Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Also, the opinions of the characters do not reflect those of the author. :)
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Henri-Mae hated night shifts, just on the principle that night was the time to sit around on your butt and watch television, and not worry about the next day. But it was her night tonight, which left her the morning to do with as she pleased, which had its own benefits.
Balladeer: Hazzard wasn't the backwards place city-folk liked to see it as when they passed through. In spite of Boss' various plans at embezzlement, there had been enough in the county funds that year to set up some nice sports equipment in the public park, which included some basketball courts, a tennis court, and, at Lula Marie's suggestion, a racquetball court. Now, racquetball wasn't entirely new to Hazzard -- the high school had had a decent team for a short time, until there had been a general uprising among the parents at the potential violence of the sport. Go figure. Another thing you need to know was that it was the only sport in the entire world that Henri-Mae would waste a morning on. She only wished there was someone worth playing.
"Hey," called a voice, and Henri-Mae was rather relieved to see that it was the female Fed, not Farrell, entering the court. She was dressed in a slick one-piece athletic uniform made of something stronger than spandex but with the same supple tones. No sleeves revealed the woman's muscular arms, although those strange black Doc Martins she wore effectively cut off whatever sex appeal her legs might have shown, as the shorts ended a good few inches above her knees.
"Hey," Henri-Mae called back. She eyed the woman warily as she set down her stuff on the nearby bench. Then she noticed the racquet. "You play?" she asked.
Gabrielle nodded, her golden ponytail bobbling in the morning sun. Her smile was open, unassuming. Henri-Mae had never really trusted people who tried to make friends with strangers, but this woman had an easy way, and her friendliness seemed real, not faked or exaggerated.
"It's been a long time since I've had some worthy competition," Henri-Mae said. "You up for a game?"
"I was waiting for you to ask," Gabrielle replied, producing a ball. She bounced it sharply on the ground and caught it with a flick of her wrist. "You want to serve?"
"I'll let you," Henri-Mae said, gesturing with her racquet toward the long black wall. With a gracious nod, Gabrielle bounced the ball on the ground, where it reached a perfect height for her to send it soaring.
It bounced back, and Henri-Mae took a single step backwards. With a backhand she sent the ball back into the wall, where it came flying back. Gabrielle reached up a hand and caught it.
"You ready to play for real?" Gabrielle asked.
"I was waiting for you to ask," Henri-Mae sent back.
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"What do you think she meant?" Luke asked.
"You're asking me?" Bo replied. He looked back out at the road from the passenger's seat. "How would I know?"
"Well, I was pretty sure you'd have a colorful guess," Luke murmured, smiling playfully.
"Well, unlike you," Bo said, brushing his fingers through his blond curls, "I have more things to think about than last night's conversation."
"Yeah, right," Luke muttered. "Like maybe the pretty eyes of the conversationalist…or her long legs…"
"Hmm..." Bo said as they pulled into town. "Speaking of…" He pointed.
Luke followed the point. Right in the middle of the racquetball court that nobody used, a familiar pair of legs effectively cut off by a pair of Doc Martin boots weaved back and forth around another pair, much more exposed. A closer look revealed one figure dressed in black with golden hair, and the other dressed in a simple old pair of shorts and a T-shirt with hair pulled back in a thick golden brown braid.
Balladeer: Now you think Bo and Luke are going to miss out on watching Henri-Mae and Gabrielle going at a game, both of them trying to tear the other's throat out with their teeth? They moved so quickly it was like two buzzing bees, vibrating with the motion of their wings.
"Oh, this I gotta see up close," Luke said, parking the car. The two slid out of the car windows and went hopping across the street.
They weren't the only ones. A small crowd, mostly of teenage boys who had come by to play on the basketball courts, had started to gather. And it was no wonder. The sweat ran down their faces, soaking the front of their shirts, plastering the stray hairs to their foreheads. The game was fierce, no fouls called, no hit left unreturned.
Gabrielle was extremely good. She could jump high and run at a nearly inhuman speed. She went from one end of the court to the other, legs leaping like a gazelle. She could spin on her toes like a ballerina and hit the ball so hard, more than once it flew right past Henri-Mae to zing off the links of the surrounding fence.
This didn't mean that Henri-Mae was content enough to take it. She tried as hard as she could to keep up, but it left her gasping and panting for breath. Still, she swung and the ball returned, coming faster each time, each smack with the racket sending the projectile hard into the wall.
To the outside eye, it was pretty amazing. In a normal game of racquetball, the players can only run for so long before one of them stumbles and/or misses. The two girls danced around each other, feet hitting blacktop so hard the clumps echoed down the street. No sound came from their lips save their heaving breaths and occasional grunts of exertion, much more often from Henri-Mae than Gabrielle.
Gabrielle scored first. Henri-Mae lunged for the ball and her ankle twisted underneath her, causing her to tumble. She caught herself, fingers digging into the links of the chain fence, and pulled herself upright. She shot Gabrielle a look over her shoulder, but there was no gloating or smug expression there. She was just watching.
Waiting.
Seeing what she would do.
Henri-Mae picked up the ball and tossed it at her. It was Gabrielle's serve, and she seemed to almost want to take it easy on her for a moment. The first hit was too easy to return, and in a burst of pride, Henri-Mae slammed it back so hard that it hit the edge of Gabrielle's rocket and bounced off toward the side.
Gabrielle had missed.
The woman stood and watched as the ball rebounded off the back fence and rolled to her feet. She picked it up, bounced it in her hand, and then looked up at Henri-Mae, her expression almost appreciative.
"Pretty good, aren't you?" Gabrielle said.
Henri-Mae could not speak. All she could do was shrug one shoulder. With a grin, Gabrielle tossed the ball up into the air, right toward her. It spun for a moment in the morning sun before it came down and was soundly whumped back into play by Henri-Mae's racket.
She hadn't even caught the ball to serve it. She had just smacked it back into play. The slight widening of the Fed's eyes was nearly comical, if not for the fact that with a flick of her wrist, she returned the ball, her brow suddenly furrowing down. One corner of her mouth, however, curled up into a grin.
The ball came back. On her last leg, Henri-Mae realized that she wasn't going to win this game. In a last effort, though, a show of pride and ability, she watched as the ball started to soar overhead, arching downward just a touch, where it would land on the court not three feet from the fence and give Gabrielle the lead.
Henri-Mae knew that would be it. Gabrielle wasn't going to let her guard down again. She wasn't going to score again. She only had one choice.
All these thoughts flickered through her head in milliseconds. The ball was coming, arching almost in slow motion, and she had to do something.
So she jumped.
She jumped the way she watched professional basketball players on television jump. She tucked her knees up under her and let them push her an additional few inches into the air. The muscles in her arm screamed from the strain as her racket went up, and when she made contact with the ball, it hitting the dead center of her racket and going in a straight diagonal down toward the wall, the force pushed her the other way, and the next thing she knew, her back slammed into the top of the chain-link fence.
She slid, feeling the metal scrape through her shirt, barely protecting her skin. Her landing was rough, and she threw her weight forward so not to break her toes or snap her tendons. However, her knees hit the ground and moved a good inch. When she managed to pull herself up, her knees were bloodied like they hadn't been since she was six.
Gabrielle, however, barely spared her a glance over her shoulder as the ball came careening back toward her, and she swung—
And missed.
The ball bounced once and rolled to a stop. Gabrielle's eyebrow arched slightly, half from surprise and half from concern. "You okay?" she said to Henri-Mae.
"Fine," Henri-Mae said, the stillness having allowed her to regain a bit of her voice.
"You want to stop?"
"Why? Because I'm winning?"
Gabrielle smirked. "No, because you're bleeding." She pointed.
Henri-Mae didn't even look down. "I know." She stepped over to the bench and grabbed a towel. "Doesn't hurt."
"I know."
Henri-Mae looked at her. Then, inexplicably, she started to giggle. Gabrielle started to giggle, too, and soon the two were nearly doubled over in laughter.
"Do you know what we're laughing at?" Henri-Mae asked when she'd gained her breath for the second time.
"Beats me," Gabrielle said between chuckles. "I was just thinking how you and I may as well each grow a pair, with all the testosterone flying around here."
"Oh, yeah, I'm real macho," Henri-Mae snorted. She pressed at her knees with the towel.
"So it hurts?" Gabrielle quipped.
"Stings, more like it," the other replied. "But I'll live. I've done worse."
"Have you?" Gabrielle said conversationally, and just as Henri-Mae was about to reply, her eyes drifted over the other woman's shoulder and narrowed. Gabrielle turned her head to see Bo and Luke approaching.
Gabrielle turned back to Henri-Mae. The deputy's face had closed. She leaned back against the fence and folded her hands on her lap, waiting.
"That was pretty amazing!" Luke called, coming over to crouch down beside Gabrielle. Bo stood, hands on his hips in one of his typical "look at me" poses.
"Never seen girls run that fast," Bo said.
"Unless they're runnin' away from you," Luke quipped at him.
"Ha ha," Bo shot back.
"Boys," Gabrielle said, raising one hand. She was cut off when she saw Henri-Mae get to her feet. "Where are you going?"
"To get cleaned up," Henri-Mae replied. She glanced briefly at Bo, and then Luke, her smirk curling into something hard and fake. "Maybe get some first aid. Have them sterilize the blacktop. Wouldn't want to spread anything."
"Wait, you don't—" Gabrielle started, beginning to rise, but Henri-Mae cut her off…again.
"To the victor go the spoils!" Henri-Mae said with a kind of cheerfulness that was at once cold and mirthful.
"But you won," Gabrielle stressed.
"Exactly," she said, tossing the bloodied towel over her shoulder. "See ya." And she headed off the court.
Gabrielle rose and watched her go, hands on her hips. Then, she turned and looked at Luke and Bo. "You two have lousy timing, you know that?" And she picked up her racket and headed off the court as well.
Luke and Bo exchanged glances. "What'd we do?" Luke asked, but there was something in his face that belied its meaning.
"We screwed up, somehow," Bo said. "Think she was trying to talk to Henri-Mae?"
"Think it was a good idea for her to do that?" Luke asked.
"It was last night," Bo said.
"Been thinkin' since last night," Luke countered. "I don't know about our little visiting Fed. Something keeps telling me she's shucking and jiving us."
"Us?" Bo looked wounded. "However could she do that?"
"By not telling us the truth," Luke said. "I don't think she's investigating Boss. I don't think she needs Henri-Mae. There's something else…especially with that partner of hers. Maybe we should do some investigating ourselves."
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Her knees ached slightly that afternoon. Henri-Mae sat at her desk, shuffling through papers, wondering why she'd let Bo and Luke chase her away like that. Gabrielle had seemed friendly enough. She actually came across as if she were trying to make friends before, and instead she'd run away like an uptight cheerleader.
Cheerleaders being Henri-Mae's word for the lowest form of life, of course.
Danny Farrell came in, files in his hands, pouring over papers. He'd been giving her the respectful distance all that day, being polite to her, offering her coffee, even holding doors. But the truth be told, he wasn't acting terribly interested in her that day. He kept slipping in and out of Boss' office, staying in there for up to a half-hour at a time. Every now and again Henri-Mae could hear a cackle or two. It didn't bode well. The last time she heard Boss laugh like that, ((Some reference to Season 3)
Finally, around her dinner break, he sauntered up to her desk. "Do they let you eat?" he asked gently. He seemed rather clean-shaven that day, the five o'clock shadow – which had been quickly turning into a ten o'clock shadow – having been banished, but threatening to return, lingering around the edges of his face. Some men were just like that…very hairy.
She didn't really care either way.
"Yes, they let me eat," she said with a sigh, reaching into her desk drawer for her sandwich.
"What did you bring?"
"Turkey sandwich," she replied absently. Shelly had given it to her on the way out the door, like a mother handing her child a school lunch. But all the exertion from earlier had still not been amply countered, and even as she ate, she knew it wouldn't be enough.
"So you're stuck at your desk for the dinner break?" he said a bit wistfully.
"No it's just…" she paused. She had been about to admit that she didn't have anything else to do. Shelly would be busy having dinner with her family. Lila would most likely be dealing with her business contacts on the West Coast. Everybody had their own life, and currently, Danny was the only person in the office besides her.
"Just what?" he pressed.
"Nothing," she said, finishing her sandwich in a few more bites.
"Well," Danny said, "maybe if you're not stuck at that desk, I can convince you to join me for some ice cream or something."
Balladeer: One of the greatest things about night life in Hazzard is the homemade ice cream. Poor Henri-Mae didn't stand a chance.
Ice cream. It sounded good, especially some mint chip. "Sure," she said, standing up. "But you're buying."