"I have it." he muttered from atop the pile of car parts.
"I have you." came her voice from behind.
He wrenched a rusted exhaust from under a Volkswagon bonnet and used it to lever the box, jammed tight under the debris of a road accident, forgotten by all but a few. When he put his full weight into it, the box came free and he fell forward wih a crash. He reached out but the box evaded him and clattered down the heap to the gravel below.
Blood emerged from a gash on his forearm and he brushed flecks of rust away while clambering down. She beat him to it, flipped the box over with her foot and waited for him.
"Why did you bring it here?" he asked the top of her head as she examined the wound.
"It seemed safe enough."
She had a handkerchief out and was patting at his arm. He grimaced at the sting and wondered at the fact that she carried a handkerchief. He buried his nose in her hair looked beyond to the box.
"You know we have to return it."
But she looked up at him and he knew they wouldn't.
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