Ford had never had trouble sleeping. Even though he'd been through a lot of bad stuff over the years, he'd always been able to just shut down his brain and go to sleep
( Read more... )
There were certain sounds to which Sarah was accustomed. Car horns. The sound of cars passing by on the street. Sirens in the distance. Those sort of sounds had, over the years, become a sort of comfort to her. But though she tended to sleep well enough, she was also still very much a detective, no matter if she'd left all that behind in New Orleans. She had left the job behind, but not the instincts. Sounds that didn't fit in, sounds that stood out against the background of sound she was accustomed to - those were the sounds that snapped her from sleep to full wakefulness in a matter of minutes.
She pushed herself up, blinking into the darkness, as she tried to place the sound that had woken her. Her first thought was that someone had broken into the house, but after listening a moment, after lowering her shields just a touch to make sure there was no one there that shouldn't be, she frowned slightly and slipped out of bed, reaching for her cane.
Barefoot, in nothing but a t-shirt and an old pair of pajama pants, she made her way carefully through the house, until she pinpointed where the noise was coming from. The basement. Being the nosy person that she was, she'd poked around in her two weeks with no one but Francis for company, and the rhythmic pounding in the basement sounded like someone beating the tar out of the punching bag down there.
She could have gone back to her room. Instead, she headed down into the basement, too awake at the moment to go back and fall asleep again.
Ford spared half a thought that he should have tied his hair back before he got started on this. It kept on falling in front of his face. But he was too caught up in what he was doing to bother now.
He didn't care when his knuckles started aching. Only when they were finally scrubbed raw against the punching bag and bleeding ever so slightly did he stop. He gripped the bag to stop its swaying and rested his forehead against it, breathing a bit hard after the exertion. At least he felt a bit better now. Not good, but better.
Sarah watched silently, until Ford finally stopped, noting the blood on his knuckles as he held onto the bag. After a moment, she asked quietly, "You mind if I give it a go?" It seemed like a better way to maybe start a conversation than straight-up asking him what he was doing down here in the middle of the night.
And besides, she missed the gym in the station back in New Orleans. She had been pretty good at kick-boxing, back before she'd got shot, but she still packed a pretty decent punch. The dented door of the refrigerator in her old apartment was a testament to that.
Okay, that answered the question whether she was a light sleeper or not. He hadn't been that loud, he thought.
But for some reason he wast too surprised that she'd come sneaking down here. Nosy damn detective.
He stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow and gestured for her to go ahead. He considered getting out of there and into a shower. But, eh... He could give himself some time with the weights as well.
Sarah set the cane aside and took a few careful steps, testing her weight on her bad leg. It ached a bit - when didn't it ache, really - but it didn't seem inclined to collapse beneath her. That was always something, anyway.
She took a few gentle swings at the bag, tapping it lightly once or twice to get her aim right, and then she set into a flurry of punches, her brow drawn down in concentration. She paused, to catch her breath, and then attacked the bag with another rain of blows, and then she stepped back, reaching out to stop the bag from swaying.
Shifting her weight fully to her right leg, she brought her left leg up and extended it slowly before wincing and dropping it back down. "What I wouldn't give to be able to kick again," she muttered, running a forearm across her forehead.
"Yeah, well. Since you're too damn stubborn to get that fixed even when you have every possibility to, I'm not gonna feel sorry for you." He was just about to take his place on the bench to start with the weights, when he got the idea that some time in teh sauna could probably help him sleep. So he went out from the gym for a minute to turn it on. Then back to the weights while waiting for it to heat up.
The thing was, lately she'd been considering getting it fixed. Partly it had to do with leaving New Orleans behind. Partly it had to do with doing some serious thinking about what had happened when she'd saved Ford, and the subsequent consequences. She'd had enough of nightmares where she could only save one of them, Warren or Ford, and it was inevitably Warren who died each time. She was beginning to think that maybe it was time to let him go.
Not that she voiced those thoughts aloud. She just murmured something that might have been agreement, and went to fetch her cane. "Thinkin' 'bout fixin' it," was all she said.
Did he hear that correctly? He put the barbell back in its supports and sat up on the bench to look at her. "Well halle-fucking-lulja, she has brains after all." Of course, he had no idea about her reasoning, but to voluntarily limp around with a bad leg when there were options available? Yeah, pure idiocy in his book
"Surprise, surprise," she murmured in reply. No, she wasn't going to share her reasoning with Ford, because he'd just call her an idiot for hanging on for so long, and in all honesty, she wouldn't be able to argue with him. "She even knows how to put them to use now and then."
He laid back down again and gripped the barbell firmly. "So what was it that changed your mind?" He didn't have too much weight on. He wasn't trying to set any records, after all. There was just enough that it was a decent effort to push the barbell back up again.
Did he really have to ask that? Well. She'd put up with being called an idiot by him before, hadn't she?
She sank down to sit on the floor, her left leg stretched out in front of her, her right pulled up to her chest. "Figure it's about time I stop deludin' myself that I coulda done anythin' for Warren." She paused, her eyes distant, and she grimaced a bit, taking a slow breath. "Wasn't... wasn't my fault he died. Reckon he'd slap the shit outta me if he knew I put myself through that on his account."
Considering how firm she was on it the last time the subject came up, then yeah. He had to ask.
"...you've only figured that out now?" The insult was mixed with a small groan as he pushed the barbell up again. "Christ, woman. Is there no end to your stupidity?"
She wasn't really in the mood to put up with Ford baiting her. But she'd brought it upon herself. "C'mon, give me a little credit. 'Least I did figure it out." Even if it had taken her nearly six years.
Shifting a little bit, she decided to change the subject, hopefully away from the topic of her stupidity. "So what brings you down here in the middle of the night? You just wake up with a sudden and pressin' need to lift weights?"
"Couldn't sleep," he said and put he barbell away again, now for the last time. He'd had enough. "Figured that if I wore myself out a bit I'd have better luck." It was close enough to the truth that he'd get away with it.
"And you?" He was still on his back on the bench. He guessed that he'd woken her up, but could be fun to her her reasons for actually joining him in there.
"I was rather enjoyin' bein' asleep, 'til someone decided to lay into a punchin' bag like there was no tomorrow." She arched an eyebrow at him pointedly. It was all his fault she was awake.
"Figured I wasn't gonna be fallin' asleep again any time soon with that racket goin' on. And I thought to myself, what the hell, might as well go down and annoy the hell outta Ford." Have a little grin, Ford.
"Sorry to say it, but you're not succeeding," he said. He was actually quite glad for her company, if only for the reason that her presence demanded that he kept his mask on. If he wasn't showing emotions, he could fool himself that they weren't there. Or something like that.
She pushed herself up, blinking into the darkness, as she tried to place the sound that had woken her. Her first thought was that someone had broken into the house, but after listening a moment, after lowering her shields just a touch to make sure there was no one there that shouldn't be, she frowned slightly and slipped out of bed, reaching for her cane.
Barefoot, in nothing but a t-shirt and an old pair of pajama pants, she made her way carefully through the house, until she pinpointed where the noise was coming from. The basement. Being the nosy person that she was, she'd poked around in her two weeks with no one but Francis for company, and the rhythmic pounding in the basement sounded like someone beating the tar out of the punching bag down there.
She could have gone back to her room. Instead, she headed down into the basement, too awake at the moment to go back and fall asleep again.
Reply
He didn't care when his knuckles started aching. Only when they were finally scrubbed raw against the punching bag and bleeding ever so slightly did he stop. He gripped the bag to stop its swaying and rested his forehead against it, breathing a bit hard after the exertion. At least he felt a bit better now. Not good, but better.
Reply
And besides, she missed the gym in the station back in New Orleans. She had been pretty good at kick-boxing, back before she'd got shot, but she still packed a pretty decent punch. The dented door of the refrigerator in her old apartment was a testament to that.
Reply
But for some reason he wast too surprised that she'd come sneaking down here. Nosy damn detective.
He stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow and gestured for her to go ahead. He considered getting out of there and into a shower. But, eh... He could give himself some time with the weights as well.
Reply
She took a few gentle swings at the bag, tapping it lightly once or twice to get her aim right, and then she set into a flurry of punches, her brow drawn down in concentration. She paused, to catch her breath, and then attacked the bag with another rain of blows, and then she stepped back, reaching out to stop the bag from swaying.
Shifting her weight fully to her right leg, she brought her left leg up and extended it slowly before wincing and dropping it back down. "What I wouldn't give to be able to kick again," she muttered, running a forearm across her forehead.
Reply
Reply
Not that she voiced those thoughts aloud. She just murmured something that might have been agreement, and went to fetch her cane. "Thinkin' 'bout fixin' it," was all she said.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
She sank down to sit on the floor, her left leg stretched out in front of her, her right pulled up to her chest. "Figure it's about time I stop deludin' myself that I coulda done anythin' for Warren." She paused, her eyes distant, and she grimaced a bit, taking a slow breath. "Wasn't... wasn't my fault he died. Reckon he'd slap the shit outta me if he knew I put myself through that on his account."
Reply
"...you've only figured that out
now?" The insult was mixed with a small groan as he pushed the barbell up again. "Christ, woman. Is there no end to your stupidity?"
Reply
Shifting a little bit, she decided to change the subject, hopefully away from the topic of her stupidity. "So what brings you down here in the middle of the night? You just wake up with a sudden and pressin' need to lift weights?"
Reply
"And you?" He was still on his back on the bench. He guessed that he'd woken her up, but could be fun to her her reasons for actually joining him in there.
Reply
"Figured I wasn't gonna be fallin' asleep again any time soon with that racket goin' on. And I thought to myself, what the hell, might as well go down and annoy the hell outta Ford." Have a little grin, Ford.
Reply
He was not apologizing for waking her up, though.
Reply
Leave a comment