Two: A Really Bad Day

Astrid Hofferson had been having a really bad day. She had quit her job, finalised her divorce and now had a long drive back to Berk for the annual Snoggletog celebration with her family. The last thing she needed was some idiot scumbag on a motorbike slamming into her as she pulled out onto the main Highway north.

She stopped the car and switched off the engine, unfastening her seatbelt and emerging into the cold night. The road was almost completely deserted...apart from the idiot who had hit her. She growled as she inspected the passenger side, seeing the huge dent from the impact and managing a string of expletives before glaring at the motorcycle, lying bent and scraped on the floor. Reluctantly, she went to look at the rider, the man in black who had flown over her car and impacted hard on the asphalt, rolling before lying still.

He was lying flat on his back, breathing quietly. He was tall and lean, his deep metallic grey helmet scraped but still obviously decorated with a black dragon with acid green eyes. Astrid paused, reaching for her phone to call 9-1-1 for an ambulance as the man abruptly sat up, wrenching his helmet off and glaring her.

"You utter moron!" he snarled.

Astrid blinked in shock at the accusation and lowered her phone, her azure eyes narrowing in anger.

"What?" she snapped, icily. The man grimaced as he moved, his emerald eyes narrowing under well-defined brows, messy auburn hair framing a pale face with sharp jaw and occasional freckles.

"Don't you know how to look at an intersection? Check for other traffic before pulling onto the Highway? Not pull out in the path of an oncoming vehicle?" he growled, sarcasm oozing from his voice.

"I beg your pardon?" she said in shock at the vehemence of his attack.

"Oh, it is definitely not granted," he told her, wincing as he moved and slowly bracing his arms to help himself up. She scowled.

"I wasn't apologising," she spat at him.

"You should. You were in the wrong," he told her shortly, slowly getting to his knees. He was gritting his teeth in pain.

"I pulled out after appropriately checking the road," she said tartly, her temper rising. She knew she had been checking the radio and had assumed the way would be clear at this time of night. "How fast were you going anyway? I didn't see any lights..." The man cast a look at his crumpled bike: the headlamp was still on.

"Need an optometrist then," he told her sarcastically. "There it is." She blushed.

"But you had to be speeding..." she argued, rubbing her arms. The night was cold and she had left her coat in the car. The man slowly stumbled to his feet, wincing as he put any pressure on his left leg.

"I doubt it..." he said angrily, pointing to the gas station a half-mile back. "Just come outta there after refuelling. I didn't have time to get up to any speed." Astrid glared at him for a long moment then gave an exasperated sigh.

"Fine! I wasn't looking," she spat. "I had other things to do."

"You mean apart from almost killing me?" the man snapped, his emerald eyes vaguely familiar. She blinked and shook herself.

"Sorry, alright?" she snapped, not sounding the least bit contrite.

"Wow, feeling the sincerity," the man snarked. "You knock me down, wreck my bike and ruin my plans." He stared at the wrecked bike and gestured at the scraped and mangled vehicle. "Eighteen months work, trashed. Thank you so much, Miss I-don't-give-a-shit-I-wiped-you-out!"

"Hey, you're not the only one who's having a bad day!" she spat back. His emerald eyes widened in shock.

"What? You're pretending a bad day excuses...this...?" he scoffed, his arms swinging to encompass the whole of the crash scene. "I have no way to get back home for Snoggletog now. There is zero chance I could get a train or flight at this notice-everything has gone or is fully booked-and it's Snoggletog in two days anyway. And Berk isn't that easy to..."

"Berk?" Astrid asked, inclining her head. "That's where I'm heading. I-I could give you a lift..." The man stared at her and his expression was incredulous.

"What? With your driving? Oh Thor, we'll be killed before we even leave the State!" That hit her hard and she folded her arms brusquely across her chest.

"You can always try hitching a lift," she snapped back.

"Oh, you'd love that," he retorted. "You wreck my bike and then leave me to hitch hike all the way to Berk. I'd arrive by next Snoggletog." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Offer accepted. But that doesn't get you off the hook. I still expect you to pay for repairs to my bike." She scowled: the divorce had been messy and she was short on cash-especially since she had just left her job, given up the home she had shared with her now ex-husband and was heading home with a car full of her worldly possessions...but she nodded. It had been her fault.

"Okay," she conceded. "So how do we work this?" There was a pause as the rider limped to his broken bike, gritting his teeth as he righted it and grimaced at the damage.

"Drive to that gas station," he told her decidedly, indicating back to the garage he had just left. "The attendant told me they have a garage as well. I'll leave it with them and arrange for it to be taken home after Snoggletog. Unless you decide to sneak off and abandon me..." She flushed.

"Will you be okay pushing the bike back...?" she asked and he nodded curtly, his expression still angry.

"Fine," he snapped, looking both ways for oncoming traffic then crossed the highway to begin the long trudge back.

oOo

Astrid began to feel pangs of guilt as the man discussed the damaged bike with the attendant and the young guy sympathised over the damage to the beautiful bike. Motorcycles weren't Astrid's thing but she gathered that it had been a classic model that had been lovingly restored by the rider...which she had totally trashed through her carelessness. The fact the man's leathers were so badly scraped and both knees and elbows ripped to shreds only made her feel worse. The rider absently ran his left hand through his tousled auburn hair and managed a small smile as the attendant promised to look after the bike and they exchanged details.

The rider collected his possessions in a holdall from the compartment at the back of the bike, unstrapped the small rucksack and bought some aspirin and a load of antiseptic and band-aids for his various scrapes and bruises before grabbing his helmet and limping towards Astrid.

"Okay, I'm ready," he said more calmly. "I still haven't forgiven you but I'm really out of options..." She paused.

"I'd like to know who I'm risking my safety with first," she challenged him.

"Well, I'd kinda like to know who almost killed me back there," he retorted. She glared, flipping her blonde braid over her left shoulder and he sighed. "Fine. Harry Hanson."

"Astrid Gregory," she said out of habit, almost cringing at still using her married name even though she was now legally free of it. "Pleased to...er..." He gave her a roll of the eyes.

"The feeling is NOT mutual," he told her, "but it is what it is." She frowned, staring more intently at him. The feeling of familiarity was stronger now, in the well-lit environment of the garage. "What" Have I grown a second head?"

"Do I know you?" she asked him thoughtfully and he suddenly and unexpectedly broke into a lopsided smile that was really cute.

"There are hundreds of millions of people in this country and there must be thousands who look like this...raw Vikingness," he noted dryly, gesturing to his scraped shape. "I must just have one of those faces." She smiled at the tone.

"Um...okay, I guess," she admitted. "So...you good to go?"

"As I ever will be, bike-wrecker Astrid Gregory," he teased her. She indicated to her banged up blue car.

"Then come on, lunatic biker Harry Hanson!" she retorted and he smirked.

"That's hardly fair since I was entirely innocent in the collision..." he protested, limping along by her.

"Shut up and get in!" she snapped, unlocking the door. He peered into the cramped space, the inside crammed with various possessions and groaned.

"Well, this is going to be a fun trip," he grumbled.

"Don't complain-you can always hitch a lift," she replied, sliding in and fastening his belt. He folded his long legs, stuffed his bag under his knees, put his rucksack and helmet on his knees and strapped himself in. He sighed.

"Drive on...and try not to get us killed," he said. Her eyes narrowed as she shifted into gear, put her foot down and sped out of the gas station, not missing the biker's knuckles whitening as he grabbed the dashboard.

"Oh, this is gonna be a long trip," he grumbled.