#abigogo

"Hey. You're still in my flightpath."

Abigail sank her teeth into her lip in delight as that voice crackled into her cockpit, eyes flicking to radar as she replied.

"Can't really call it your flightpath when all you manage to do is eat my vapor." The other woman grunted at that, the homemade craft drifting ever closer to her wing, and Abigail choked back a giggle as she continued. "At best I'm in front of your flightpath, Rustbucket."

"All right, I admit you might have earned that bozomobile racing but don't get too ahead of yourself."

"All I need is to be ahead of you."

Rustbucket accelerated hard in lieu of answering and Abigail chortled and zipped after her, congratulating herself on the decision to keep to Tatooine.

"Something's different this time," she remarked as she pressed in close. "You're smoother at high acceleration."

"Adjusted fin weight. You noticed the rattle?"

The reluctant admiration in her voice warmed Abigail; she chewed her lip again to keep the smile from her voice as she answered.

"Rustbucket, I'm the best there is. You don't get to be the best if you can't gauge competition as well as yourself."

"So I'm competition now, huh?"

"Keeping up with me in a homemade rattler does earn you that, yeah."

"Hm." Rustbucket grunted again at that, bearing hard left an in attempt to force Abigail back. "We'll see who'se the rattler."

***

"Closer this time!" Abigail sang out as they decelerated. "You might beat me yet."

"Might? Maybe you need to spitshine your viewscreen. I won that one."

"You didn't." Abigail snorted. "I was lightyears ahead of you."

"Lightyears is a stupid measurement. And my fuselage passed the beacon first - your communications array doesn't count."

"It does."

"No. And if you shifted it back you'd have better acceleration in light atmosphere without being a cheater."

"I--!" Abigail spluttered, only some of it fabricated. "Cheater? Cheater? Who's got a 'bitchass' way of asking to go again now?!"

"Wow. Language." Rustbucket's reply was nearly deadpan with the barest hint of chuckle; Abigail shivered at it and wondered what she was getting herself into. "Think about it though."

"Huh. You're so smart, how about I come down there and you optimize my bozomobile?"

"You don't know where I am, and if you just showed up you'd be a stalker. I'd be too unsettled to race you anymore."

"Bullshit."

"Yeah." The admission was low and easy, and a moment later Rustbucket actually, genuinely chuckled. "Look. We'll talk. For now, I think I can get a little more out of these engines than I have been. And you probably have swoopraces to get to."

"Swoopracing has never been this entertaining."

"More lucrative though."

Abigail licked her lips and hummed.

"You know, lately I'm not so sure."

"Sure you're not." Rustbucket snorted softly. "I'm not that easy to sweettalk. But look. I'm gonna talk to Honey about optimizing fuel output, and maybe you can have your own build if you're a good girl."

"Define 'good'. We talking Tatooine standards, or--wait, Honey?" Abigail rolled the word in her mouth. "Your honey?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Abigail's tone had brought an odd purr to Rustbucket's voice; she almost shivered to hear it.

"Well, yeah. I would."

"Hm. Tell you what, Spitshine - one week. You beat me again, I'll tell you more. Later."

"Sure. Later."

She sighed as Rustbucket's craft darted off, already scheduling out the week.

Make her race. Win her race. Maybe make a few adjustments to her craft to be sure of beating Rustbucket.

Back in a week.

She sighed, grinning at herself as she set her coordinates.

"All this for a sexy voice. Abigail Callaghan, you are ridiculous."

***

"Honey! I need you to look at this!"

Gogo burst into the restaurant, one of her friend's homemade fuel rods in hand, and stalled as all seven of her fellow residents turned to stare.

"Hello Gogo!" Cass said after a moment. "I see you made it just in time for the tail end of midday cleanup."

Her voice wavered between stern and amused; Gogo's face scrunched into a scowl as she stared back.

"Look, I'll... take care of whatever's left, I just...."

"Oh, don't worry." Cass smiled, shrugging. "Every last one of you has done it at some point. Even Baymax."

"I was under the impression that Hiro's... caterwauling, as you say... indicated injury."

"Nope. He makes a completely different sound for that. And you still got distracted by... whatever he was doing in there."

"So what do you need, Gogo?" Honey asked. She grinned, eyes falling to the fuel rod. "Oh ho, you were testing today. You ran into The Voice, didn't you?"

Gogo's scowl deepened.

"She beat me again." She shrugged, leaning on a counter. "Not fast enough yet. I have a few ideas for adjustments but I also want to make sure I'm getting every scrap out of Honey's fuels."

She wanted to hear that voice react to Gogo's win, to hear what she had to say about her craft, maybe to hear how she'd react to work on that bozomobile.

And she was quiet too long reflecting on the voice and its owner's piloting skills.

"To win?" Hiro asked. "Or to win?"

"But who's winning what?" Fred chuckled, his voice gone deep and theatrical. "Just what Gogo didn't know she needed - a smooth-voiced siren of space with just the right skills, setting her sights after so long in the void--"

Wasabi groaned through his own grin, reaching over to lightly shove Fred.

"Fred, for the last time, there's no such thing as space sirens."

"Says you."

"All right, all right," Honey said, holding her hands up. "I'll look at your output, you work on tightening everything up." She grinned again. "And maybe we'll get to hear The Voice soon?"

"Depends." Gogo shrugged. "We have a bet, sort of. Let's just get to work."

"Hm." Honey nodded, striving for seriousness; Gogo wished she'd go back to the grin. "All right, as long as you're sure you still want to win."

Gogo scoffed.

"I always want to win."

And did it matter that she wasn't really sure what she was out to win as she leaned over the fuel samples with Honey, carefully weighed and adjusted and tested each component of her craft, listened to Hiro's suggestions and Fred's wild theories about Spitshine's identity and Tadashi's encouragement and the teasing from them all?

“Hey. Get out of my flightpath.”

Abigail blinked at the gruff voice crackling over her transceiver without so much as a hail, mouth twisting as she checked her radar.

Tiny craft, not a hint of identification.

Joyrider, she decided. Possibly stolen; it wouldn’t be out of place over Tattooine. And Tattooine by all rights wasn’t a planet where a wise pilot antagonized locals, particularly not locals who spoke with an own-the-space edge on their tongue and held position off a sleeker ship’s left wing with magnetic steadiness.

“Get in line, rustbucket - I didn’t see any jalopy warning signs.”

Wisdom had never been Abigail’s strong point. The seething sound the other woman made was more delight than danger to her ears, and the way the smaller craft dipped closer made her wriggle in her harness in anticipation.

Definitely a rustbucket, now that she could see it through her narrow windshield - the other craft looked almost cobbled together. Not poorly-made by any means; in the clear stillness of space Abigail’s sharp and practiced eyes could pick out intricate (if unorthodox) sealing, well-balanced stabilization to offset what looked to be powerful thrust, smooth and deliberate movement that spoke of either well-programmed mechanical orienting or an expertly attuned gyroscope.

How very interesting.

“You pile that together yourself, rustbucket?”

“You beg that off daddy yourself, spitshine?”

“Hey.” Abigail chewed her lip, offense and amusement warring in her voice. “I earned this.”

“Yeah?” Rustbucket was skeptical; the pause between words held a soft snort, and while Abigail couldn’t see her through the windshield’s solar shielding she could well imagine pursed lips and wrinkled nose. “Doing what?”

“This particular one? Swoopracing on Lamaredd.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah?” Abigail leaned forward in her harness, marking her flightpath. “Bullshit this.”

She accelerated hard, leaving Rustbucket in her vaportrail; seconds later the little craft was back on her radar before swooping over and around her.

Perfect.

***

“Nice bullshitting,” Rustbucket admitted an hour later. The two crafts were idling wing-to-wing, drifting in the upper atmosphere; Abigail smiled as she leaned back in her seat, relishing the afterglow of a good race.

A good race won.

“Not so bad yourself.” She hummed, chewing her cheek again. “Imagine what you could do with a quality ship.”

“Excuse me?” Rustbucket’s voice was flat with offense. “You knocking my handiwork or is that a bitchass way of saying you wanna go again?”

“Wow. Language.” Abigail grinned ruefully. “Ease up there. The craft’s good. Fast, nimble. But with up-to-date components….”

“Hey now - you’re looking at Tattooine’s finest salvage here.” The gruff voice was softer now, mollified. “Don’t make me get my crew up here.”

“Yeah? Where’s Rustbucket’s Regulars now?”

“Planetside.” The tone offered no further discussion. Pity; Abigail was finding she could listen to that voice for days.

Crisp and smoldering with the heat of twin suns. Her mind wandered to how that voice would sound when it really smoldered.

“Well okay then,” she said, mindful of the laughter in her own voice. “Do you wanna go again?”

“Yeah.” There was regret in that voice. “Can’t. Gotta get back down - moving close to sunset where I am.”

“Oh. Wild times on Planet Cesspool.”

“Watch it.” No heat in the voice this time; Abigail was disappointed. “But it was a good race. See ya, Spitshine.”

“Right. See ya.”

Abigail stared at the blip until it vanished from her radar, gruff alto voice still ringing in her ears.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to hang around Tattooine a few days; if she missed her next race, there’d be others.

With luck, there’d be others here.

***

“Where have you been?”

Gogo’s gaze flicked up to the man standing in the cafe’s doorway, hat askew as he stared down at her.

“Good evening to you too.”

She pushed past him to grab empty plates from a table before its occupants could use them as missiles in an argument with a table across the way; if another brawl started in here Cass would have every last participant’s hide and her crew would be stuck scrambling to clean it before morning. Tadashi followed her, grabbing what plates she couldn’t reach and unwilling to give up the questioning.

“One hour, Gogo. You were supposed to be gone one hour. Aunt Cass is stress-cooking stew because she thinks you blew up.”

“The one with the spices?” Gogo paused, brows raising. “I should let her think I blew up more often.” She glanced up again, taking in his scowl, the worry lines around his eyes. “Did you think I blew up?”

“No,” he lied, lips pursing. “And that stew’s for special occasions.”

“Huh. Guess we’ll have to blow up another crew member when I’m in the mood then. Honey’s usually good for an explosion.”

“It’s not funny, Gogo.” He was lying again, voice carrying the taletell warble of suppressed laughter. “Anyway, Honey already blew up Fred today and all they got was yelled at.”

“So I’m the only one who merits stew upon combustion, huh. Good to know.”

“It’s not that.” Tadashi’s brother Hiro was at her elbow now, reaching to take dishes. “It’s that you combusted in space where no one has to clean it up. Fred and Honey combusted in the kitchen.”

“Oh. So no stew due to stupidity.”

“It was all for science.” Hiro considered a moment and then leaned in conspiratorially. “I helped, but I’m faster than they are.”

Gogo chuckled, shaking her head.

“People keep saying you’re the smartest of us all.”

“Yup.” He gave her a gap-toothed grin. “So where were you? The flaps helped with reentry, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s good. I was racing.”

“Like podracing?” Wasabi poked his head into the kitchen, a crate of supplies balanced on one broad shoulder. “Gogo, you know–”

“Humans don’t podrace, dummy.” Gogo snorted. “Or at least we don’t win. I tried. We don’t have the reflexes.”

“I still think you could do it, Gogo.” This was Fred, trailed by Honey - both still discolored from whatever concoction had earlier blown up in their faces. Gogo hoped it wasn’t actually flammable, or at least that no flammable traces were left; surely they weren’t that stupid.

“Right.” Honey nodded. “If we could get the sympathetic control working, human reflexes and the whole only-two-arms thing would be way less of a problem! And even then, you’re the best pilot on the planet….”

“So you totally won your race, right?” Hiro grinned at her expectantly; Gogo puffed her cheeks and looked away.

“Uh… no.” She took in their startled expressions and scowled as her cheeks heated. “Some swoopracer in a state-of-the-art bozomobile, I didn’t expect her to be any good. I’ll get a rematch if I see her again.”

“A swoopracer.” Hiro looked mildly starstruck. “Who was she?”

“No idea.” Gogo shrugged, bobbing on tiptoe to snag clean dishes for Cass. “Never asked, only heard her talk.” She slowly lowered herself back to flat feet, rolling the light voice with just a touch of husky undertone through her head.

She didn’t mind having just a voice to go on. Not one with that perfect blend of bite and smile.

“Uhoh.” Fred said after a moment. Gogo blinked at his voice, suddenly very aware of the eyes on her. “Gogo’s got a crush on a disembodied voice.”

“So it’s a nice voice attached to a good pilot?” Honey bit her lips, which did nothing to hide her grin. Less so when Gogo scowled.

“Look–”

“Well any drop in a drought, right?” Fred locked eyes with Honey and then Hiro and then all three were grinning insufferably at her; Tadashi cleared his throat gently and rocked on his heels and even Wasabi ducked back out of the little room to hide his smile. Gogo’s scowl deepened and she balanced her stack of dishes on one hip, freed fist jabbing out to strike Fred’s shoulder and nearly knock him from his countertop perch. “Ow! Haha…!”

“Look, smartass, the Hamadas might have dragged your carcass out of the desert but that doesn’t mean I won’t put you back.” She swept her gaze across the rest of them; Tadashi wasn’t even bothering to hide a smile now. “That goes for all of you. Now shut up and let me go tell Cass and Baymax I didn’t blow up.”

She marched out to the sound of their stifled chortles, lips pursed and nose wrinkled.

"Hey Gogo - wanna go for a test drive?" Gogo glanced at Abigail, brows lowering as she took in her girlfriend's broad, bright-eyed grin and the keycard she was turning over in busy fingers. "Depends. We gonna end up in jail again?" "Nope." Gogo's brows lowered further; Abigail bit her lip, fruitlessly attempting to stifle her smile under that penetrating stare, and shrugged. "Well... probably not." She paused, then leaned a bit closer. "I'll let you steer." Gogo stared a moment longer and then snorted, looking at the keycard again. "Fine - I'm game. let's see it." Abigail's grin widened and she turned on her heel to march out, Gogo following and the door clanging shut behind them as they made their way to a small docking area (nominally used for shipments, but just as often utilized by staff and students with unwieldy machines to move). "So - are you saying I'm not worth jail?" Abigail asked as she slid her keycard into a set of holding rings. Gogo snorted again, blowing and popping a bubble as she swept a critical eye over the small vehicle in the rings. "Are you saying you don't actually have permission or flight clearance?" Abigail sighed as she keyed open the pod, shaking her head. "Are you saying you don't trust me or want to go?" Gogo pursed her lips, eyes narrowed again as she studied the sleek little vehicle; Abigail's tone made her statement waver between plea and dare, and despite experience Gogo found she didn't have it in her to deny either. "Get in the pod, Abigail." Abigail's chuckle sounded like victory, and Gogo had no idea who had won as she accepted the other woman's offered hand and slid into the seat in front of her. The pod wasn't really meant for two - but Gogo hardly minded sitting snug between Abigail's thighs, and Abigail hardly minded Gogo's back pressed so tight against her she could feel lean muscles flexing through their thin shirts, and both minded even less when one of Gogo's hands slid from the yoke to rest comfortably on Abigail's knee. Gogo briefly leaned her head back against Abigail's shoulder and sighed in contentment; truth be told, she almost wouldn't mind sitting there all afternoon... but the promise of the sleek lines and elegant curves of Abigail's new pet project proved too much and she tapped the brunette's knee once. "Hey. You gonna start this thing?" "Keep your shirt on. For now." Gogo grunted at that, more aware than ever of Abigail's proximity, but sat in silence as Abigail's fingers danced across the console and quiet engines hummed to life. "Let me take it out," Abigail said, hands closing over Gogo's. "Once we're at altitude you can take over. Most of what you need's right here in the yoke, so shouldn't be too big a leap from mopeds, right?" "I don't ride mopeds," Gogo retorted automatically, but nodded as she slid her fingers over the small buttons embedded in the yoke. Abigail fit her fingers over Gogo's, applying gentle pressure to show her what she needed, and under her guidance they rose steadily over the campus and then over the city and the bay. Truth be told, with their bodies pressed so close Abigail's hand pressed over hers to guide her fingers was nearly as much a distraction as an aid. "All right," Abigail murmured (and the smooth hum of her voice in Gogo's ear didn't help the distraction), "go for it. Just like I showed you last time." She nodded, fighting off distraction as Abigail removed her hands to instead slide them around Gogo's waist, and then the moment was swept away in the thrill of speed and height and tight overbanked turns. -0- An hour later they were settled atop one of the wind turbines (Abigail's idea, and she cheerfully admitted to stealing both the perch and her pod's magnetic docking from Hiro). Early autumn sunset purpled the clouds and painted their skin gold, high-altitude winds rattling across metal sheeting; Gogo half-wished for her jacket, still draped across Wasabi's workstation in anticipation of his howls when he came in to see it, but banished the thought at the feel of Abigail's slim, calloused fingers on her bare shoulder. "Not bad," she said at last, and felt more than saw Abigail's nod as she pulled Gogo closer. "Thanks. Really feel like I killed those balance issues." "I meant the view." Gogo blew a large bubble, noting the way the light filtered through it with satisfaction, and slid her arm around Abigail's waist before popping it. "But the pod's pretty okay too." Abigail laughed again, warm and low in her chest, and Gogo felt markedly less cold as they drifted back into lazy silence and the few stars visible in San Fransokyo's hazy glow flickered into view. Truth be told, with Abigail absently leaning her cheek into black-and-purple layers and Abigail lazily lifting Gogo's free hand to press a kiss to each bare fingertip and then leatherclad palm and Abigail's comfortable weight pressed against the length of her body, Gogo no longer noticed the chill at all. -0- It was late when they descended, Abigail gently helping Gogo properly land the pod in its locking rings, and Gogo stretched contentedly as the canopy hissed open. As she started to rise she came face to face with a campus security officer, and she yelped in surprised and fell back against Abigail (who cried out in protest of sharp elbows); once recovered she noted two more officers and a professor torn between sternness and amusement, and she twisted around to glare at her sheepishly grinning girlfriend. "You are so lucky you're worth jail."