Reason to Wake [Peter]

[HELEN D'ARTAGNAN]

Helen cleared her throat in order to bring up a loogie which she had felt brewing since mile 6 when she was now nearing mile 8 of her run. Helen had never been allergy tested in her life, mainly because she didn't possess medical insurance, but she was sure there was something this time of year that really got to her sinuses, evident by the increase in how many times she blew her nose on her tee and the thickness of the loogies she hawked up during running. Helen looked down at her iPod to check the time, her feet hitting the pavement in a rhythmical pattern. She was right on course to get to the diner at 7am for her after-run coffee. It didn't matter if she was working out and already on a bit of an endorphin high, Helen was going to have her coffee. She lifted her water bottle to her mouth after spitting, putting her teeth around the top, and pulling it so she could squeeze the water into her mouth without missing a beat, replenishing the fluids she had been running out of her for nearly an hour and half.

Helen was a habitual woman now, knowing the routines helped her keep to her daily and long term goals and that running, specifically, helped keep her in check. Running, coffee, drawing. Those were her essential ways of living, just like water, air, and shelter. So, in keeping to her routine, when she hit mile 8, she stopped to stretch, the diner just one block away and within view. First, she stretched up, looking up at the buildings around her and at the sun peaking over them, just as awake and on schedule as she was for it being a Saturday morning. It surely was not the best idea to go running on 5 hours of sleep, but it helped wake her up and keep in a productive mindset. The mind could truly rule the body, Helen concluded as she leaned against a building to stretch out her Achilles tendon. Just because she had bartended the previous evening until 11pm and gone home to study until midnight after running 10 miles and heading to a full-day of work didn't mean she couldn't get up and conquer the world over again today. No, all she needed was her morning run, coffee, and perhaps some egg whites, scrambled with a bit of cheese in them with a side of meat and a bowl of fruit (her normal weekend breakfast).

Helen readjusted her ponytail as she finished her quick stretches, making a mental note to stretch again before sleeping when a coffee craving was no plaguing her. Her running shoes hit the pavement of the Brooklyn sidewalk as a much tamer pace as she walked, though briskly as any true New Yorker would, towards The Diner, pulling open the door and getting in line to order what she always did, a black coffee. They knew her so well, they hardly needed to ask unless some new chick was there, which happened today. Helen sighed out of her nose as she witnessed the teenage girl, who looked like she came from a middle class family and probably kept this job so she could buy extra clothes or condoms to have sex with her boyfriend when he didn't want to invest. Stepping up to the register, because getting into the to-go line for coffee was usually more efficient than waiting at a table, she said "I'll have one cup a' coffee, black, please," trying to give the girl the benefit of the doubt.

"Creamer or sugar?"

"Black. Nothing white in it. No creamer, no sugar." Her tone was shorter, though Helen still forced a polite smile on her face. The girl smiled back at her, saying, "Right," and nodding to herself so she would remember next time. She asked Helen for money and turned around to get the coffee. Helen moved to wait until the girl turned back around. "I just gave the last cup away, actually."

In one beat, the smile disappeared from Helen's face, she looking thoroughly unamused. "So I should have the first cup in the fresh pot which I'm guessing you haven't started brewing yet." At this point, she folded her arms over her chest. Helen worked harder at tending bar underage than this girl ever would at this diner. She had very little patience with those who were more privileged than her and not hardly as driven.

"I'm sorry, it's my first day," she excused.

"Who did you give the last cup to?" Helen said, taking advantage of the situation. The girl pointed and Helen turned around to see Detective Aramis, or Peter, sitting at a booth by himself. "Right," she turned back to the girl. "Let me know when my coffee is ready and I'll go have a seat," Helen said to her, forcing the small smile back on her face before she turned around and walked right over to the booth in which Peter sat, sliding in uninvited and folding her hands neatly on the table. "You took my cup of coffee," she informed him, a trace of a smirk on her lips.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Saturday mornings were tough, especially when they came at six am after a one am last call. Normally, Peter would have slept later, but some things just couldn’t be helped. The fact his bedmate was one of those Wall Street guys who had to be at the office on a Saturday morning was just another one of those things. He wasn’t hurt at all by the way he’d been ushered out the door after a few hours of exhausted sleep, especially when he thought back on why that was the case. He’d met Mark while he was serving drinks uptown, doing a favor for a friend of his who needed someone with bartending experience to cover his shift. Of course, the hot shot banker had been suave, thinking he was leading Peter along, but Peter wasn’t fooled. He’d been playing that game far too long. If anything, he’d noticed Mark’s interest and set himself up to encourage him along with the odd lingering glance and the shy smile he knew how to pull off perfectly. No, there was definitely nothing he regretted about the night before, even if he was seeing the early hours of the morning in a way he would have rather not.

Seeing as how he only had his cheque from the night before and no other way to pay for a cab, he’d been forced to hoof it back from Manhattan. It had the upside of ensuring that Peter was more than awake by the time he got back to Brooklyn, walking along the streets and making his way past the familiar businesses and landmarks. He’d lived in Brooklyn for about eight years now, and he was sure there were very few people living around his neighborhood who didn’t know him. So the odd waves he got from vendors as he passed weren’t surprising. He even waved back, knowing that no matter how tired he felt, he was a well known face, and being rude would cause more talk than anything.

So he walked, making his way towards home, but seeing as how he was wide awake, he wasn’t inclined to head there just yet. Sitting around and watching TV wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, and when one lived alone, that didn’t exactly provide for a lot of entertainment. Even the dog was spending the night down the hallway, seeing as how he didn’t expect to be home until much later in the day, if not the next day. Right then, he was more interested in a cup of coffee he didn’t have to brew, and a newspaper he didn’t have to pay for. There was only one place in town that had both – The Red Car Diner. Mr. DiCasso, the owner, was the kind who thought that there was nothing better than a cup of brew and a newspaper to go with it. Of course he tried to feed Peter, too, but food wasn’t something he ever did before noon. Still, the atmosphere was what he wanted right then. So he veered towards the unassuming building, popping inside to the sound of the diner in full swing. It was the breakfast rush, after all.

Slipping into his usual booth, he let himself rest against the red vinyl seats, feeling the cool material seeping through his clothing. He didn’t have to wait long before Lori, the head waitress and wife of one of the cooks, swept past his table with a cup of coffee. He smiled at her gratefully, already perking up at the smell of the caffeine.

One cup became two, two became three. And by the time that the caffeine was soaring through his system, Peter was starting to feel like his usual self. That was of course when his private little bubble was invaded by none other than Helen D’Artagnan.

"You took my cup of coffee.”

She was smirking at him, so he was sure that there wasn’t any malice behind it. Peter propped his sun glasses on top of his head, returning the smirk as he brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip before setting it back down.

“I wasn’t aware that it was yours,” he replied, easily.

And he wasn’t feeling guilty about taking it. He needed the caffeine more than she probably did. His powers of deduction clearly picked out that she had just been on a run, clearly a long distance with the amount of perspiration he was picking up. He probably didn’t smell much better, seeing as how he smelled more like Mark’s cheap cologne than his own brand. He hadn’t wanted to push it by showering with someone he never planned to see again, so it was on his list of things to do when he got home. He hadn’t expected to have company, after all.

“So, what brings you to my little corner of the diner?” he asked, rubbing at the stubble starting up on his chin.

[HELEN D'ARTAGNAN]

“I wasn’t aware that it was yours.”

"Clearly someone forgot to inform you," she said, with a shrug. Now that Helen was sitting down in front of Peter, she could properly take in his appearance which was noticeably different than how he usually appeared, having an eye for detail as an artist, and especially so as a sketch artist where the minute details could make or break an accurate representation of a perpetrator. Hair - slightly disheveled. Clothes - noticeably worn/wrinkled. Skin - dewy in the way before one has a chance to thoroughly wash. As far as smelling Peter, Helen couldn't manage that, not over the fresh smell of her run, which wasn't so overpowering as it wasn't yet too hot outside and she wore a good antiperspirant/deodorant. She always noticed the sweat on her face more than anything as it made her skin taste salty when she licked her lips to wet them.

“So, what brings you to my little corner of the diner?”

More than anything, even more than the delicious food of the diner, Helen smelled the coffee he held in his hand. It was teasing her, so. "The coffee here is a worthy part of my routine," she confessed, looking up from Peter's coffee to his face, respectfully. "Service is usually polite and quick." Helen gave the quickest of glances to the teenage girl who seemed to now be succeeding at brewing a pot of coffee. "And their breakfast deals on weekends are amazing. Nearly burn down house cooking," she said, lifting her left hand in the air..."Orrr get the same thing at a convenient location with less effort and time here," she said, raising her right hand and then moving it up towards the top of her head, indicating the latter option was a winner.

((My intro posts are always longer, but I tend to favor shorter posts for conversational threads! Less confusion and backtracking!))

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Clearly someone forgot to inform you."

Peter couldn’t hold back the chuckle as he continued to drink the coffee. Well, even if she was running on an empty stomach, apparently her need for caffeine was nearly as potent as his own. He could see the way she studied his cup, licked her lips, and even her pupils were a bit dilated. He’d learned the signs after his night of coffee with Max...Sherlock. He had to remember to call him Sherlock. Regardless, he’d learned a lot about what it was to be a caffeine addict.

"The coffee here is a worthy part of my routine. Service is usually polite and quick."

Peter followed her glance at the new girl working behind the counter. Ollie had introduced her as his girlfriend. Clearly, she was going to get away with a lot, well until Lori put her in her place, or Helen killed her – whichever came first. Still, Jenny wasn’t so bad. Of course, she fawned over Peter, but that...kind of happened with everyone he met, so that wasn’t saying much.

He only snorted when she mentioned the breakfast being quick and fast, but also that she wouldn’t burn down the house. Oh, he knew that experience far too well.

“I know what you mean. Seeing as how my dog barks at the smoke alarm, I gave up trying to cook a long time ago.”

Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as how Baze barked at everything. However, he seemed to have it out for the smoke alarm. Peter didn’t blame him, but on the plus side, every time it went off they were sure it was working. That’d be important if the place ever did burn down.

“So, how far did you run before breakfast?”

The idea was kind of interesting to him. He didn’t know many people who did that. Perry, of course, but He was ex-Navy. Well, so was Sunny and he was sure the eccentric author didn’t run, so that wasn’t an excuse.

OOC: I'm the same way . It definitely works better with a long intro and shorter follow up posts!

[HELEN D'ARTAGNAN]

“So, how far did you run before breakfast?”

"8 miles," she said, nonchalantly. Helen wasn't one to dwell on her commitment or the rigor of her physical activity. 8 miles was normal for her, a mid-length run, her longer ones taking her to a half-marathon length of 13.1 miles or even slightly more. She was, after all, trying to work her way up to a full-marathon. Running had always been a simple form of exercise for Helen, she not one to give credence to those who talked about all the troubles with running - feet, knees, hamstrings, groin, etc. That was just the mind making the body weak. Ice and wraps and maybe a bit of rest would take care of any aches and pain. Pain was just weakness leaving the body anyhow, wasn't it?

Helen had never set foot inside a gym in her entire life and never planned on it. Women in the gym ran on treadmills, or worse, walked on treadmills. They also ran on contraptions called elliptical meant for those who were too mentally weak to run. Women in gyms wore makeup and were there partially to pick up the men that were great at lifting weights but rarely did anything physical outside of the gym. Women in gyms avoided sweating outside or doing anything that might actually hurt. That was the stereotype Helen held in her head, and she was quick to point out any person (whether to herself or others) that fit the stereotype, giving her a reason to avoid the gym. Really, Helen had just never been able to afford a membership and was set in her ways and prejudices against those who could.

"Do you run with your dog?" Helen inquired, having always seen other runners with their dogs. It seemed like a nice way to bond with an animal or something, but Helen preferred her solidarity. Her eyes briefly flitted over in the direction of the coffee pot. Drip coffee was too slow, she thought, eyes quickly turning back to Peter.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Eight miles? Good god. He felt practically slothful at the admission. He couldn’t remember running anywhere for eight miles. Of course, there had been the Academy fitness tests, and he supposed his runs back when he was in university were probably that long, but to just commit to running eight miles every morning...that sounded so terribly routine. Of course, it was also terribly healthy. There wasn’t an extra ounce on Helen to spare, and Peter knew it wasn’t the kind of thin that people got by putting their finger down their throat after every meal. No, she sounded like she was looking forward to food. He could understand that. Eight miles would work up quite the appetite.

“Well, then. That’s not bad,” he offered, sipping from his cup again. “I can imagine you worked up quite the appetite.”

Another reason why he didn’t run in the morning. Eating breakfast this early would throw his entire system out of whack.

"Do you run with your dog?"

Peter chuckled. Baze was rail thin and looked like all he did was run. Peter wasn’t starving him, and he wasn’t running him, either. No, he simply took him to the park every night and let him chase a stick and meander until they were both tired enough to sleep.

“You’ve met my dog. He’s about the least graceful thing on the planet. Last week, he tripped someone who was running past us in Central Park. Imagine what would happen if I were trying to run with him on a leash?”

Of course, James had been nice about it, and Peter was sure he had a new friend, but he was still embarrassed that his mutt had managed to take down a leggy dancer. That was actually talent. He’d been okay, but Peter could already envision himself icing down sore muscles and patching up scrapes from being knocked over by the dog if he took up running with a leash to contend with.

“I gotta be honest with you – unless I’m late, you don’t often find me running, dog or no dog.” He set his half empty coffee mug on the table, shifting so that he had one arm thrown along the back of the booth. “Who has the time around work? Do you just run on the weekends or is this an everyday thing?”

He was curious. After all, if she found time around a nine to whenever she finished shift, then maybe he needed to work on his time management skills....

[HELEN D'ARTAGNAN]

"Imagine what would happen if I were trying to run with him on a leash?”

She remembered meeting Baze before, her thought being that the dog was thin, a breed that could run. However, it made sense that in the city, the dog would be limited if the owner wasn't a runner himself. "Keeping him in the dog park sounds best then," she said, eyebrows raised, imagining being taken out by a dog while she was running, immediately thinking about tweaking a knee as a result. Could humans beat up a dog? Helen was fairly sure she could and would if a dog interrupted her stride in such a way.

“I gotta be honest with you – unless I’m late, you don’t often find me running, dog or no dog.”

At the comment, Helen's eyes dropped from Peter's face to reassess his physique in an instantaneous, yet limited manner she could due to his choice of clothing. Physically fit, though not seemingly bulky to be a total gym-goer. Well, that was Helen's theory. As far as running went, Helen always figured the best give away was someone's legs as a true runner's were lean, not overly bulky, and lacking any ounce of fat. That was how one could describe her own. The other telling feature of a religious runner was their rear end, though Helen had never seriously evaluated Peter's, perhaps a tell of how seriously she took the work environment, not very well tempted by colleagues. That was for her own good.

“Who has the time around work? Do you just run on the weekends or is this an everyday thing?”

"Everyday, rain or shine," Helen said, with a small smile. She did love a good run in the rain, warmer weather lending itself to a more enjoyable rain-run. "I always have to get it in before work because I don't have time afterward. There's usually either class or I've to go tend bar." Her busy schedule was why she was usually a ghost around the department, slipping out to her next activity the moment she could, not usually able to stick around for a chat or go for a drink. "I've convinced myself it gives me more energy to start the day," she added, quickly.

"You could come with sometime, you know. I could shorten my route," Helen suggested, tilting her head towards him, one side of her mouth upturned more than the other in somewhat of a smirk. She normally considered running to be a solitary activity, but to get someone else into running -or to watch a man who thought he was so much more in shape than her realize that he actually wasn't (not the case here)-, she could make an exception with ease.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Keeping him in the dog park sounds best then."

He nodded. It was sound advice. However, without a car, he couldn’t exactly get to one of those. Walking into Manhattan with the beast and making his way to Central park was about as good as it got for the mutt. He also liked the parks in Brooklyn, but at least in Manhattan, he could flash his badge and get away with having him there, especially after midnight. It seemed to work out well, seeing as how he’d made a couple collars in the last few months because of Baze. A lot of tweaked out kids were more terrified of the dog than not, so it worked out well.

After hearing that she ran every day, Peter wondered if she ever made arrests on her own time, but then she was an officer, and he knew things were different when you were only starting out. Either you were gung-ho or you only worked when you were paid. Peter figured that he’d always been the gung-ho type. He’d never been able to just sit and wait for his shift to roll around or to call someone else to do what needed to be done. He wouldn’t have met half the people he had if that were the case. Victor, James, Sunny...heck, even a couple of his kids. It was just the way he was and hopefully he wouldn’t ever lose that drive.

“You tend bar?” Peter asked, interested in this little factoid. “How do you find the time around running, work, and school?”

Of course, it was a fair question. He found time around his life to bar tend, but he wasn’t the kind who had much of a life. Workaholic was the term for it. He worked, he slept, and he slept around. It was all part of the bigger picture as to why he’d never managed to keep a relationship going, unless you counted his kids. Eight years and counting since he’d started mentoring them.

"You could come with sometime, you know. I could shorten my route."

“I think I’ll pass. If you have to shorten your route for me, it’s probably better that I don’t join in.”

It was true. The thought of her making it easier for him just made him feel old. He was old, but more in the way he felt rather than in age. Running and knowing that Helen was making things easier for him wasn’t his idea of a good time. Besides, he wasn’t accustomed to running long distances, so he was sure he would just embarrass himself.

“But, if you ever want to play a game of basketball, I’m your man,” he threw out there, finding that there were a lot more truths on a basketball court than solitary running. He liked to preach at the kids when they had a ball between them, when they were off guard enough to actually listen. “I’ll even buy the coffee afterward.”

If it ever came. It looked like Helen had already gotten on Jenny’s bad side if she was still waiting. He waved at Lori and held up two fingers, figuring it would only be a few minutes before their cups were full.