Jonathan Morgenstern (plastike) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-05-29 23:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | lois lane, mark sloan |
Who: Jonathan and Max
What: A friendly little workout
Where: Aubade workout room
When: Before Luke disappeared
Warnings: No warnings, but Max almost knees the eldest Morgenstern.
Jonathan Morgenstern was not the type of man to leave a lady waiting, so when she said five am, he was there by four thirty, already going through his usual routine to stretch those tired morning muscles into activity and shape. He hadn’t dressed to impress that morning, settling for his normal sleeveless shirt and baggy nylon shorts, something comfortable and familiar. Stretched out on the floor, he was deep in his warm-out by the time five came around, though her entrance would not be noticed given the headphones hooked around each ear, the wire trailing down to his mp3 player, old rock blasting away and setting his pace.
Max was stressed. Things with Luke were complicated, and Thomas was stressed and determined to find Fawkes. The snow made everything dark and cold, even within the warm and safe confines of Aubade, and she was thankful her truck had four-wheel drive, or she wouldn’t have had the slightest fucking idea how she was going to make it into work in four hours.
She walked into Aubade’s gym in a tank and track pants, and she hadn’t forgotten he was going to be here, this man she had never met who sent flowers during the snow storm. She had, admittedly, hoped he would make Thomas jealous, but life had caught up with them, it seemed, and there was no time for games.
She let the door slam behind her, and she watched him for a few seconds from the doorway. He was older than she’d expected, but in better shape than she’d expected, too, and she almost laughed at the fact that she was setting expectations for some Casanova she’d never met. Stupid, Max. She kicked his shoe as she walked past him to the treadmill, setting a steep incline and a fast speed, tossing her towel over the digital display.
The kick to his shoe was enough to grab his attention, and Jon looked up, following her path to the treadmill, an appreciative look coming to his face. M. Main was most definitely female, so he had assumed (and heard) correct. It was good to be right about his instincts. Jonathan shifted once more on the floor, one more long stretch to loosen his muscles before he pushed himself up to his feet, taking up the treadmill to her right.
He didn’t start at a fast pace, instead preferring to work up to the run. A few buttons were pushed, the headphones stashed in the treadmill’s console, and he was soon starting out at an easy, yet brisk, pace, shoes pounding a steady rhythm on the machine. “Come here often?” he asked, eyes straight ahead; platonic indeed.
She laughed, she couldn’t help it. Oh, he was dangerous. She’d never been the type to fall for the suave playboy billionaire, preferring the strong type instead, but she could definitely see the appeal. She glanced over at him, not bothering with keeping her gaze straight ahead, or even pretending to. “No, I’m usually outside, where I could run circles around your ass. How about you? First time walking into this place?” He struck her as the type to have a gym in his huge bachelor pad, and suspected this might be slumming for him, despite the top-of-the-line equipment.
That had him cracking a smile, glancing towards her with a laugh before his attention was right back where it was previously: straight ahead. A push of a button and his pace increased slightly, falling into a familiar, steady rhythm. “I hate gyms, actually,” he said in all honesty. “I’d rather run outside. Get some fresh air. I spend enough time stuck inside as it is, so why in the world would I pass up on a chance to spend some time outside?” Run circles around his ass indeed. What was it about people and their built-in opinions of him lately.
“Obligatory request for information. What does Jonathan Morgenstern do inside all day?” she asked. She sped up the treadmill, intentionally pushing herself for reasons that had nothing to do with his presence. Pushing herself was always a good way to burn off stress, and she had it in spades recently. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as the adrenaline began to take over, and she considered joining the search for Fawkes and the Weatherman that evening. Staying home was driving her insane, and this was a godsend, this outing.
He wasn’t in a race with her, not yet at least, so when she sped up, he kept his own pace, knowing his own limits and what he could do and when. He might have been full of bravado, but he wasn’t stupid or foolish. “Surgeon. I accepted an attending position over at Virginia Mason. My specialty’s plastic surgery.” And oh, Jonathan knew the sort of reactions his specialty drew from people, but he was used to and prepared for anything she might offer. A push of the button and the incline increased slightly, body limber, working for distance.
“Faces?” she asked. “Or tits and ass?” She grinned at him, as if she expected him to say the latter, rather than the former, and she started slowing down her treadmill, muscles heated and body ready for something more strenuous. She watched his incline climb a moment, and then she grabbed her town and jumped off her own treadmill, wandering over to the weight bench and setting a light set on. She laid back, and she lifted, not needing a spotter at this light weight, and not finding it difficult to carry on a conversation. “Virginia Mason’s a hotbed for fucked up shit. Opinions on said fucked up shit? Off the record.”
Now that got a smirk out of him. Of course that’s what everyone thought when the topic of plastic surgery was brought up. “Both. And hands. Burns. ENT. I’m not just about making people look pretty, Main.” The buttons were pushed, upping the speed to a comfortable pace, never faltering. “As for the fucked up shit. Well, fucked up shit seems to be the norm around this city. Let it bother you, you’re always going to be a mess. I notice it and move on. Patch up the people who come in with strange issues. All one can really do, isn’t it?”
“Pretty laid back attitude for someone new around here. Most people experience a few weeks of panic, at the very least.” She reached back, adding on another fifteen pounds. “Are you really fucking brave? Or just really fucking reckless?” she asked, entertained in a far off, distracted kind of way. “I’d rather things calm down for a few months,” she admitted, and there was honesty there. Life had been kicking everyone’s asses lately, and it would be nice to have a chance to play catch up. “Have some time to get drunk, dance, fuck in inappropriate places.” She did a few reps in silence, and then put the weights down with a clank. “Somewhere there isn’t any snow. That would be nice, too.” She looked over at him, taking a break from the weights. “What do you want for yourself, doctor?”
“Laid back is my middle name,” Jonathan replied with a grin, though he supposed Max had a point. “Besides, what good does panic do a person? You lose control. You freak out. And you’re next to useless for everyone around you. Who wants to deal with that? I’d rather be the one that people can count on. I don’t lose my cool as a rule.” He lowered the speed, taking himself back down to a jog, winding the short run down. “And quiet would be nice, but it’s boring. Leaves you susceptible to getting comfortable with the mundane. And then you panic when everything falls apart again.” Stopping the treadmill, Jon mopped his face with his towel, taking a drink of water as he leaned against the machine, feeling the burn in his legs.
At her description of what she wanted to do, Jon had to let out a laugh. “Fuck in inappropriate places. Does the person who doesn’t send you flowers enjoy fucking in inappropriate places?” A personal question, for sure, but he wasn’t one for tact. “As for myself... About the same, minus the dancing. Take a boat out for the weekend, listen to the waves, the smell of the ocean, have a few beers, catch a few fish. That’s what I’d like.” A wrinkle of his nose. “Once the snow goes, of course. Do you go boating at all?”
She did another set of reps, and she didn’t stop this time until her arms burned and she could barely lift the weight back onto the bench. Her chest heaved, and she sat up and toweled off her temple, her expression one of entertainment. “Are you going to ask me to go boating?” she asked him, smiling. “I have a three month old, an honorary teenager, and someone I’m in love with,” she told him, the smile not faltering. “And you’re fucking gorgeous and exceptionally tempting, but you know that already, don’t you?” She shook her head a little. “And I bet you would be entirely willing to fuck in inappropriate places. But, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I must decline your tempting offer.” She wasn’t sorry, either, even if flowers and attention were amazing.
A brow lifted at that, entirely surprised by the amount of assuming the reporter seemed capable of. He supposed it was in her blood, given her profession, but still. “Well aren’t you a little fire cracker,” he said as he towelled his face off once more, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he stepped down from the treadmill to approach her. “I don’t recall asking you to go boating with me, just a general question of whether you boated or not. I was going to follow up with asking where you liked to go so I might have an idea of a nice place to go myself once I get a boat.” He was close to her then, looking down towards her with a tilt of his head and a grin that wouldn’t stop. “And who said anything about fucking you in inappropriate places, Main?” Jonathan questioned, giving a tap to her nose to punctuate his words, taking up a seat on the other weight bench, throwing his towel to the ground beside him.
“You said platonic. I’m doing platonic. I thought we were just chatting. As new friends.” He set the weight, a respectable amount for a man his age. And then he was laying down, wiping his hands off on his shirt before he hefted the weight and pressed it upwards.
She was about to rip his head off for suggesting she was a little anything, and she was so surprised when he tapped her nose that she actually stared a moment, wide eyed and mouth in an “o” of surprise. She watched Jonathan as he settled back on the workout bench, and she watched a moment as he lifted the weight. She wasn’t worried that he wouldn’t be able to manage. He had enough muscle to him that she figured he could lift it, and she suspected he wasn’t the kind of immature boy to bite off more than he could chew and risk failing in front of her. She stood, once he’d lifted the weight, and she walked over to the bar he was lifting and stood over him, behind him. “Do I strike you as the kind of woman that boats?” she asked, an entertained smirk in the question. “And men like you,” she said, leaning down and adding just a touch of weight to the bar with her hands, “are never platonic. Especially not when you’re saying you are.”
That expression was one he wish he had a camera to capture, just to tack up on a corkboard to entertain himself when he needed a pick me up. But there was no time to do that, not when she was standing behind him to lean on the bar as he pressed upwards, managing the extra weight with nary a bat of his lashes. “I try not to make assumptions about people,” he said smoothly, his brows lifting in amusement. Lowering the weight, he pressed back up, smooth and easy. “If I wasn’t platonic, Max Main, we would be using these weight benches for an entirely different function, one more entertaining. Fortunately for you, I am a man of my word.” His grin was entirely devilish then, actually giving her a wink. “Don’t try to hide your disappointment. I won’t tell anyone.”
Max laughed, and she stood back and put her hand on her hips. “Don’t mistake me for an innocent little girl, Jonathan. You don’t have to touch a woman, and it still isn’t platonic.” She grinned. “Someday, someone will fuck that all up for you. Maybe I’ll be around to watch,” she said, smacking his abdomen with her towel, and then backing toward the gym door. “Last time you didn’t get something you wanted?” she asked as she moved.
There was an exaggerated ‘oof’ at the smack to his stomach, the weight rested back down as he sat up, giving her a grin as she made her way towards the door. “You can have front row seats, on the house,” he replied, swinging his leg around and grabbing his towel on his way to his feet, mimicking her path towards the gym door. “As for the last time I didn’t get what I wanted...” A few quick steps and he had her backed against the gym door, one hand planted against the wood to keep it shut. “I found something more entertaining to occupy myself with,” Jon murmured, ducking his head to meet her eye to eye. “Last time you did something completely unlike your norm?”
The movement, quick and unexpected as it was, earned him an immediate reaction. A grab of his shoulders that was military-fast, and a shove back against the closed door with enough force to indicate that lean though she might be, it was all muscle. She was shorter than him, but that didn’t worry her, and she pressed her knee up against his groin without adding any additional pressure. “What makes you think I have a norm?” she asked, more than a little danger in the question. She let him go a second later, and she smiled, back to being casual and harmless. “Don’t play with fire, Jonathan. I’m not sure you could handle it.”
Now that had taken him by surprise, but he did well in not letting it show on his face, even as her knee pressed against his groin. A lift of his chin and a return of that smile as he opened the door for her, dipping into a half-bow and a grand gesture for her to exit. “Lucky for you, I know how to treat burns. Fire doesn’t scare me anymore. But I do thank you for the warning, Main.”
She shook her head, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Stay warm, Jonathan,” she told him, tossing her towel over her shoulder and walking through the door he opened. “And find someone more docile next time.” She grinned, and she turned for the elevators; she was going to be late for work.
Jonathan watched her go, closing the door behind her with a shake of his head and a deep little chuckle. Little firecracker indeed. He’d have to wear gloves if he was going to tango with her again. Grabbing up his bottle of water, Jonathan took his own exit moments later, chuckling the entire way.