A/N: An update? What is this madness?
Anyway yeah, the past couple of weeks have been pretty hectic, so been real busy and haven't been able to update (obviously) until now. So, I hope you guys aren't disappointed with what I have here after the wait! Anyway, things are back under wraps now so you can expect the regular saturday updates to be resumed now. As always, a big thanks go out to the reviewers, country-grl20 and AquilaTempestas. Much love! :3

Chapter Ten: Truce

"I can't believe he hasn't even showed up yet."

"Why not? I can – he does it all the time."

"I don't care, this is getting ridiculous. He was supposed to be here an hour ago!" Emily ceased her pacing, folded her arms and all but stomped her foot on the ground in frustration as she turned to face her captain. They were in the tiny lounge area of the training room, where there were but a few armchairs, a single couch, and a vending machine. She was uncharacteristically pissed off, while Michael was just lounging lazily in one of the armchairs, not really paying her too much attention. "Aren't you even the least bit concerned?"

The cocky blonde just leaned back in the navy-blue suede (and very comfortable) armchair he was sitting in. He threw his arms comfortably behind his head, before crossing his legs and continuing disinterestedly, "Nah."

"Michael!" the petite bespectacled girl bit, "it's June already. We've got less than three weeks now before we fly over to Colorado, and Rick hasn't even attempted to make use of the engine gear. If he doesn't get his act together he's going to compromise all of us in the tournament, and I am not having my reputation ruined because that idiot doesn't even try and make an effort!" She had commenced pacing the room again and her fists were balled up at her sides. Being the level headed scientist of the team, Emily rarely let her anger get the better of her. However, Michael noted that today she was in full-on rage mode.

Michael rolled his eyes lazily. "Em, calm down."

"Calm dow –?"

"Yes, calm down."

Emily huffed out a long suppressed sigh and held her Michael's eyes with a skeptical glare. "And why should I be calm?" It was easy for him to say now, she thought. He was ever the laid back, cocky captain he used to be whenever Rick wasn't around, but the minute the bulky blader came within twenty meters of him he was seething and spitting poison faster than Eddy's Trypio. Calm down. Pfft.

"Because, it's no big deal, Em. If he wants to be a jackass, then he doesn't blade in the tournament at all. I don't say things I don't mean."

"You always say things you don't mean, Michael."

"Tch," Michael rolled his eyes, "Well, I meant that! Geez."

"You know Judy won't just let you bench him for the whole tournament."

"Yes, she will. She's just as competitive as we are, and she's not gonna put him in the line-ups if it'll risk us winning the tournament."

"Emily!" The petite ginger turned her head towards the sound of Judy's voice across the room. She and Eddy were on the other side of the All Starz personal high-tech training room. She was watching over Eddy as he sent his Trypio blade around the specialized agility course. They were trying to increase his speed without compromising too heavily on weight and strength. "Come over here, I need you to run a scan on Eddy's blade, see if there's been any improvement on his technique."

"Sure, Judy," she said, and quickly paced over to the main computer.

"Eddy," she said, almost barking, "keep it tight at the corners. Loose turns will only become your own disadvantage in the bey-stadium."

Michael snickered a little from his seat at the corner. She was in intense coach-mode today, and had been getting increasingly more so as the tournament crept nearer. That meant that they were being put through the ringer more than he'd like. However, it also meant that Rick was sure to get one hell of an ear bashing when he decided to turn up. If there was one thing Michael liked more then seeing other people getting lectured by Judy, it was seeing Rick getting lectured.

Speaking of Rick, Michael turned his head around to the side as he heard the glass training room doors open and spotted the white-headed blader himself amble lazily through them, swinging his bulky arms like some prehistoric caveman. Their eyes caught for a moment and they proceeded to give each other their now-customary greeting glare, before both breaking off at the same moment, sucking their teeth disrespectfully.

"Ah, there you are Rick. Nice of you to join us." Michael smirked. Judy's voice may have sounded sweet, but there was no disguising the ice in it. "Emily, you can wrap things up with Eddy, right?" She then strode over to Rick by the doors, clipboard in hand, not bothering to wait for a response.

Michael sneakily got up off the armchair he was sprawled in and went to sit on the couch instead. It was turned towards the wall and away from the doors, so he figured that if he slouched down really low in it, he could eavesdrop on the lecture that was sure to follow without Judy ever knowing. He then took of his cap as an added precaution – just in case it would give him away by popping up over the backrest. He tuned in attentively as he heard Judy's voice.

"Rick," she started as she neared him. "Why do you insist on getting under everyone's skin like this – and don't even try and me ask 'like what' because you know very well like what." She snapped, presumably in response to Rick trying to open his mouth and utter some lame-ass response. Michael heard her let out a long sigh before continuing, "Look. I know you don't agree with everything we do and everything we stand for in this facility, but I'll tell you now, I don't agree with you and what you're doing either. Now I don't know your reasons for being here, and I'm not going to pry into them either, but out of all the applicants we received for Steve's replacement, you impressed me the most – not only because of your skill but by how much you wanted it too – and that's the only reason you're still here. Now, listen up because I'm only saying this once. The All Starz are a team. We all have our different strengths and approaches to blading, but none of us is any more or any less needed than another. But if you don't brush that chip off your shoulder and start making an effort, I promise you, I won't be as generous as Michael. I won't stand for you being benched for this tournament – you'll be kicked off the team entirely, and another replacement will be found. We don't need dead weight in this team. Got it?"

Michael snickered. He sure hoped Rick didn't get it, if Judy was serious about kicking him off the team. The day would never be too soon to see the back of that idiot.

"...Whatever."

"I think the response I'm looking for is, 'Yes, Coach Judy.'"

There was a silence in which Michael greatly anticipated the moment Judy told that stubborn dick to get out. But then, he heard a muttered, "...yes. Coach Judy." Damnit. Oh well, perhaps tomorrow.

"Good. Now, Michael." Oh, shit. Michael stiffened and stayed exactly where he was sitting. Or rather, lying. He didn't want to make any sudden moves and give himself away. "Michael, get up."

The blonde groaned and braced himself, before twisting around and poking his head over the top of the sofa, before asking lamely, "Yes, coach?"

"Did you enjoy the show?" There was an awkward moment in which Michael couldn't decide between trying to deny that he'd heard anything and was actually sleeping, or admitting that he'd heard everything and did find it all very enjoyable. However, he didn't want Judy to get pissed with him, too, so he just settled with a, "um, no, not really."

"Good. Well, now that Rick has arrived, we can finally put a real start to our training today. Emily, Eddy," she said, seeing the pair walking up to her, having rounded things up, "you two come up to the observation room with me. Emily, while were there you can give Eddy the run down on what you think he needs to do to make sure he blades at optimum speed and strength, okay?"

"Yes, Judy."

"Michael and Rick, Dish 2, if you will. You're up first." She then pinched the bridge of her nose as the two bladers protested. "I don't want to hear it guys." She leveled each of them with a steady glare before continuing. "You're not kindergartners. So you don't like each other – get over it. Whatever issues the two of you have, I want them dealt with over the bey-dish, now. And after today, I don't want to hear another word of it. Right? That goes for all of you." She said, glancing over to Emily and Eddy as well.

"Yes, Coach Judy," they all mumbled in unison.

"Great. Now, lets get moving."

She, Emily and Eddy left the room, and Michael watched through the glass doors as they began to mount the stairs leading up to the observation room above. Michael, who had now gotten up off the couch, walked around it and leaned his weight against the back of it, surveying Rick with sour blue-green eyes and folded arms.

"What?" Rick spat, not liking the way that pretty-boy captain was looking at him.

"...What are you doing here?"

"Tch, we're in the training room, ain't we? What'd'ya think I'm doin' here, genius?"

Michael rolled his eyes, already too used to his pathetic 'comebacks' to bother countering. "I mean, what are you doing here. In this facility, blading for this tournament, when you're a punk ass street-blader, not an athlete."

"That ain't none of your business."

"I'm your captain, I'm making it my business." Michael said, rearing up and balling his fists at his sides.

"Heh, what're you gonna do, try and hit me? I wouldn't risk it, without your little buddies to back you up."

Michael chewed his lip angrily. He knew in a fight he wouldn't have anything on the bigger blader, who was all muscle and no brain, but that didn't make him any less tempted to lay one on this guy who was so insistent on getting on his nerve. "Just what is your problem, dude? What do you want?"

"Michael. Rick." Judy's voice said over the intercom. "I said I want you over at Dish 2. I will not repeat myself."

Both rolled their eyes and glared at each other for a moment more before making their way over to the dish, Rick swaggering lazily and Michael dragging his feet and cussing. Michael stormed his way up the few stairs leading to the bey-dish, and faced Rick with ire in his eyes. It was returned duly.

"Stop glaring at each other and release your beyblades," Judy said down at them.

Michael, still trying to gain full control of the engine gear the All Stars were learning to use, pulled out a standard launcher and readied his blade. Rick did the same, and they both took their launching stances.

"You look worried, Parker." Rick goaded. "You should be."

"Oh, I am. Worried about the mess poor Emily's gonna have to work with when I'm finished with your blade."

Rick scoffed. "That's a pretty big-boy thing to say for someone who relies so much on their gadgets."

"Tch," Michael rolled his eyes, not bothering to counter his trash talk. He just wanted to hurry up and wipe the floor with him. "Three," he called, initiating the match, "Two. One –"

"Let it rip!"

The two wasted no time in making their blades collide, orange meeting dull brown, in fierce battle. Michael preferred a full-throttle approach to battle and adapted his blade with the first-clutch engine gear, which kicked in almost as soon as he'd launched. Even though this should've given him an edge, however, Michael was frustrated to see that he didn't have that much of an advantage over his bulky opponent. "Trygle, attack!" He called, and his blade pushed forwards, hitting Ricks blade with much more vehemence.

"Y'call that an attack? I barely even felt it. Rock Bison!"

The dull brown blade responded and started pushing against Michael's blade, forcing it backwards and towards the end of the dish. Michael narrowed his eyes in frustration as Rick smirked. Hell was he about to let this street punk get the better of him. With one more shout to his blade, Michael managed to pull his blade away from Rick's heavy onslaught and put a little distance between them before going in for the kill once again.

Tactics and strategies were thrown out the window, and both bladers were just relying on brute force to push the other out of the bey-dish. It wasn't long before the match was over, each blade being thrown out of the dish at different angles. Michael glared down at the side of the dish were Trygle was lying, rocking ever so slightly on the spot, and then glared at Rick, not at all happy with the result.

"Michael, Rick, pick up your beyblades, and start again. That was awful – I didn't see any thought or strategy in that match. This time, get your heads in the game."

"Ugh, Judy!" Michael said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Can't we do this another ti –"

"Now, Michael!"

With much protest, the two picked their blades up off the floor and, grumbling spitefully, began a second match.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

It was dark, and there was a chill in the air that was uncommon for summer in New York. Grumbling to himself, Michael shoved his hands into the pockets of his baseball jacket and rounded the corner of the sidewalk. After many repeated matches with Rick this afternoon, some won, some lost – all of them incredibly pointless – Judy eventually got sick of them and decided to call it a day. As soon as he was free, Michael took off on his own and went downtown to catch the end of the Yankee's game. They lost, and Michael proceeded to walk the streets, sulking and grumbling about his luck.

Not paying much attention to where he was going, it was a while before he noticed he'd walked into the not-so-nice part of town. Realizing his mistake, he was about to turn on his heel and make his way back, until he heard the sounds of an argument down the alley of a nearby bar. Soon, the raised voices stopped, and were replaced by the sounds of yells and a fight. Before even taking a moment to think about how stupid he was, Michael found himself running towards the alley, not entirely sure what he was planning on doing but feeling like he really should do something regardless.

"Oi! Back off!" he shouted into the dimly lit alley. There he saw three men. One, bulky guy was holding another huge guy back by the arms while a third, slightly smaller guy was punching him in the gut. At the sound of Michael's intrusion, however, they stopped, and the bigger guy shoved whoever they were beating on roughly towards the wall and sauntered aggressively towards Michael. Oh boy, he was in the shits now. Putting on his ever-cocky demeanor, Michael squared up to the dark haired guy as he came to a stop before him and shoved him backwards by the shoulder.

"Why don't you back off? This ain't none of your business, kid."

"Asshole, I've just made it my business. Leave him alone."

"I don't think I like the way you're talkin' to me."

"I don't think I like your face –"

"Parker? The fuck are you doing here?"

Michael blinked, and stared past the burly thug in front of him. There he saw the second guy, leaning his weight up the wall he was shoved against, his white hair gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Recognition dawned in his blue-green eyes. "Rick? The fuck, dude?"

The two thugs guffawed at the exchange and the smaller of the two said mockingly, "Hey Rick, is this your little friend, come to the rescue?"

"Tchh," Michael said instinctively, "he's no friend of mine."

"Oh, well that's good," said the bigger guy in front of him, giving him another shove on the shoulder. "You can just trot the fuck off then and leave us to it. Save your pretty face from a beating, eh?"

He turned his back dismissively on the blonde, who was still looking at Rick with troubled eyes. He hated the dick, but could he just leave him here, knowing that he was likely going to get the shit kicked out of him the minute he left? Not likely.

"Sorry guys. 'Fraid I can't do that," Michael said in a low voice.

The taller guy snickered. "Wrong choice." He then turned and began to move towards Michael, balling his hands. He braced himself for a fight, but before he could think to move, the dark haired thug was tackled to the ground by Rick, who had, to his utter disbelief, jumped on him and saved Michael from what would have been one hell of a right hook.

"Parker, go the fuck home!"

Michael tore his eyes off Rick in time to see the smaller of the thugs prepare to leap onto Rick. Instinct kicking in, Michael tackled him to the ground and, in seconds, an all out brawl had erupted between the four. Michael was no brawler, but he wasn't a pushover – and his pride wasn't going to let him let these thugs get the better of him. He really wasn't able to dodge or block any of the punches this no-good thug was throwing at him, and by the trickle of warmth down his chin he was sure that last one split his lip, but he sure as hell managed to get some good punches in, and savored the feel of his knuckles meeting this bastard's nose with a crunch.

"Hey! Ladies!" someone shouted into the alley. The scuffle stopped as light spilled into the alley from an adjacent doorway. Standing there were three burly men, one of them presumably the owner of the bar they were fighting next to, and another with absolutely massive arms. "Are you gonna clear off on your own or will I have to call 911?" the man in the middle drawled. Michael found himself being pushed roughly backwards as the two thugs they were fighting made to leave the alley – but not before issuing hard glares towards the men in the doorway and giving Rick a hushed assurance that they'd see him soon. "Hey, you too," the middle guy said gruffly towards Michael and Rick. "Off my property, I don't want you bringing your trouble here again, your hear me?"

Muttering to himself, Rick left the alley without so much as a glance in his captain's direction. Michael, wanting to get himself back to the apartment and cleaned up, picked his cap up off the floor which must've fallen in the scuffle, placed it back on his head and went off after him. However, as soon as he rounded the corner, he found himself face to face with Rick's huge shoulders, walked straight into them, and found himself stumbling backwards from the impact.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" He started, turning around to glare down at the smaller blader.

"What?" Michael said, bristling. He'd just saved the guy he hated from what was sure to be a beating, and this was the thanks he got? What a bastard. "Dude, why are you such a dick? You'd be a heap of mess on the floor right now if I hadn't stepped in!"

"T'chh, don't make me laugh! You don't know nothin' about it, about lookin' after yourself. I could'a handled those guys. I always do."

"Oh, right. 'Cause it really looked that way where I was standing." Michael folded his arms as he mocked. He leaned tiredly against the wall, took off his cap and lazily ran his fingers through his hair. He was tired, aching, and his left temple felt swollen and tender.

Rick looked at Michael skeptically. "Your lip's bleeding," he stated.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Your face is bleeding," he countered. Which, in fairness, it was. There was a small tear in his left eyebrow that was trickling some blood, and a dull red graze just below it from where his head hit the wall. There was a second trickle of blood coming from somewhere in his hairline, too.

There was a silence as Rick scoffed under his breath and turned around to lean on the wall too, a couple of feet away from Michael. Sighing under his breath, he said quietly, "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That."

"What?"

Rick made an exasperated noise. "Help me!" he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

There was another silence in which Michael gave no answer. He wasn't quite sure what to say. Why did he help Rick? God knows he's wanted to punch the dick's face in ever since he opened his mouth. Then he stumbles across two guys doing the job for him, and he starts a fight with them. He should've been thanking them. Or helping them.

No, when he thought about it now, even going back to his thoughts then, the thought of ganging up on anyone like that was wrong. That was it. It wasn't because he fancied playing the hero. It was just the principle of it. Two guys beating on one was just wrong, regardless of whether he knew them or not.

"Cause." Michael stated, glancing sideways at Rick. "We're a team," he said quietly. Rick then met his eye, and he continued. "A team look out for each other."

Rick snorted and looked away, and there was a moment of awkward silence where both males avoided eye contact. Then the bulky white haired blader pushed himself off the wall. "Whatever," he muttered, and Michael watched as he turned around and made to leave. However, before he'd even taken a whole step, he stopped where he stood. Then, he turned around and gruffly held out a hand.

Michael looked down at it, his sore body and tired brain not understanding. "...what?"

Rick rolled his eyes, before looking down condescendingly at Michael. "Truce?"

Michael smirked. "Is this supposed to be you thanking me for saving your ass?"

"Just shake on it so I can get the hell away from your face – it's pissing me off."

"...Alright, truce." Michael shook on it and grinned – and then immediately regretted doing so when the action tugged on the split in his lip.

"Not a word of this to anyone, hear? Not even your little team."

"A word of what?" Michael asked.

Rick had nothing to worry about. As much as Michael would've liked to brag about saving the bigger blader's ass tonight, he was too tired to deal with the aggro between them anymore. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

A/N: So, how was that? Haha, I hope I didn't make Judy into TOO much of a slave driver - I just figure she's the type to go overboard when tournaments creep up. Also, YAY All Starz. I'm really starting to like them. :3
Anyway, that's it for today (tonight at 1:48am LOL), hope you enjoyed it. See you next week!

Next chapter: Saturday (for sure this time xD)