Locked.

[h_hollister]

After her chat with Severus and Dez earlier, Hips gets out her hanging bag. She hasn't used it in weeks, due to drama and running away and all that.

And it feels good.

It hurts, too. She's let things slide. So muscles protest at the punches being thrown, but she works through it.

She's worked too hard to let herself go, now.

The walkman that Perry gave her for Christmas is in use, with upbeat, powerful, happy music blaring in her ears.

Each punch is tension released, a worry let go of. Personal. Not the same as important.

Jerusalem? Not personal. Not really important, either. Just a job.

Severus? Getting steadily better, and that's what's important.

Rimmer? Personal. Not important.

Wade? Personal. Not important.

Thunder? Personal. Deeply so. Not important. Not to anybody else but her. And she knows that eventually this open ended THING between them will be resolved, one way or the other. Preferably with both of them ending up happy.

She's sweating, now, and her breathing rate is high and deep.

Each punch is a little bit of fear gone.

Comments

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

No telling how long Deadpool's been there, arms crossed in the corner, watching her form.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

She's oblivious, actually.

She's also humming along to whatever song is playing, slightly off key.

Left. Right hook. The bag swings back and forth gently, and she uses its movement to keep her workout going. Left again, with a slight uppercut to it.

It's been a while. And it feels damn good to get back into it.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

Not bad. Decent amount of power for how skinny her frame is, footwork's far from the worst he's seen. The rust is apparent, and she'd be easily knocked off balance.

38 different ways to drop her inside of ten seconds.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

Of course. Against him? No contest. But then, she also knows how to fight dirty. And she's fast. He'd have to catch her, first.

She's still going at it, when she shifts position just enough... and sees him.

Her face doesn't change, she just looks away again and focuses back on the bag.

"Knock from now on, please." Earphones still on, music still blaring.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"Like I'm ever polite."

He remains stoic. Weird for his usual spastic energy.

It's back to 37. Just noticed something in her crossover.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

She pretends not to hear him, which is helped along by her earphones.

"What's up? I can't imagine that you're here for my company."

She's also remaining stoic, and her punches aren't changing pressure in the least.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

He's not gonna fall into the 'look like schmendrick by talking over the music' trap.

He remains still. Oh, back up to 38.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"PART THE FIRST, I'm only taking 25 percent, because it didn't bother me until we were into the nooky-gritty already and I realized the fact that I was being honest wasn't registering. So my testosteronies will take a quarter of that and be done with it. If you're looking for more, too bad, stay 'mad as hell' at me. I'll survive."

No knife. Knife.

"PART THE SECOND, stop talking to me like I'm a fucking moron, and that you suddenly know Theresa Cassidy like the back of your hand and I'm this Chumpy-Come-Lately to the party. No lecturing when you're still pining for McGillicuddy. By the way, if I get turned into a Skrull, it means I'm a lovely shade of green, I look slightly BETTER, and I'm suddenly a shapeshifter, and that's buttloads of fun and adventure for the whole family - or just the legal ones."

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

"Try turning into a robot, asshole, and losing your 'testosteronies.' See how well you handle it."

The voice comes from the doorway.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

She's about to answer Wade when he appears. Her head jerks toward the sound of his voice, her heart jumping up in her throat.

"Thunder...!"

She's up and out of the chair before she can stop herself. Going toward him, a little helpless smile on her face.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"Great, the chumpstain in question. Listen, schmuckles, you've GAINED testosteronies, so lighten your ass up and enjoy you're Hippy Hippy Shake, all right? Stop being the surly little wick-dipper that doesn't know a good thing when it gets obsessed with him."

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

He looks to Hippolyta, and a slight look of... something vaguely positive crosses his face for a moment, before Wilson starts piping up, drawing his attention.

"Stop talking forever. Everything you say is worthless."

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

Shit.

"Okay, you know what? This is not ending with defenestration again. I refuse to let that happen."

She walks calmly over to her closet and pulls out her bazookoid, pointing it at the floor. "It's set on penguin. First one of you that makes any sort of threatening move, and it's tuxedo time. I believe you have the floor, Wilson."

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

Wade just looks at the two of them like they're both insane.

"I am OFFICIALLY going to upchuck the fuck up, Chuck. Does puking on you both count as a threatening move?"

He slaps his forehead a couple of times in frustration.

"LOOK, Captain Freelove, tuck your harem in your pants for a minute and you, stop living up to your nickname, Hippie. Freemo, are you seriously telling me you haven't popped open a goddamned biology book yet? Love's nice, love's happy, love's rare, yadda yadda, but that's not the POINT."

"LISTEN. You're not Eternal Robot Mook anymore, you don't have a billion goddamned years to bop around the galaxy getting your Shatner on. You're a human being, and unless you're an afflicted sap like me, you've got maybe SIXTY years tops. SIXTY. That's A Billion minus Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine Million, Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine Thousand, Nine Hundred and fucking FORTY. That's IT. WRAP YOUR MIND AROUND IT, CRAPWEASEL, and realize that it's basic human nature, encoded in the goddamned Dioxyribo-Nucleic ASSHOLE that your job on this earth is to find a MATE and PROCREATE."

"It's not about Whitey holdin' love down, it's about protecting your stupid fucking family. It's how the human mind works on a completely basic, instinctive level, regardless of whether they've got William Wallace's FREEDOM screaming in their heads all the time or if they think they don't even want kids. Your PROGENY stand a better chance of not being killed in a drug deal at age 12 or turning into psychotic, damaged assholes like me if ol' Maw and Paw are together and focused on actually RAISING the little brat they pounded out instead of wondering where the next honeypot's gonna come from. It's not a guarantee, but the odds are a hell of a lot better."

"It's BIOLOGY, not TECHNOLOGY, numb nuts. Nobody's pointing a finger at you and throwing you out of their little circle-jerk because THE MAN told 'em to. It's people following their genetic PROGRAMMING, Fuckcheese, and your trash can robo-ass should be able to follow THAT much. Yeah, it's a smidge harder to understand than a bunch of digits somehow equalling 'kill everything that moves' like you're used to, but pay attention to something other than your goddamned pecker once in a while and maybe you'll LEARN a thing or three."

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

Again, it takes him a moment to translate.

But he doesn't have a quick response to this. He blinks a bit, considering this, although his first reaction is to be extremely annoyed that this moron he hates keeps making points he has to think about on each painful occasion he has to talk to him.

Sixty years. He hasn't really thought about that yet. Procreation barely occurred to him outside of protecting himself from doing it, and occasionally marveling at a human child.

He's speechless for the moment.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

Hips, on the other hand, isn't. Her calm finally cracks and breaks.

"Well, thank you so much for that. I'm not being a goddamn hippie. Thunder's got a point, too. But whatever, we've both seen how that works out, so I'm not going to press the issue.

"I'm not trying to own anybody. I don't smegging WANT OWNERSHIP over anybody. Nor do I want to boff every guy that knocks on my door. I'm not so sick in the melon that I need that sort of garbage. I'm pretty rare; I can't have sex without it MEANING something. Which both of you should smegging well know, as I've stressed it repeatedly. YOU, Wilson, seem to think that it shouldn't mean as much as it does to me. YOU, Thunder, seem to think that I'd be able to find happiness in the arms of a stranger. Well, I can't. I can't change the way I feel about love and sex, nor do I want to. I want a partner. A friend. Somebody who'll look out for me. Somebody I can look out for right back. Somebody who loves me.

"And I know you're not willing, Wilson. So don't worry about me asking for it any more. Find it with Terry."

She turns to look at Thunder. "There it is. Ball's in your court."

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"Well, lah-de-dah. That's exactly what I'm talking about. Watchin' each other's asses and protecting the investment, yadda yadda schmadda schmadda gadda-da-vida. Now that Tardboy the Thrusting has a thought or two rolling around in his head, this has officially become Not My Business In The Least. Toodles, kids, send me the telegram from your honeymoon in Hoboken."

With a two-finger salute to Thunder, he fizzles right out of view. As is his penchant. Gets the last word in.

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

He breathes a little easier now that the irritant is gone.

He's still got a lot to think on, though.

"How long do I have to return this ball?"

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

She also breathes easier, and puts the bazookoid back in the closet before answering. The anger is gone.

"As long as you need, Thunder. As long as you like. We'd have a lot of work to do, but I think you're worth it. I think we're worth it."

She tentatively reaches out and brushes her fingers up the back of his hand. "You look good with glowing red eyes, in case I didn't mention." A little smile accompanying that. "Hell, you'd look good painted blue and dressed like a Smurf."

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

He's got his hat on, and he's out in the London rain, down the street already.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

She's still only wearing her sweatshirt and bike shorts, so the goose bumps are immediate as she runs to catch up with him.

"Thunder!"

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

He keeps walking, hands tucked in his pockets. Maybe he didn't hear.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

"Thunder!" she calls out again, just a few feet behind him now.

"Thunder, wait."

[crackofthunder.livejournal.com]

He turns, finally. Quiet and concerned.

"You'll catch a cold," he worries.

[h-hollister.livejournal.com]

"I'll be fine," she says with a little laugh.

"Thunder... thank you for coming back. It really means a lot to me. It's not exactly how I thought it would happen, but... Did you want to say anything else? I mean, you didn't know he'd be there. Did you come to talk to me?"