Alive
By: Aviantei
9 mph
I'm not even awake the next day and my phone's already buzzing. There's no such thing as jetlag on a one day trip, but the slight ache in my body hasn't faded. I didn't gain much weight during my inactive period, but my muscles are aware they haven't been used for anything akin to physical activity for a few months.
Which is part of the other reason I took it so slow and went diving first, but Cunningham doesn't need to know that.
My phone vibrates so much that it slides across my nightstand and bumps against the wall, intensifying the buzz. I roll over and try to ignore it—How long has it been going? It can't ring forever—but it buzzes and buzzes and buzzes, not even triggering into voice mail.
I slap a hand to my nightstand, grope for my phone, and answer while burrowing back under the blankets. "Mariya."
"And good morning to you, too, Kirsten!"
I don't bother to cover up my disgusted sigh. It's too early for this. I'm not awake enough, and all sorts of other excuses. I was having a dream about hanging out with some dumb cartoon character I liked as a kid; can't I go back to that?
I grumble, "Isn't it too early for you to be awake?"
"Um, no? I just woke up, right on time." I bolt up in bed and check the time. Sure enough, it's evening already, but not quite sunset. I slept through a whole day? Sure, I didn't go to bed right away when I got home, but… "Have you been sleeping, too? Aw, sweetie, I know you took a trip yesterday, but you shouldn't be that worn out!"
I may be groggy, but I'm not out of it enough to not catch Mariya's slip up. "Okay, sweetie, is there a reason you're stalking me now?" I like to think my lack of energy makes my voice sound even more fed up than usual.
"Ah, pet names are the best!" Mariya gushes. I close my eyes and massage my temples. She may be smart, but she's just a kid, she may be smart, but she's just a kid… "But to answer your question, I'm super bored, okay? Like, sure, I have work, but the jobs are all child's play! And the only interesting job I have is, well, it takes a long time for my hacking to gain a response, so it's suuuch a drag waiting. So I figured I'd check on you and Mr. Hume instead."
And her definition of "check on" means finding out our travel schedules.
"For such a private person, you have no sense of personal space."
"You're free to invade my personal space in return!"
There is no correct way to respond to that so I hold my silence. I can feel a headache coming on already. That's what I get for oversleeping. Should've set an alarm.
"But, no," Mariya says, reading at least a little bit of the atmosphere, "I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better. Getting all mopey-mopey isn't like you. I was worried, you know!"
I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and force myself to stand. I may have showered when I got back the day before, but lying around all day makes me feel gross all over again. I still smell like ocean anyways. "Other than your disturbing knowledge of my travel itineraries, I'm fine." Not perfect, and everything looks as dull as ever, but I feel a bit different. "Moving around is just what I needed. And I might have something for you to do later, okay?"
Mariya cheers her understanding. I flick on the light in the bathroom and start the shower running.
"Ah, darn it," Mariya mutters. "Sorry, Kirsten, work calls. I'll check in on that errand later, aight? Mariya out!"
Before I can get a farewell in edgewise, Mariya's ended the call. I shrug and set my phone on the counter, stretching as I undress. I may have wasted the day, but there's still the evening.
Cunningham won't appreciate it if I break into his house in the middle of the night, but that doesn't mean I can't plan for when I drag him out again.
The next few weeks form a routine: Cunningham has his practice days, and I use those to rest, plan, and start getting real exercise again. And when Cunningham's not practicing, I pick the activity of the day and off we go, whether that means skydiving or bungee jumping or mountain climbing. You name a wacky and expensive thing, and I can say with certainty I've done it or will be doing it with Cunningham Hume.
He's not happy about it, at least the fact that I make him pay his half of the bill (and then some). Or that I call him Alexander on occasion. And that I make a point of breaking into his house in the mornings doesn't help, either, no matter what breakfast I bring.
"Would you rather I cook for you instead?" I asked one morning.
"I'd rather you visit like a normal person," he replied, but took the coffee anyway.
It's a game we've come to play with each other. I see how far I can test his patience, and he sees how much he can snark me in return. But he still doesn't call the cops, and we still come together. If there were such a thing as routine thrill seeking, we'd be doing it.
Every so often, he'll give a hint of a smile, then wipe it away once he notices I'm looking. I caught it for the first time when we took a pit stop while mountain biking—stray ends of brown hair poking out from his helmet, green eyes filled with excitement, his form struck out in front of the blue sky beyond us. What a sight, that different side of him.
Then I called him a loser and bet I could get to the next checkpoint before him.
I have the privilege of saying I have beaten Cunningham, IGPX super star, in a race, and it one-hundred percent counts.
And overall, I've behaved myself on planes, in restaurants, with him in public in general, because starting that shit on my own would be far, far too obvious.
But if Mariya happens to spread a rumor, then that isn't my fault whatsoever.
One of our days I suggest that we just explore IGPX City, and Cunningham takes the bait, thinking I'm going easy on him. And for a few hours I do—until Mariya drops some intel on the net. After that all it takes is me tossing out "Cunningham" in casual conversation and boom: instant fan riot. Cunningham himself reacts more spectacularly than I imagined and hightails it into cover behind a building corner, dragging me along behind him.
"Hey, did you see which way he went?"
"I think he headed down the street, towards that arcade place?"
"Well we won't find him just standing here."
"Okay, team, break!"
It seems that IGPX fans of all shape and size can be well coordinated when they want. It'd be terrifying, if I wasn't just a passerby, and if I didn't think it's hilarious. Cunningham shoves his palm against my mouth as I start to snicker and doesn't move it away until the fan riot spreads out.
We're downtown, in the shopping and entertainment district. As mentioned, there's an arcade near here, plus more stores than even I could by with. Cunningham ducked us into a clothes boutique that couldn't have picked on purpose, given that there's a fair assortment of lingerie strewn about. It's nice stuff, not that I'd ever have a use for it.
"If you were planning on asking me for a favor after today, I'm afraid I'll have to decline," I quip, tugging at a corner of fabric on the nearest rack, inspecting patterns in the pale lace.
"Oh, shut it," Cunningham groans. The salesgirl at the back counter takes a wary look at us, then starts organizing already aligned boxes on the shelf behind her. "What the hell were they even on about? Some special event? Sir Hamgra doesn't let us do dumb publicity stunts."
I snicker again, moving on to a wall of shoes with heels too high to be practical. Still tasteful, but it's funny what people think makes them look good. "Sounds like a rumor got out of hand to me," I remark, because pointing it out lowers the chances of him noticing my involvement. "You guys haven't had a publicity event all off-season. People might be getting reckless."
Cunningham sighs and goes to lean on a clothing rack before remembering where he is. He shoves his hands in his pockets instead, though he doesn't blush. "Not even a month and people are going nuts," he grumbles. "Is just a little vacation too much to ask?"
"There, there," I say, with little sincerity and a pat on the shoulder. It's not often Cunningham looks tired, even after I've dragged him halfway around the world, but we haven't even been out here two hours and he looks worse for wear than the time I took him shark diving. "Don't tell me you're afraid of your fans, though. I'm sure they're just trying to have some fun."
I'm having fun at the very least.
"I don't race for the fans," Cunningham says, sounding so upset he's might as well be washed out gray. He exhales and runs a hand through his hair. "Well, we're not getting anywhere with me being so obvious. Let's find some sunglasses or something and get on with it." He strides to the door and puts his hand on the handle just as the glass swings open. Sharp reflexes save him from getting whacked in the face, but not from colliding with the two who have stumbled inside.
A pair, one boy and a dark-skinned girl, both teenagers and looking out of place. A moment later I recognize them as Team Satomi's forward and defender: Takeshi Jin and Liz Ricarro.
Liz recovers first, dropping off an apology before realizing just where she is. And smacking Takeshi in the back of the head. "What the hell kind of joke is this, Takeshi?" she demands. "You think you're funny or something?"
For talking tough, her face is red, and so is her teammates'. "It was a mistake, honest!" he says, scrambling for any sort of semblance. Cunningham steps back out of their way to cast a glance out the window. I step up to his side, things looking clear enough out there. "I just found the first door that seemed like a good out and went for it. I was under pressure, okay?!"
Whoops, they must've gotten caught up in the trouble. Oh, well. "You two doing okay?" I ask, since Cunningham's still scoping out the view. I jab a thumb into his forearm, though all I hit is muscle. "This guy had some trouble, too, so we're trying to play it cool."
"Huh? Cunningham?" Takeshi blinks, and even Liz stops trying to strangle her teammate in surprise. "You saw that out there? What the hell's going on?"
It takes him a minute, but Cunningham registers the conversation. When he notices Takeshi, I can see an almost gentleness form in his smile, bringing the man to ease. I guess even though Satomi kicked Velshtein's ass, they have a friendly rivalry. "I'm not sure, but I don't plan to stick around to find out. As soon as the course is clear, we're gonna split. You guys should, too."
"Figures." Takeshi slumps, not even his perpetual cowlick staying upright in the motion. What an empathetic guy. "Man, I was looking forward to trying out that new racing simulator at the arcade, but fat chance of that."
"We'll try another day, big guy," Liz says, slipping her hand into his. What do you know, there are things even Mariya doesn't have in her bag of intel. I can't tell if she or Nate will freak out more over this piece of info. Liz locks her eyes onto me, her stance casual, but with just the slightest bit of suspicion. "So who's your friend, Cunningham?" she asks, with just the right air that I can tell the impression she must get finding her fellow racer in a lingerie shop with a woman.
I can't help it. I double over laughing hard enough to make my stomach hurt.
"She's a friend," Cunningham decides on, since woman who keeps breaking into my property and is trying to teach me not to be such a stick in the mud is far too complicated, even for me. "Kirsten, I take it you recognize Takeshi and Liz?"
"Yeah," I wheeze out, "nice to—pfft—meet you. Hahaha—"
The kids exchange glances and polite greetings. Cunningham sighs. "She's had a long day." This time, he jabs my side to catch my attention. "I'm canceling your plan for the day." This is fine with me. Other than stirring up trouble, I didn't have a real plan for today. "We'll head back to my place and regroup. Get moving."
I take a deep breath to get myself under control, though I still have a few giggles left in me. "Right-o," I say, then toss a wave to the kids. "You two stay safe out there, okay? I'm sure it'll calm down soon, though."
Then I follow Cunningham's hasty retreat out the door, leaving Takeshi and Liz looking just as confused when they came in in the first place.
[Author's Notes]
Got several things going on in this chapter, from Mariya's snooping to some transitionary sequences, plus a fan riot and a few more canon characters. I feel like I'm still getting a handle on covering large chunks of time in summary format without it being lame, but I might just be wrong.
Hm, I wonder what little foreshadowing hints I slipped into this chapter...
In other news, I survived another month of Camp NaNoWriMo! The latest draft of my novel is complete! I've got a few more corrections I need to work in, but it's progress. This book might see the light of day yet...
That being said, May is upon us. There's still a few updates in the queue left, and we have some fun little plot points to hit. So 10 mph will hit next Saturday-please look forward to it!
-Avi
[04.30.2018]
