine? Is it about that? Is this about breadsticks?"

"Piggy."

"Hey, I do not need vous to protect me."

"Protect you? I'm not protecting you."

"Oh! Sure, like you can protect moi! I can look after myself, I do not need vous to interfere in moi's life. I don't need vous to get me a job. I didn’t ask you to find moi in a telephone box."

"Piggy! No one asks to be found!"

"Yeah, well, yeah! Yeah! Er, yeah!" She stopped and turned away, seeing her face reflected in the glass. "I'm...not weak."

Gonzo's jaw tightened, anger warming inside him, tightening his stomach. “You're not strong, Miss Piggy." There, he had said it. It was out. It was open. It wasn’t closed. The statement hung between them like a knife, twinkling in the thin glow of shop lights.

Miss Piggy’s mouth opened, shut, and opened again. She tried to muscle the strength to reply, but the knife had dug deep and severed all vocal connection between her cold-air filled lungs and her parted lips.

"Come with me," Gonzo said, spinning on his toes and walking away from her. He stepped off the curb, and moved through a soft sludge of traffic towards a new destination. There was more to say, but it had to be shown.

On the other side of the street he looked back. “Come with me,” he insisted.

Miss Piggy shook her head and started in the opposite direction, paused, turned around, paused, and turned back. She fought an urge to leap into the road, or to slam against the storefront window, and then softly followed Gonzo’s footsteps. “Alright, wait.”

He didn’t. He kept walking.

"Gonzo! Wait!"

*****​

Gonzo walked straight, without glancing back. He could hear her following, and knew the whimpered "Wait!" was adjusting itself into anger once again. Well, she deserved to be angry. She needed to see herself angry. She needed to see herself at all. Her high-heels specked against the grimy streetwalk in this part of town.

Gonzo slammed his hands against a set of steel gates that screeched open ahead of him. A set of steps led to the flat platform of the city’s main train station. Almost no one ever left the city. Trains were few and far between.

Gonzo kept walking.

Miss Piggy approached the station hesitantly, holding onto the wire frame gates as she closed them behind her. "Gonzo?" she whispered.

"Over here."

She crept forward and rose up the steps, dilly-dallying there for a second, unsure, then headed towards the voice.

Gonzo's figure appeared on the edge of the platform where he stood so close beside the drop to the train-lines that his even his innate balance seemed affected by the dip ahead of him.

“What are you doing?” Piggy asked, approaching him from behind.

He twisted his head to meet her gaze with his eyes. "I'm doing what I want to do,” he said. “What I choose to do. You, though. You're doing what other people want you to do. You can’t make your own choices, so you latch onto whoever is near you. You just can't do that, Piggy. Eventually that latch--” he paused and Piggy glared.

“It’s going to fall,” Gonzo finished, and he did.

Piggy’s breath caught short as Gonzo jumped. One minute he was there, a black statue on the edge of the platform, then he was gone, dropping like a brick down to land awkwardly on the tracks where gravely pebbles were scattered for support.

“Gonzo!” The exclamation escaped before she remembered that she was still mad at him. “What are you doing?”

“Ouch,” Gonzo responded automatically before collecting himself and settling into a cross-legged position between the lines. “Join me,” he said.

“The trains!"

"Who says there will be any?"

"I…what if there is?"

"Come down here."

"No."

"Come down here!"

"Gonzo, no."

She folded her arms and he crossed his. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Gonzo's widened. He insisted she jump down and she paced back and forth above, never backing. She wasn't stupid. She did not have a death wish.

Her eyes wondered as she paced, moving along the painted stripes of the platform, meeting the concrete walls that were laced with bright graffiti and black marks from years of skateboarders' shoes kicking off in a high-spin.

A screech sounded down the line, rattling ahead of a train, warning and informing anyone who cared to hear. Gonzo's yell carried over the shouting voices of the echoing steel wheels. "You have to join me!"

Piggy flung herself forward, leaping towards the edge of the track. A train appeared, it's blinding lights flashing off the walls in a blaring wave. "Gonzo!" She pulled up short of the edge, stepping back from the rushing beat of wind that ran ahead of the locomotive, and suddenly, it was slowing, either the train, or her mind.

Gonzo was standing up in the centre of the tracks. His mouth was moving, shouting for her to leap down in front of the train. And she was shaking her head. "I don't have to!" she screamed over the scream of the traim. "Moi does not have to do what vous say!"

A force slammed her and the train shot by, its carriages appearing in sudden flashes of light. The force pushed her back from the edge, its hands on her shoulders, its legs slamming against her own. Carriage windows flashed and Piggy stepped backwards over the platform, propelled by the force, hitting against the wall. "I don't have to!" Piggy repeated and she saw Gonzo's face inches from her own.

Sparks flew from the wheels, scattering over the pebbles.

Gonzo's breath brushed against her snout, warming the smooth skin. His eyes were searching hers for an answer, and whatever he was looking for, he found. She was stronger than he thought, pushing him away from her, holding him at arm's length.

The train receded, disappearing first from sight and then from ear-shot. The silence fell sweetly around them. Miss Piggy let her hands fall down his arms, reaching his hands. She was suddenly very aware of the delicate curve of his nose. "I don't have to," she whispered again, more to herself than any other.

The nose angled towards her, turning towards the left and she realised that it was her turn to move her face, her mouth, towards the right. His nose touched her cheek, softer than she had imagined, pressing against her.

She lifted her eyelids, and saw his eyes, closer and deeper than she had known them to ever be before. Then his lips were meeting hers and she was kissing him back. She felt his hands on her shoulders, her elbows, her back. She leant her head against the wall, feeling its coldness though her hair, and one kiss became many, yet one, continuous, and repeating like the beating of her heart and the shattered suddenness of her breathing between kisses.

To be continued...

 

[The Count]

You know... There's something about this chapter that I like. There are a few garbled passages where it's a bit tricky to understand... But so much action and pathos between the two main costars. The dinner scene was well orchestrated, that Greek waiter was definitely oily... Get it? Greece? Oily? Aaaaaaah!
Ooh! The scene at the train station where Gonzo hurled himself down onto the tracks, calling for Piggy to join him. And then, wen she proves her strength, she does join him. That turned out to be one of the sweeter parts of the chapter. Very much liking this Bo. Now don't take so long next time and post more!

 

[theprawncracker]

Beau... Ya know I love it... Ya know I do. Great, great, great job. I LOVE the scene with the train. Very, very powerful.