Of course, he outranks her. Of course, if any of this were serious, or were said aboard ship, or on a mission, she would get in serious trouble. But it's not insubordination that's in her voice or the curl of her smile as he parks and she reaches for her belt, unclips it with a click. "Then we'd better step to it."

The air hits her like she's opened an oven door, not the truck's: hot and heavy with sunshine and humidity. It's got to be arcing up into the upper nineties, maybe low hundreds, and they are probably stupid for going here during the hottest part of the day, but it's really just another button to push, isn't it?

Now and again, she wonders if maybe there's something haywire in her make-up that allows her to be so delighted at the prospect of absurd physical abuse, but, well, it's maybe an hour, tops, of absurd physical abuse, and then they'll be able to coast on the endorphins all afternoon. Add in a shower, maybe a swim, and the way exercising always makes it even harder to keep their hands off each other, and they're looking at an afternoon and evening of good times, after a brief interlude of exertion that is only going to make everything sharper, better, brighter.

Taking in a deep breath, hands finding her hips as she squints up at the mountain, the pile humping heavy into the sky, before pasting on an I'm waiting to be impressed look, adding to a tip of her head.

"It's not so bad. Barely even looks steep."

Which is a lie, but she's not about to back down, here.