Of course. It was so obvious. So plausible. It made such perfect sense. Really, it was the only reasonable explanation. Fields couldn't quite believe it hadn't occurred to him before now. How could he have been so obtuse?
No matter. Better late than never. Feeling enormously relieved, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to soak in the welcome warmth of the waning sun, pleasantly tempered by a benevolent breeze. To enjoy the calming peacefulness of his surroundings. To relish the sudden relaxation of responsibility, the freedom from care. Breathing deep and even, heart-rate steadying, he felt a slow smile begin to form on his—
"Ow! What the hell?"
"Sorry, partner." Despite her words, Peregrine's expression managed to display a complete and utter lack of contrition. "You had that look about you. I've seen it before."
"Look?" queried Fields, blinking vacantly as he rubbed his arm. "What look?"
"The holy-crap-I've-just-realised-the-only-logical-explanation-for-all-the-crazy-shit-going-down-is-that-it-must-be-a-dream look. The kind of look that requires a good pinch. Some of my former partners got pretty good at it. At least it took you longer than most."
"So"—Fields swallowed—"you mean it's not? You know, like—a dream?"
"Nope. All one hundred percent, bona fide, genuine, dyed-in-the-wool, real-arse reality. Any realer, it'd rust."
His eyes narrowed. "Wait. How do I know you aren't just some dream-Peregrine, yanking my chain? How do I know—ow!"
"That's how you know, sweetheart. First the pinch, then the slap. Keep crapping on about being in a dream, and the knuckles come next."
"Fine, fine," muttered Fields, now rubbing his smarting cheek. "So I really am about to climb down onto that ledge and poke a man-eating dragon—"
"Sorry, what kind of dragon, now?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry—a person-eating dragon."
"Thank you."
Fields took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. So, I'm going to climb down there and poke the dragon, and then when it wakes up, I'm going to hope that instead of roasting me, or eating me, or roasting me and then eating me, it instead finds itself possessed by the disembodied consciousness of the trans-dimensional photo-copier repairman who formerly occupied the body of the fairy-tale prince currently digesting in its stomach, while in what I have to say is a fairly questionable attempt to render the whole exercise fractionally less suicidally insane, or possibly less insanely suicidal, you're going to cover me with your presumably illegally obtained and almost certainly unlicensed grenade-launcher, which I can't help but notice has significantly more rust than any self-respecting grenade-launcher should really have, and then, on the minuscule off-chance I might have somehow managed to remain uneaten and/or unblown-up, I'm going to climb aboard the aforementioned dragon, in the hope I will be able to ride it in pursuit of the rapidly-receding Radovic, while also attempting to find an area with phone coverage, so that I can call in a medevac for Embers and Featherstone. Is that about it? Does that tick all the boxes? Is that the reality?"
"Reality?" replied Peregrine, hefting the grenade-launcher into a more comfortable position. "Nope."
Fields blinked at her. "Nope? Wait, do you mean this is a dream? 'Cause that would seriously make a lot more sense."
"Nope."
"Huh? Nope, it's not a dream, or nope, it is?" Now that it had occurred to him, Fields was finding the whole dream idea dangerously seductive. And a little hard to let go of. "You know, maybe just punch me now. I think it might save time."
"Fields, as tempting as that is, I figure you've probably got enough bruises for one day. What I mean is that your little summary, while accurate in most respects, is fundamentally wrong on one key point."
"Is it the bit about the dragon?" asked Fields hopefully.
"Ha! Afraid not, partner. Nope, the one little thing you got wrong—the one minor detail, the single itty-bitty insignificant point, the solitary trifling tidbit—was the part about you waking up the dragon."
Fields considered this. "But I can't ride it while it's asleep. That's just silly."
Apparently forgetting her concern about him exceeding his daily bruise quota, Peregrine landed a hearty punch on Fields' shoulder. "Not the 'waking up' bit, you big doofus. The 'you' bit."
Fields considered some more. He shook his head. "Go on, punch me. Again, I mean. I really think it might help."
"Fields." Grabbing what remained of his lapels, Peregrine dragged her partner's face to within centimetres of her own. "Pay very close attention to what I'm about to say. Read my lips, if that helps. You are not waking up and riding the dragon. I am waking up and riding the dragon. You are going to sit your dazed and dream-obsessed derrière on that rock over there and cover me with the grenade-launcher. Comprènde?"
"What? No way! You can't do it."
There were a few seconds of dangerous silence. "And why not?"
"Well, because you're a...um, you aren't...er, it's because..."
"Yes?"
Having only seen that look on Peregrine's face when she was discussing Pearl-related matters, Fields deduced that he had stumbled into dangerous territory. Inspiration struck. "It's because it's my idea! So I'm the one who should poke the dragon." There's a phrase I've never used before. He swallowed. And hopefully never will again.
Peregrine's expression clearly suggested she wasn't buying it. "Fields, it is your idea. And it's a crazy-arse, hare-brained, one-in-a-million, messed-up, great big gobsmacker of an idea. Makes me proud, to tell you the truth. Maybe even a little bit jealous. But even though it was JFK's idea to go to the moon, he didn't fly the freaking rocket-ship, did he? Now, take this grenade-launcher, go sit on that rock, shut your face before any more chauvinistic drivel leaks out, and let me get on with it. After all, this ain't my first rodeo, rookie."
The majority of Fields' brain, the rational, reasonable, self-preservational part, liked the sound of that. A lot. While its first choice would have been a crazed sprint up and over the crater wall and as far away from dragons, portals, mad scientists and quite possibly even madder partners as it could get, a nice safe rock didn't sound so bad as a second choice. Particularly when compared to the whole dragon-poking scenario.
And it was precisely because the rational, reasonable, self-preservational part of his brain liked the idea that he was so appalled by the thought of actually doing it. Because the rational, reasonable, self-preservational part of his brain hadn't been running the show for quite some time now. The rational, reasonable, self-preservational part of his brain had in fact gone down in a bloodless coup, right around the time he'd joined the Agency—a cognitive insurrection led by the non-rational, non-reasonable, self-sacrificing parts of his brain. And it would seem—just maybe and much to his chagrin—at least some of the chauvinistic bits.
The thing was, rational, reasonable, self-preservational individuals did not generally run around with guns, chasing after bad people and intentionally placing themselves in situations where they could very well be shot, stabbed, blown-up, or—as in this particular instance—eaten by a dragon. Those kinds of individuals did not make it through the academy. Fields had made it through the academy. With honours.
But then, so had Peregrine. She held up a hand, to silence any further protests. "Look, spare me the whole, 'I'm taller than you, I can run faster than you, I've got more testicles than you, etc' thing, okay? We both know I'm more awesome, but you don't hear me crapping on about it, do you? Fields, if Al-Ken-Whatever-His-Name-Might-Be-Now is in there, and is actually driving the bus, then it's better if my face is the one he sees when he wakes up. He knows me. He trusts me. And if he's got any sense, he'll realise I'd be bad for his cholesterol levels. You know I'm right."
And Fields did. But, somewhat to his surprise, he found that he also had a valid counterargument. And it wasn't even a sexist one.
"Peregrine, I can't dispute any of that. Well, I could, but I've already known you long enough to realise what a waste of time that would be. Time we don't have. But look, here's the thing. There's a very good reason why I'm the one who should poke the dragon." Damn it. "There's one very particular attribute I have and you don't. One extremely valuable trait I have in spades, and you completely lack. One seriously handy characteristic I unquestionably have all over you."
Peregrine's eyes narrowed, her expression radiating scepticism. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Simple. I'm more expendable than you."
She blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. Peregrine, you are Section F. I might be able to shoot straight and run a mile in under five minutes, but you drive a frigging nuclear-powered Jag and have been to the future. You're the queen of the curious, the mistress of the mysterious, the warden of the weird. You know about stuff like...like..."—he made a vague sweeping gesture, encompassing the dragon, the Dish, the desert, and basically the whole big, bizarre box and dice—"all this crap. If I get eaten, then you just get a new partner, get on with things and hopefully the world stays safe. If you get eaten, then we're probably all gonna be toast the next time some boogie-monster from the universe down the street comes calling. Comprènde?"
And Peregrine blushed. To Fields' complete and utter astonishment, in what was undoubtedly one of the day's most surprising occurrences—on a day which contained plenty of competition—his brash and boisterous partner, usually so full of bluster and braggadocio, actually blushed. "Oh, I don't know about that, Fields. I'm just..."
As rapidly as it had arrived, the blood drained from Peregrine's face, leaving her pale and wide-eyed. For just the briefest moment, Fields wondered whether he might have some particularly gross burrito and/or sushi remnant stuck in his teeth, or perhaps an unusually disturbing runaway booger. However, just as he was reaching into his pocket for a tissue, he realised his partner was looking over his shoulder, at something beyond him. His heart sank.
"Ah, crap. Is it...?"
Slowly, eyes never deviating, Peregrine nodded. "Yep, 'fraid so. Well, at least we don't have to worry about who gets to wake up the dragon."