Author's note: part 7 of Skate AU
A pleasant Spring day, so they decided to walk to the studio. Not especially eager to start work, Max and Chloe followed a meandering route, exploring unfamiliar blocks of the commercial district. It was not a charming neighborhood; broad streets separated shabby, boxy one- and two-story warehouses, wholesalers, workshops. But, it was cheap.
Turning a corner, they passed in front of something different. Big windows looked in on a well-lit space filled with mats, weights, punching bags, and a roped-off ring. Young women in shorts and tank tops, hands wrapped in tape and gloves, variously hammered on the bags, jumped rope, or punched at the air, hands darting out in quick blurs of motion. In the ring, two women in headgear circled each other, fists up, probing each others' defenses with quick jabs.
Max slowed, looking through the glass, her photographer's eye instinctively finding a dozen good shots, strong women showing their mettle in a male-dominated sport. An aesthetic she wanted to do more of, even though sports photography wasn't really her thing.
Beside her, Chloe came to a full stop, also staring in the window. "Huh, all women. Young, fit, half dressed…"
Max rolled her eyes, crossed her arms. "You're hopeless. Go on, admire the merchandise, I'll wait."
"I'm sure your interest is purely professional." Chloe watched a while, then abruptly made for the door. "I think I need to check this place out." She swung the door open, and they waded into a thick soup of warm air and the metallic smell of fresh sweat.
There was one man in the place, big, middle-aged, mostly bald with short-cropped grey hair, wearing a red track suit. Obviously the coach. He stood below the ring, calling out a steady stream of instructions to the two sparring women. After Max and Chloe had stood gawking for a minute, he sauntered over.
"Can I help you ladies?"
"I want to do this," Chloe blurted out. "I want to join. How does this work?"
"You wanna fight?" the man asked, a faded east-coast accent coloring his voice. Maybe Jersey.
"Yeah. Totally."
Max looked up at Chloe, surprised. Chloe wanted to fight?
The man continued his interrogation. "You ever been in a fight?"
"Ah, not as such, no. But I have hope for the future!"
"You ever seen a fight?"
"I have totally seen boxing before." Chloe held up her fists, threw a couple of mock punches.
"Super. But, ah, you'll want to keep your elbows a little closer together. I coach women in the mornings, men the rest of the day. That work for you?"
"Sure."
The man turned to Max, who was standing wide-eyed, caught off guard by Chloe's sudden enthusiasm. "And what about you, missy?"
"I'm just a spectator—"
"Spectate all you like, but do me a favor and do it from outside the gym, k?"
"And a concerned wife."
"Ah. Super. I have tremendous respect for wives. I'm even married to one!" The man guffawed at this joke which he had probably told a thousand times. Max just stared up at him.
"Is this really… safe?" she asked.
"Safe as any other sport. Maybe safer. You run? You look like a runner."
"Sometimes." Max wasn't hardcore about it, but a brisk jog around Seattle's hills was her preferred exercise.
"You run in the city? Wear headphones?"
"Usually… yeah."
"Decent chance you'll get hit by a car, turn your insides to hamburger. Bad fuckin' situation. Won't happen in here."
"Huh."
"Mostly we just do drills, when we spar we use headgear and keep it light. You're usually only taking heavy punches in actual matches, and not everybody competes. Even when they do… I mean, you don't see a lot of KOs in women's boxing. And you won't find a better way to get in shape."
Chloe was looking at Max, excited. Max shrugged. "Seems cool."
"Yes! Dance like a butterfly, sting like a bee!" Chloe again raised her fists, threw more punches.
"Everyone knows that line," said the coach. "The one to keep in mind is, 'Everybody has a plan until they get hit.'"
Max stood in the bathroom brushing her teeth. She spit and rinsed, looked back up to the mirror, saw Chloe appear behind her wearing sweat pants and a sports bra. Today was a gym day, apparently. With her short-cropped blonde hair and increasingly muscular shoulders, she sure looked like a fighter. She put her arms around Max, met her gaze in the mirror.
Max reached back, felt one of Chloe's shoulders. "Damn, Chloe, check out these guns! Never thought you'd get so cut."
Chloe grinned. "Pretty hot, right?"
"Looking a little G.I. Jane though. Just need some dog tags to complete the cliche."
"Yeah. I think it's time to let my hair grow. Ooh! A mohawk!"
"No."
"A faux hawk?"
"Maybe."
"Good enough for me. So… there's a match with another gym coming up, coach says I'm ready to get in the ring. Thinking of signing up."
Max felt a pang of trepidation. Amateur fights were short, and she knew Chloe would be matched against someone at her level, but still… a real fight. Real punches. Real knockouts. "What do you get if you win?" she asked.
"Nothing but glory and the adulation of my fans. Or… fan, anyway."
Max swallowed her concerns. Chloe wanted this. "You have the full support of your loyal fanbase."
"Awesome." Chloe squeezed Max tight, nuzzled her neck, tickling her. Max giggled, tried halfheartedly to get away, but did not succeed.
The women's match was in the morning and was to be held, conveniently, at her own gym. Full of nervous energy, Chloe had gone extra early, while Max decided to sleep in, pledging to jog over in time for the fight.
One of the first to arrive, Chloe watched people filter in as she warmed up. Soon enough the gym was feeling crowded, with fighters from both gyms, plus a small gaggle of spectators. Mostly friends and family, a handful of the male students, a couple of randos. A big whiteboard held the list of matchups, more than a dozen fights. Chloe was early on the list, and she was to fight a woman named Sarah, a student at the other gym who she'd never met. Should she introduce herself? Unsure of the proper etiquette for the situation, she looked around at the other women, trying to guess their weights. Which one was Sarah? But nobody else was really talking, just doing warm-up exercises in relative silence. Chloe wasn't the only one who was nervous. She imitated the others and kept to herself.
Soon enough they called for the first fighters. Two bantamweights, tiny compared to Chloe but solidly buff nonetheless. Fast and light on their feet. The referee joined them in the ring, an older guy in a blue shirt, towering above the women, his face a mask of stern concentration. The women touched gloves, the bell rang and the fight began.
It was over in the second round. One boxer kept falling down every time she took a hard hit; she got right back up, but on the third they called it a TKO. A glass jaw, they called that. Chloe hoped she could keep her balance, or, better yet, avoid taking direct hits to the face. The odds on that were probably not good; she knew she tended to focus on throwing punches and neglect her defense.
Another pair of fighters took the ring. This one went the full four rounds, lots of dodging and weaving, some good form on display. Chloe spent the time finishing her warm up. Where was Max? She was usually the punctual half of the pair. Chloe looked around the crowd, checking the back corners, looking for a telltale camera lens.
"Chloe, you're up! Pay attention!" Her coach's voice.
Fuck. What's the point of being a badass if your wife's not there to see it? She climbed up into the ring, bounced up and down to keep herself warm while her opponent climbed up. Sarah was a little shorter, a little stockier, a black ponytail behind her head. Standing in the ring, Chloe felt the adrenaline really take hold, making her feel twitchy and unsteady. This was it, a real fight.
They squared off, touched gloves, and the bell rang.
Chloe kept her hands high, peering over them at her unfamiliar opponent. They circled, drawing slowly closer, until Chloe, blessed with long reach, judged herself in range and tossed out a quick jab, biffing uselessly against Sarah's forearms. No counterpunch came, so she jabbed again, this time tapping the woman on the jaw. One of the defending gloves had dropped, and she was closer.
Pow! A heavy blow landed solidly on Chloe's body, sending a ripple of pain through her diaphragm. She counterpunched reflexively, caught her opponent on the nose, buying time to step back, draw a ragged breath. Not off to a good start. Where the hell was Max? She stole a glance at the small audience.
And was rewarded by a thudding jab on the temple. She looked back just in time to catch a solid right hook on the nose. It hurt. Her eyes watered, and she blinked repeatedly, again stepping back, pulling her gloves in close.
She heard her coach yell from the edge of the ring. "Chloe! Focus! You're in outer space up there!"
Right. She feinted right, then stepped left, landing a solid body blow with her left hand, hearing her opponent grunt. She swung with the right, but her target danced away, counterattacking on her right side. She brought her gloves up, lowered her head, but a hard hit came right through the middle, tagging her square on the forehead. She needed to be faster. Halfway through the first round and she was already losing.
The bell rang, signaling the end of round four. Chloe dropped her hands and stood back, breathing hard, dull, thumping pain in her face, body, and shoulders. She'd spent eight minutes being dumber and slower than her opponent, and wasn't surprised when the judge help up his card. The referee briefly held Sarah's hand aloft, and then it was time to let somebody else get beat up for a while.
Chloe ducked through the ropes, shakily hopped down. Her coach gave her a sour look, then turned his attention back to the ring. Chloe felt like she'd climbed a mountain and then been hurled off of it by the resident yeti. Her legs, shoulders, arms, and hands had been replaced by lead weights, while her head and face had been pounded to pulp. Maybe it was for the best that Max hadn't made it in time to see that.
But where was she? Another fight began above Chloe's head, unheeded. One of her fellow students approached, gave her a sympathetic look, and started to untie her right glove. Chloe gestured away, toward her gym bag.
"No, get my phone. See if there's anything on there."
The woman rummaged through the bag, came back with the phone. "Voicemail," she said, then held the phone to Chloe's ear.
"Hello, this is the emergency department at Harborside Hospital, calling to inform you that Maxine Price was admitted this morning and is unaccompanied…"
Chloe's exhausted body tensed, her heart suddenly racing again. She batted the phone away, shouting, "Get these fucking gloves off me!"