Chapter 13: Fight and Flight
A/N: angw- I hope the fight lives up to you expectations. I like writing Dr. McKay, just not sure if pairing him with Kyte would be a good idea (love at first fight?). Don't worry, I have a few ideas for future stories.
Dr. Lowell gripped the large dagger, got into a fencing stance and stared at me. I faced him, ignored the pain that was slowly growing as Dr. Beckett's medications were wearing off, and summoned all my strength.
"Thank you for giving me this opportunity. A body or a hostage, your condition makes no difference to me now," smirked Dr. Lowell, lunging with the blade.
I parried easily. "You already proved you can't handle me at knife-point, but I thought I'd give you another opportunity. Besides I swore revenge, I simply couldn't let you leave without fulfilling that promise," I replied evenly.
"You and your promises." He lunged again.
"Words have no power unless you follow up on them. Haven't you ever heard 'Truth is the best of all the lost arts?' Not that I expect you to understand." I met his blade again, easily. We continued this way in silence for a few minutes – Dr. Lowell lunging out, I easily deflecting the blade. The man had taken kendo or fencing, but he really didn't know swordfighting. I wasn't the best, nor in the best shape at the moment, but I knew what a sword could do. On the next slash, I countered with the flat of the blade and a stiff forearm. I was rewarded with the sickening crunch of bruised ribs breaking.
Dr. Lowell met my eyes as I prepared for the next attack. He was in pain and suddenly realized he was outmatched. He hadn't studied my file as it were, as closely as he should have. Of course, not many public schools teach traditional sword and weapons fighting. Mine, with it everpresent focus on the glories of ancient Scotland, did. I again drove for body contact, brusing more ribs. I heard gasps behind me and realized I was suddenly playing to a larger audience.
Caldwell, Weir, Beckett, Sheppard, McKay, Teyla and Ronon, had headed towards the brig. Teyla and Ronon watched the petite scientist face her former captor with something resembling approval. Dr. Weir looked on with shock and indecision, torn between stopping the battle and letting it reach a natural conclusion. He had, after all held the both of them hostage, but letting Kyte serve as judge and jury was a little extreme, even if this was Atlantis, far removed from Stargate Command, Colonel Caldwell was ready to interfere, but stopped himself as he recalled the man's indifference and unapologetic attitude. He wouldn't have minded taking a blade to the man himself, but killing him here, would be another matter. Sheppard observed the lopsided duel, as if it were a video game for a moment before commenting, "She's Boudicca."
"That's a fair description, lad," affirmed Dr. Beckett, wincing at another crunch of bones.
"Who?' whispered Dr. McKay trying to reconcile yet another side of the strawberry blonde he felt strangely attracted to, with his collection of previous impressions of her. What was it with his attraction to warrior scientists?
"Warrior wife of a British tribal chief, united the tribes against Nero's armies," whispered back Carson, eyes not moving from the unfolding action.
I moved quickly, every strike accompanied by the crunch of bones breaking or brusing where blade and body or body alone contacted various opposing parts. Ribs, shoulder bones, radius, ulna, the small bones of the foot. Every strike payback for fear, for pain, for all he'd put me through.
Sheppard cocked his head and observed the studious expressions on Teyla and Ronon's faces. This was their style of fighting, the blade an extension of the body. Sword thrust accompanied by a kick or shove. More like brawling to him, but Dr. Randall appeared to be in total control, like a chess master who knew all the possible moves of their opponent. A sudden, quick drive by her left Dr. Lowell on his knees, victim of a shattered tibia. "Remind me not to owe her money," whispered Lt. Browning.
I turned to face Dr. Lowell. He had dropped the dagger and was gasping raggedly for breath, knowing the end was near. "Go ahead, kill me," he taunted, down to his last defense. "It still won't change anything."
I really wanted to run him through with the blade, or slit his throat, but caught myself; that was one action I would not commit to, I would not become him. "No, it won't, but I can't kill you. I don't think Dr. Weir or Colonel Caldwell would appreciate the stack of paperwork your death would generate. Besides, it would be an insult to this blade." I paused for a moment, conscious of all the eyes on me. "Still I promised to draw blood," I mused and drew the sword's blade across my palm. A small river of blood quickly appeared. I flicked my wrist and let a few droplets splatter. I wiped the blade on my shirt and put it back in the case. With same lack I feeling, I picked up to the dagger and walked out of the room, held held high, past shocked spectators, trying to control my pain and the overwhelming impact of what I had just done. As I left, I heard the sob of a broken man.
"Kyte," called out Dr. Weir to the retreating figure.
"I need a medical team to the brig," spoke Dr. Beckett briskly, rushing to the fallen man's side. "We've got a prisoner down, multiple fractures, good lord, how'd the lass learn to inflict blows like that?" he trailed off, noting the extent of the injuries.
"This is Caldwell, I need a team," he started before noticing Ronon's glare at his intent.
"Let her go for now, she needs to sort some things out. She may have trained as a warrior, but she is not wholly a warrior," the Setian tried to explain. Behind him Teyla nodded.
"She knows what she has done. She will return when she has reconciled her anger and her conscience."
"Besides, she knows how to mask her appearance on the sensors. If she doesn't want to be found, we won't find her," added Colonel Sheppard.
"I'll take all of you at your word, although I'm guessing you know where she might have gone," acquiesced the Colonel, with a glance in Sheppard's direction.
I raced through halls, ignoring the stares of people I passed. Pain and fatigue threatened to overtake me as I stepped onto a balcony, felt the wind try to tease my rough braid loose. "What have I done?" I asked myself, not willing to give into the sobs that welled in my throat. "I nearly killed a man in absolute anger. No matter what, he was right. Nothing would ever be the same, I couldn't go home." I gave into the fatigue, the pain from the fight, from previous wounds, and all that I had lost and wept, shudders wracking my body, unaware of the figure that quietly appeared in the doorway a few moments later.
TBC – One more chapter, I promise. Thanks for following Kyte's story.