A/N: Just a short blurb inspired by last week's episode. Because seriously, after their scene together, I can't see these two with anyone else. That fight was fascinating lol Sadly, we don't know much about Clay, but it was good to see a little more lately. The sections below alternate between perspectives. The ending was pretty gruesome but I tried to soften that blow a bit. Rated M, nonetheless, just in case.

Summary: Clay Burton x Nola Longshadow fight, Set in 03x03.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. No copyright infringement intended.

Nola Longshadow (NL):

Nola still had the image of her brother's bloodstain in mind when she walked toward the Proctor estate. This was no mere retaliation, but revenge. And although planning to get in and out quickly, she was determined to leave a lasting impression in her wake.

And she'd see to it that Chayton, if he knew what was good for him, would do nothing to speak against it. Because despite his ability to intimidate the meek, he had his own kind of soft spot for her and she wasn't above taking advantage of it. This Longshadow would do what her brother couldn't. That whore would get her just desserts, of that she was certain. And before day's end, the flat side of her blade would be the last thing her that wench's corrupt maggot of an uncle would ever taste against his tongue.

The sooner she did, the sooner she'd be able to get out of this cesspool.

Hidden in the trees surrounding the house, she stopped, turning to adjust herself. And then, squinting an eye, she lined up her shot and threw, sending the weapon hurling towards the garage door. It hit its target with a thump and dropped with it. Biting her lip with the slightest hint of a smile, she made her way to the driveway.

Clay Burton (CB):

Clay was surrounded by blood. Spatters and puddles and pools of it.

Literally, he thought as he undid the pool's filter and picked up the trap, taking it with him to clean free of leaves. A pool full of blood. He wondered how long it'd be before Rebecca went for another midnight swim. She took far too many of those, he'd decided. All they did was make her an easier target.

But after the bloodbath she'd recently caused at the meat packing plant, he was tempted not to come to her aid next time. The succubus had proven good for little more than causing trouble, be it for her random trysts and the occasional nighttime rendezvous that inevitably displeased her uncle or her inability to be seen and not heard when attending meetings with clients featuring deals that didn't require her input. Were it not for Clay's loyalty to Kai, it'd be her blood he'd have been happily bleaching clean from the pool.

Opening the trash can, Clay peered closer in, noticing something he'd not seen before. Leaning in, he felt it, the sensation strange against his fingers. It resembled one of the leaves he planned to dispose of. But it wasn't wet or soft; it was sticky and hard from being exposed to air for so long. The leaf was instead an ear, with diamond stud and all, and the sight made his mind race with possible explanations until his (note: previously spotless) shirt, too, had become sticky. He looked down and watched his blood soak through the fabric.

NL:

"Hi there," she cooed. "So you're Proctor's big bad watchdog. You don't look so tough from where I'm standing." She eased closer to him, her ears warming at the sight of his twitching. He couldn't move, but she could and she loved the power that came with that. So she did him a solid, and shared her plan with him, knowing that surely it'd comfort him in his last minutes.

"So here's the plan. First, I'm going to kill you. Then I'm going inside and I'm going to slowly gut your boss and his Little House on the Prairie niece."

She didn't expect him to speak. But he did, and the four words he managed were worth a thousand more. She appreciated that. It warned her of what was to come, as this was no ordinary watchdog. Oh, no. And by the time he pulled the axe from his shoulder, she was prepared.

Clearly, her mind teased, this one wouldn't be going down without a fight.

CB:

He could feel his heart intensify his pain with every one of its beats, even as he stared at the form that appeared before him. His voice was soft and inviting. Almost, if he closed his eyes, kind instead of deadly. But he knew it was her hand that'd thrown the axe that pierced his shoulder. She made that clear by the way she stared at him, unapologetically

That stare reminded him of too much. So much that it infuriated him, filling his insides with a white heat that seared him clean and steeled his resolve to both pull out the offending axe and, by the end of their dance, wedge it neatly into the back of her neck, just between her skull and spine. He wanted to sever whatever connection lead to the head producing that stare and he wanted to do it now.

The familiar progress of excited chemicals eased into him, setting him off like the springing death metal of a mousetrap. The adrenaline made him superhuman until everything came to him at once. Movements and reactions, all sliding into place easier than a warm knife through butter. He was disembodied into nothing more than action.

He melded into her kicks and angry slashing until he was further bloodied by the scuffle. She was good, he mused, thinking that it'd been a while since anyone had fought back with such conviction. Pushed against the car, she rushed at him and he used her momentum to throw her onto the hood, and circled, aiming for her face with his foot. Finding the car's windshield instead, it shattered, and she momentarily got the upper hand.

He found her all arms, as she groaned, lurching toward him again with the axe. The sharp tip found the car's tire and at the sound of its hissing, he hoisted himself up and was gone until he hissed as well, arching away at the feeling of a sharp edge slicing into his back.

NL:

Chasing after him, Nola attacked again, finding herself met with the window of the backseat door. She could feel his anger seep into her when he took that chance to grab her, throwing her against the side of the car twice. Dropping her to the ground where she was positioned in the space of the open car door, she winced as he moved to slam it, looking as if he hoped that if he did so hard enough, he'd break her clean in half. Thinking quickly, however, she stopped him cold, pushing her axe into the joint of the car door and panting as he paused, surprised. She was grateful for the reprieve and retreated in the backseat of the car, looking for a few seconds of distance between the two.

He followed quickly after, continuing the fight inside, hands going for her face and body with fists of pain. She groaned, learning back slightly and moving her arms to block his advances. Managing to sit back well enough to do so, her feet came after him again until he was caught up in a wave of kicks and the swinging of her blade against his face. But he caught her arm and knocked it into the front seat, causing her to lose her grip. Much to her dismay, she could hear the axe fall next to what sounded like the gas pedal, but found no time to waste crying over spilt milk as threat of his elbow came toward her.

CB:

The tussle in the car continued - up against the roof, and against the closed doors- until he held her, chest pressed against her back until she was pinned against the back of the front driver's seat. The seatbelt was long enough to pull around her and he tried to squeeze the air out of her slowly. In the middle of such, she in turn, reached over to get her axe and frantically swung it at him, making contact. He slid away from her, escaping from the car to away break from the assault.

Following him, she hacks at him, twirling and swinging back and forth with feet and hands until she claws him like a tiger and blood eases down his chin. Clay turns away, pressing his hand to his face to discover why it stings so badly; only then does he understand that before she left the car, she'd taken broken glass with her, and had just managed to lodge some into his face.

Oddly enough, he's touched by the fact that she waits for him to make the discovery on his own, giving the two a few seconds to breathe. She's a still as a statue when he straightens, and though his eyes smolder at her menacingly, he can't help but admire her tenacity. So out of respect for her, he meets her eyes and shows her his own strength of will by reaching up to remove his glasses and pull her jagged shard out of his face without flinching. The act is one of challenge as, even in the midst of "fight-or-flight," he had the feeling that she'd prefer a superb fight over a subpar. And looking down at the bloody fragment, he could feel it - it hadn't taken him long for him to begin appreciating the fact that she'd provided him with the same.

So he stared back and called at her with his eyes, inviting her to come forth. The two worked so well together that she came without a moment's hesitation, drawn to him as if magnetically. He wondered at that last part, noting the way she heaved her axe his way again, arching like a feline in distress who was ready to scratch the eyes out of anyone who got in her way. He blocked and rained punches down onto her, pressing them hard into her stomach and chest before his arm curled around her waist and he dropped, turning to take her with him.

She flipped over, hitting the ground with her knees before finding her feet. It wasn't long before she hit the ground again as his foot found her square in the stomach. Clay turned, opening the trunk to uncover a sinister storage of rope and metal objects of torture that glistened pristinely even in dim sunlight. Two of the sharpest were quickly selected and he turned, determined to pay her back for her earlier transgression. After all, what was a little impaling between newly acquainted warriors?

He came forward, blocking her arms and moving around her. He led the dance, nicking her stomach and moving until he could freely pierce her right thigh. She curled over, and he could tell she wanted to slide into the fetal position in pain. But Clay wanted to see her face and he forced her up by following up with a blade nudged into her back, grazing her shoulder blade. He used its position to pull her back until her hair flew and her face was exposed.

Yanking out his tools forcefully, she was pressed into the side of the car, giving him perfect access to the front of her chest where, face to face, the tips of his blades repeatedly made their own acquaintance with her left shoulder. They made their way up, inch by inch with each arch downward, until they met her collarbone, making her yelp and glare at him like a cornered animal. Hands finding his, she scratched at him, pushing his hand away with a snarl.

It was the combination of that sound and the soft but dangerous contact made by her fingers that him turn, moving to make his way as far from her as possible. He could feel the buildup of her fury and all animal, it made his hair raise on end. His ears could hear her boots as she turned and followed, having pulled the scalpel from her neck. She attacked, feral and angry, with arms that made a tornado around him until he curled over.

She led now with a dance named Payback as she stabbed him in his left shoulder blade, pulling him back until he pressed against her chest. The feeling of his back made this skin burn and memories flood his vision of blood dripping down to his waist and a whip splitting his skin above. They consumed him and he quieted, slowing when she pushed him off of her, flipping him and throwing him into hood of the car.

Easing to his feet, he looked at her as she kicked him in the shoulder. And he remembered... the first feeling of his hands as they interlocked around the throat of his captor. That same sensation covered him again - the desire, the need, the requirement of freedom. And with that, came his 2nd wind as another surge of adrenaline pushed him to his feet. She lunged at him and he caught her like a foot hold trap, jaws clenched too tightly to let go.

NL:

She came after him again with the axe, aiming as best as she could, but he went for the arm again, bringing it down hard against his shoulder until the raw electricity of pain shot up her shoulder, bringing blinding flashbacks of a sordid past littered with used needles and tourniquets.

With her good free hand, she grabbed him, using her forehead against his, knocking him back and inching back herself to pick up her weapon and regain some composure as she watched him reach behind his back. Her ears easily picked up the sound of him struggling to pull free the hood ornament but after what they'd just gone through, she didn't want to think about what he intended to do with it. Not now, just as the feeling of ice began to inch through her. She wasn't so sure she'd make it out of his alive and the prospect of that was met with mixed reactions. The realization of that alone, made her vision blur. She blinked, feeling an unexpected fatigue seep into her muscles.

She was desperate for an end to this and as waiting to be attacked was the opposite of getting in and out quickly, she came forward again, hoping his preoccupation with the hood of the car would buy her enough time to catch him in the skull with enough force. But despite her will, her dwindling strength allowed him to catch her and turn, slamming her into the car. She arched over in the few seconds after, managing to catch him in the side with the axe with some force but noticed, too late, that the hood ornament was gone.

It wasn't in its proper place, but, shortly after, against her neck in a most unfortunate way. She struggled to breathe as he dislodged the weapon out of his side, pushing her hand away as easily as King Kong might a mosquito. The stray thought crossed her mind then that perhaps all that did was make him angrier, but he answered her question anyway with a twist of the ornament against and into her skin before yanking it back and letting it drop to the ground. He replaced it with his hand, clutching her windpipe.

Hesitation crossed his eyes at the same time that resolution crossed hers.

And so tired of fighting, she didn't resist.

Instead, she dared him with her eyes to do what Chayton could not. To end it and let her die as she'd begged. Because while Chayton's life was the tribe, all the tribe had ever done for her was provide her with ridicule, the terrible habit of being used by men, a drug addiction, and the constant feeling that she didn't belong. And though she'd kicked the first 3 out of her life, the last still remained. It'd only become worse with both the loss of her father and brother.

When the life was ripped out of her, there was neither darkness nor paths of light as she fell.

All there was was blissful silence.

CB:

Clay was a quiet man, made silent by force until the sound of bound cord against his back well overcame the meager whimpers that escaped his throat. He was a mercilessly beaten man who had seen his share of destruction and relished in the fact that he'd broken free of his past. For he now took part in that destruction instead of acting as the unwilling participant of a game that only resulted in the downfall happening to him.

The tipping point came when he slipped free of his bonds and changed the tides in his favor, doing away with the one who'd whipped him within an inch of his life and torn him down for the pleasure of it.

Something fractured inside of him that day, when he'd saw to the demise of the very one who'd brought him to the edge. He was full of wonder and fear, more frightened of the consequences of his actions than anything else. This was his first, and now his fingers were stained eternally. He used the very same fingers to graze against the man's face, feeling the pallor of death.

When he'd done the deed, the light in his eyes had shone with surprise, as if Dr. Frankenstein had honestly not expected his monster to turn on him. That surprise stayed there until the light dimmed, and then spread to Clay's eyes as he neared, examining the connection between his hands and the loss of life in front of him. Head tilted, the surprise dawned in his eyes then, as he realized that he too, had the ability to make ripples in the world. To change and affect things.

To sway the tides and undo destiny. All was not kismet.

He was so determined, and so precise and his intention was to simply eliminate the threat; because that's what he did. He was, as she'd so kindly described, the guard dog. He did as told... as commanded. He acted first and asked questions never. There was no later, or contemplation of the deadly deeds. There was only problem and solution.

So in this, he solved his problem, taking her throat in his hands and pulling until the sound of her breaking against his unyielding fingers broke his fractured self into pieces as well. The pieces tumbled as he held a part of this woman in a way he never thought he would. He'd done so precious little with women, or anyone in general, so something so intimate and close was unexpected. He was unprepared, and for Clay, who was always prepared... for everything... well, this knocked him off kilter.

She fell in front of the car and he followed, both finding a sitting a position there. Breathing deeply, he tried to catch his breath after a battle that came a little too close to comfort with his own end, he realized. But again, he'd shifted destiny and found that once more, it was not yet his time.

But it had been someone's. And with that in mind, he gazed at her face and found a look of peace and eternal rest there.

He wondered if he'd ever find the same.