Getting back in the saddle the wrong way around (For darcy)
There had been many times over the years that Ford had concluded that he did not like the organization he worked for. Their most recent stunt had cemented that.
Sarah was gone, sent away with her son. Ford had been ordered to stay right where he was, and had been effectively stonewalled. Every now and then he'd get a message that she was doing okay, and hadn't gone and died. But other than that? She might as well have dropped off the face of the earth.
Ford wouldn't have believed it possible, but he found himself feeling lonely. It wasn't like they had lived together, not more than her first couple of weeks in Boston before she got her own apartment. But he missed her. He missed arguing with her. And, while she might not have spent the night at his place all that often, his bed still felt empty at night.
It boiled down to: he had let someone into his life, and now that she wasn't around anymore he missed her. Turned out he was human after all.
Still, life wasn't too bad. A bit boring at times maybe, but not bad. Summer had come, and with the threat of Luci the snake-bitch gone and with all that free time on his hands, he dared to take Francis out on small trips around the city. The little man had been holed up for so long that he was absolutely relishing getting out.
Life moved on, slowly but peacefully.
One day in early June, the organization called. Recognizing the number on his caller ID, Ford didn't pick up. He was far from happy with his employers, and was in no mood to deal with them. Over the next few days the phone kept on calling. A letter dropped in, as did a few e-mails.
Ford ignored all of it. They had said that he was on vacation, so then he was damned well going to be on vacation.
But one can't ignore an organization that big forever, especially not when a representative of it is suddenly standing on your doorstep.
"Good day, Mr. Ford. My name is Stephen Forester." It was a man in his mid to late thirties, well-groomed and wearing a suit. Ford was not going o invite him into his house. They could do business right there. "Since you haven't been answering your telephone, I have come to tell you that we are taking you back into active duty again."
Typical, wasn't it. It was summer, the weather was great, his garden was an explosion of colors and plantlife and needed work. Now they dragged him back.
He gave the man a rather unimpressed look and leaned against the side of the doorway. "Who is it now that you can't handle? I'm assuming that you have a file with you? Hand it over and get out of here."
"Ah, no. I'm afraid you misunderstand, " Forester said, smiling far too politely for Ford's tastes. "You are being reassigned. At least for now. Can I come in so we can discuss it?"
"No."
"Oh. Well then..." He looked around. The road wasn't that near, and there were a lot of shrubbery and rosebushes covering Ford's front yard. As long as he didn't talk too loudly... "There is a woman here in Boston that could use your help."
Another unimpressed look, that quickly turned into a glare. "Cut the crap, will you?"
The smile finally slipped off of Forester's face. "Right. You have been assigned a mentor role."
Ford blinked, but other than that didn't change expressions. "You have got to be shitting me."
"No, sir, I am not. We feel that you might not be up to returning to your old duties just yet, and so it was decided that it was time you did something else for a while." When Ford didn't reply, he went on to draw a folded piece of paper from inside his suit jacket. "We don't know much about her. It appears that she is an empath that lacks control over her abilities. Here, her picture and her address."
Ford plucked the paper from Forester's fingers. He still kept the same expression and for a few seconds he didn't move further than that. Then he abruptly turned around and closed the door straight in Forester's face.
He ignored the folded paper until well into the evening. Then he finally unfolded it and looked at it. It was a print of a photograph, obviously taken from afar when the woman was unaware. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with dark hair and bright eyes. She appeared to be fairly tall, too. Was actually quite attractive, in an aloof and unapproachable way. Whatever.
On the print was also her name and address. Darcy Genevieve Schumacher, it read.
When he got up the next morning he started the day with sending an e-mail to his employers where he called them all idiots, told them that this was going to end badly and that it was all on their heads, and that they had better give him a raise for this. Later in the morning he made his way straight across the city to the suburbs on the other side to find this woman, and to see what kind of issues she had.
Sarah was gone, sent away with her son. Ford had been ordered to stay right where he was, and had been effectively stonewalled. Every now and then he'd get a message that she was doing okay, and hadn't gone and died. But other than that? She might as well have dropped off the face of the earth.
Ford wouldn't have believed it possible, but he found himself feeling lonely. It wasn't like they had lived together, not more than her first couple of weeks in Boston before she got her own apartment. But he missed her. He missed arguing with her. And, while she might not have spent the night at his place all that often, his bed still felt empty at night.
It boiled down to: he had let someone into his life, and now that she wasn't around anymore he missed her. Turned out he was human after all.
Still, life wasn't too bad. A bit boring at times maybe, but not bad. Summer had come, and with the threat of Luci the snake-bitch gone and with all that free time on his hands, he dared to take Francis out on small trips around the city. The little man had been holed up for so long that he was absolutely relishing getting out.
Life moved on, slowly but peacefully.
One day in early June, the organization called. Recognizing the number on his caller ID, Ford didn't pick up. He was far from happy with his employers, and was in no mood to deal with them. Over the next few days the phone kept on calling. A letter dropped in, as did a few e-mails.
Ford ignored all of it. They had said that he was on vacation, so then he was damned well going to be on vacation.
But one can't ignore an organization that big forever, especially not when a representative of it is suddenly standing on your doorstep.
"Good day, Mr. Ford. My name is Stephen Forester." It was a man in his mid to late thirties, well-groomed and wearing a suit. Ford was not going o invite him into his house. They could do business right there. "Since you haven't been answering your telephone, I have come to tell you that we are taking you back into active duty again."
Typical, wasn't it. It was summer, the weather was great, his garden was an explosion of colors and plantlife and needed work. Now they dragged him back.
He gave the man a rather unimpressed look and leaned against the side of the doorway. "Who is it now that you can't handle? I'm assuming that you have a file with you? Hand it over and get out of here."
"Ah, no. I'm afraid you misunderstand, " Forester said, smiling far too politely for Ford's tastes. "You are being reassigned. At least for now. Can I come in so we can discuss it?"
"No."
"Oh. Well then..." He looked around. The road wasn't that near, and there were a lot of shrubbery and rosebushes covering Ford's front yard. As long as he didn't talk too loudly... "There is a woman here in Boston that could use your help."
Another unimpressed look, that quickly turned into a glare. "Cut the crap, will you?"
The smile finally slipped off of Forester's face. "Right. You have been assigned a mentor role."
Ford blinked, but other than that didn't change expressions. "You have got to be shitting me."
"No, sir, I am not. We feel that you might not be up to returning to your old duties just yet, and so it was decided that it was time you did something else for a while." When Ford didn't reply, he went on to draw a folded piece of paper from inside his suit jacket. "We don't know much about her. It appears that she is an empath that lacks control over her abilities. Here, her picture and her address."
Ford plucked the paper from Forester's fingers. He still kept the same expression and for a few seconds he didn't move further than that. Then he abruptly turned around and closed the door straight in Forester's face.
He ignored the folded paper until well into the evening. Then he finally unfolded it and looked at it. It was a print of a photograph, obviously taken from afar when the woman was unaware. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with dark hair and bright eyes. She appeared to be fairly tall, too. Was actually quite attractive, in an aloof and unapproachable way. Whatever.
On the print was also her name and address. Darcy Genevieve Schumacher, it read.
When he got up the next morning he started the day with sending an e-mail to his employers where he called them all idiots, told them that this was going to end badly and that it was all on their heads, and that they had better give him a raise for this. Later in the morning he made his way straight across the city to the suburbs on the other side to find this woman, and to see what kind of issues she had.