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[Milliways Gym]
Curtis has started to develop a workout routine. Since his gym visits shifted from "occasional" to "nearly every day," he's taken to quiet observation whenever he's on one of the treadmills, watching the gym's other occupants to see what they're doing, cataloging all the exercises that don't involve two working arms. Some trigger a flash of oh, right, I remember that. Others...not really.
But, one at a time, he works them into his own circuit. Squats. Crunches. Jumps. More time at the heavy bag (his hand always wrapped properly nowadays). All of it's getting easier. He even figures out how to start working his way toward one-armed push-ups: just put his hands higher than his feet, like on a wall or a bench or something.
That's what he's focusing on today -- wall push-ups. It's the last thing on his agenda before he heads out, and damn, it's a strain to make it through the last few reps.
But, one at a time, he works them into his own circuit. Squats. Crunches. Jumps. More time at the heavy bag (his hand always wrapped properly nowadays). All of it's getting easier. He even figures out how to start working his way toward one-armed push-ups: just put his hands higher than his feet, like on a wall or a bench or something.
That's what he's focusing on today -- wall push-ups. It's the last thing on his agenda before he heads out, and damn, it's a strain to make it through the last few reps.
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"Do you remember the letter I sent you?"
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"'Course I do."
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"I can't."
What would be the point, anyway? She has to have figured it out by now.
"Not this. I'm sorry."
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"I know," he whispers.
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"Good. Now, let me finish this last set, and we can run you through the basics of how to make metal bend to your will." There's a smile in her voice, to balance the edge of grim determination.