The California highway stretched before them like an endless promise, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through golden grasslands that seemed to breathe with summer's heat. Michael's fingers drummed against the steering wheel, perfectly in sync with the radio - that classic California road trip soundtrack that felt like freedom itself.

"When we get to Modesto," he said, his voice carrying that particular excitement he got when talking about adventures, "Yosemite's gonna blow your mind."

You glanced over, hair wild from the wind, sunlight catching the side of his face. Michael Carter - time traveler, superhero, absolute disaster - looked more alive in this moment than you'd ever seen him. This was different from his usual bravado. This was pure, unfiltered joy.

"Half-Dome," he continued, that boyish grin spreading, "It's this massive granite formation. Basically a mountain that looks like someone took a giant knife and just... sliced it clean in half."

You laughed. "You sound like a geology textbook."

"Hey," he mock-protested, "I've seen landscapes across centuries. This? This is special."

And there it was - a man who'd seen worlds, civilizations, entire planetary lifecycles, but who was finding magic in this simple moment. In this journey. In this instant.

The radio played and the grass rolled by. The side smirk was pure Michael - part charm, part mischief, entirely impossible to resist.

"Camping," he stretched the word like it was an adventure waiting to be unwrapped, "means me trying not to burn our food, you attempting to keep us from getting eaten by mosquitoes, and probably me complaining about the heat."

"We'll be fine," he added, “part of the fun.”