Session 7

Spike stood beside his sensei as they gazed into their reflections in the mirror. The boy that stared back at him now was nothing like what he had come here as several months ago. It had been weeks since he had seen Annie, she was gone without a trace—not that he was going to ask Yenrai about why. But her absence hadn't kept him from picking the lock and swimming almost daily. If that didn't fill his afternoon, he would range around the walled in property exploring the wooded acreage, returning in time to eavesdrop on the advanced lessons. He was still thinly built, but instead of the half-starved street wretch he'd left Deseado as, he had a lean coat of muscle over his bones. Bones that had grown enough that he'd been given a larger pair of jeans, along with a shirt and vest too. The shoes were similar canvas style sneakers with better traction than his old ones. Nothing was new, but his clothing was at least not fraying at the seams. At the moment dressed in his gi, when he shifted through the balance postures there was hardly a delay as he found the center and kept it in check. Motions were smooth, certain, confident. His strikes had enough power behind them to move Sensei's hand back with enough accuracy he could target the palm with his fist most of the time.

Closing the routine, Sensei circled Spike eyeing him appraisingly. "When you first came here you were raw, ragged, practically starved. You heard me tell Mao that I thought it a miracle you had survived. Now, what is the mantra I taught you?"

After so many repetitions Spike swore he could even state it in his sleep. "Frailty is only a physical state that can be overcome by persistence."

"What do you see?"

Not even rocking on his feet, Spike stood firm. Another lesson entered his thoughts, show his teacher he'd been listening. "A still surface on a river betrays nothing of what it hides beneath."

Sensei's eyebrow lifted before he smiled. "May I not regret this." He rested a hand on Spike's shoulder. "It's time you joined the others."

Spike broke his gaze from the mirror and looked up into his sensei's face. He fought to keep his heart rate from racing away. "Sensei, can I choose my first opponent?"

He cocked his head. "You hardly know them … " his voice faded for a moment in thought before he brought his hand to his forehead. "Oh yes, that's how. Spike, I don't think that's wise. I was going to just have you watch the sparring matches today."

But Spike kept his eyes locked, palms pressed together as he quoted from memory, "If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles."

Sensei balked for a moment. In truth, he shouldn't have, Spike had already been drilled on half a dozen passages in the Art of War text, the copy given to him had a permanent home on the table next to his bed. "But Spike, you don't know your enemy. That boy may be the same age as you, but you've hardly seen him since that night."

Spike snapped down into a snake pose Sensei had not taught him yet. The posture Spike had seen Vicious do nearly every day he'd spied on them from the shadows of the hallway.

"What the … ?" Sensei's eyes roved for a moment before he looked to the ceiling with a groan. "Dammit! You little eavesdropper, that's what Mao meant!"

"I've seen enough, Sensei." Spike caught his hand straying up to where the mark used to be from his first encounter with Vicious. "You're worried about me with the others. I know, I'm smaller than most of them. But they look up to him."

"There's a reason for that. Most fear him because he's unbeaten. Spike, you're fast and agile. Your size makes you harder to hit. But don't underestimate him, he never holds back. There are others who are safer."

"But that won't leave an impression." Spike glared. "I'm not afraid of him. I owe him back for what he did."

Sensei exhaled slowly, crossing his arms.

"I'm ready. I've watched him spar."

"You can't defeat him."

Spike smirked. "A guy like that I don't have to. I just have to match him. That I can do. His ego'll do the rest."

"Your confidence is going to get you killed."

He shrugged. "Probably. But I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Sensei Leonard brought his hands together closing the warm up routine. The boys faced him, spread out across the dojo floor in orderly lines. He tried to keep his eyes from flicking to the figure in the back of the room. As instructed, Spike sat waiting on a stack of mats, one leg drawn up the other hanging down. Perfectly relaxed. Concealed in shadows Leonard doubted the boy's presence had even been noted by the others. Leonard caught Vicious's preoccupied glare, once more those eyes demanded his attention. The more he looked at the boy the more he saw a snake in him. Cold-blooded and reserved, always ready to strike. His heart grew heavy, he had delayed this long enough.

No regrets. He took a deep breath and waved the boys to the sides. "Clear the center."

The boys all knelt around the lines. Always Vicious flanked by Gable and Kieran. The handful of older students, knelt across from Vicious averting their eyes to his challenging stare. Anders in particular, as he tried to conceal rubbing his chest from the bruise beneath his gi. Being larger than Vicious did not pay off for their match the previous day. He had ended up doubled over, barely able to draw a breath in.

Leonard pointed toward the back line. "Make room." The boys glanced to one another. However Vicious, Gable and Kieran all grinned, practically wringing their hands. Leonard cleared his throat and offered the trio a scowl. "Today another student joins you all in training." He gestured to the back of the room.

The sound of Spike's bare feet hitting the mat turned heads. He strode forward, slouched shoulders and lazy-eyed, kneeling into the space cleared for him. This close to the others it was more obvious, he was shorter than Vicious by a few inches, and still catching up on weight. Eyes widened on the new-comer. But Spike remained motionless. His half-lidded gaze on Leonard as if to remind him of their words not even an hour ago. Whispers disrupted what should have been silence. One of those whispering voices was Vicious.

"This is Spike. He will be joining you in the dorm after class. I will remind you all," he eyed Vicious and company, "that fighting, even sparring level, is prohibited outside of this room. Am I understood?"

In unison they all responded, "Yes Sensei."

He shifted his eyes to lock with Spike. Calm brown eyes beneath half closed lids remained steady. Slowly Leonard glanced to Vicious, as if to ask, Are you certain? The reply was a covert glance in Vicious's direction. No apprehension. Leonard shut his own eyes and steeled himself. So be it.

"Vicious, to the line."

With a determined stride, Vicious stepped into the square. A cold, emotionless gaze in his eyes as he searched the group hungry for an opponent.

Leonard pointed, "Spike, take the line."

All the other boys stiffened. Anders jerked backward, "Sensei, what—"

Leonard held up a hand silencing him. "Spike, I explained the rules of a sparring match. Points for pushing an opponent out of the ring, pinning to the mat, or a strike to the torso. This part goes especially for you, Vicious, when I say stop, you both stop."

Vicious didn't reply, instead a slow smile broke out as he sunk into a starting pose.

In complete opposition, Spike remained slouched, loose. His hands at his sides as if in pockets. His eyes still half-lidded, barely catching the overhead light. Unreadable.

Gable laughed. "Yenrai's street cur is gonna get his ass kicked on his first day!"

Spike didn't let his gaze leave Vicious, but his deadpan reply cut through the following silence, it seemed almost relaxed. "I am not a street cur. Never refer to me as a dog again."

The smile on Vicious's lips twisted, a vile sparkle in his violet eyes. "Why not? A mangy runt like you?"

It was subtle, Spike stiffened only for a split second before banishing it. He waited.

"Enough." Leonard crossed his arms. "Are you two ready?" When both offered him a nod, he whispered a silent plea under his breath that this wouldn't end in a burial and called out, "Fight!"

Vicious blinked through strands of silver hair when Spike didn't immediately charge him. The boy didn't move, he just stood there eyeing him. Every other student in this room who had faced him dove in first chance they got trying to beat his fist. Leonard studied the stand off, it appeared as though Spike hadn't heard the decree. And Vicious momentarily stood with confusion knitting his brows.

"What's the matter?" Vicious snapped, "You scared cause of what I did to you last time?"

Spike remained stock-still.

"Fine!" In a swift drive, Vicious surged forward in the snake pose, leading with a fist to feint low and strike high.

Spike slipped off to the side, bringing his arm up and deflecting the blow.

The moment Vicious leaned into a blank space, an arm batting his out of the way, the cocky smile vanished from his face. The shock didn't last long. Instead it was replace by disgust. He came around and swung hard with his other fist.

Spike's loose body shifted balance, easily sliding out of the way. At the moment Spike's strategy stuck with pure evasion. Vicious's typical temper drew him into an opponent's space in a brutal assault, Spike seized control of that tactic and turned it on his opponent. The strikes came hard and fast from Vicious's rigid fury only to be redirected by Spike's fluidity. Where the other boys would quickly dissolve into a panic, Spike remained calm and focused, his form efficiently denying Vicious his victory strike.

It beggared belief, and if Leonard didn't know the history of the two boys he would have sworn they'd matched before, not for the first time. Vicious, his hot-tempered pupil of four years. Spike, a boy who had beaten the savage odds of a crater slum. Of course Leonard had sparred with Spike, but this concealed intensity hadn't been there. He flowed like water, embracing the element Leonard had glimpsed at his core. It rendered him a serious pain in the ass to read. Made more obvious by this being the first time Leonard had seen Vicious lose his cool.

Lured to edge of the square, Vicious's anger nearly drove him over the line. He saved his balance with a pinwheel of his arm.

Spike took that opening for a palm strike toward the chest. The evasion left Vicious staggering sideways in a graceless move. Spike flashed a grin. "Not such an easy target when I'm awake."

Vicious growled, "Go down like the beaten dog you are!" He lunged forward.

Spike jumped, and used Vicious's back as a platform, vaulting behind him. Vicious kicked backward sending Spike into a tumble narrowly avoiding the hit. His foot landed perilously close to the line. Spike panted, "I am not a dog!"

The two collided, now in the midst of a grappling match, trying to force one another to the mat in a tangle of limbs. In the rare glimpses of their faces the heat was easy to see. Unable to pin him, Vicious changed tactics and attempted to throw Spike. The effort led to Spike somersaulting and landing crouched, just inside the boundary. He flicked his fingers, an invitation to charge.

Vicious wiped his forehead.

Matches usually didn't go on this long. A few exchanges and one typically got through. At this point reaching a match point could take all day. Leonard rubbed his chin remembering Spike's decree, I just have to match him. That I can do. How long had Spike been watching them secretly from the shadows, studying Vicious and plotting this moment to make his mark? He knew the tells that the other students became too frantic to catch. The other boys all stared wide-eyed at the match. Some with envy, most with shock. No one, except Leonard himself, had managed to stand a round against Vicious without getting bloodied.

No one now—except Spike.

For once someone held their ground against his most volatile student. He realized that he finally had a challenge for Vicious. Perhaps with something to focus on, the irksome boy might be easier to handle.

"Stop!" Leonard held up his hands as the two started to line up their next strikes. They both paused, staring through their fingers at one another. "Well done, both of you. Spike, that exceeded my expectations."

He panted, wiping sweat from his brow. Only now did he let his gaze leave Vicious.

Vicious leered and pointed. "He didn't win. He didn't strike me. Nor did he push me out or pin me. He didn't win."

Spike lifted a shoulder and let it fall. "Neither did you. So, I guess we're even."

That stiffened Vicious. At the same time the rest of the boys exchanged shocked expressions. Kieran's voice cut the silence, "Spike is evenly matched with Vicious."

Rounding on the boy, Vicious grabbed the collar of his gi and pulled him close, silencing him. "I am not matched by that street dog!"

Spike swept a kick, taking Vicious's legs out from beneath him and dumping him backward on the mat. Leaning over him, he growled, "And I told you, I am not a dog!"

Leonard held his breath as Spike turned and walked back to his place to kneel on the mat, offering Vicious a half lidded glare. Vicious got to his feet and took his place at the edge of the square, rubbing his elbow. A bit of blood blossoming on the white fabric. A slow smile grew as he stared at Spike.

First blood. That was unexpected. Watch your back, Spike.

Rows of bunk beds lined the room. Evening light streamed through the windows. Spike had settled his few belongings on the shelf near his new bunk beneath the high window before he had even snuck into the class, as instructed. Now, dressed back in his jeans with his shirt and vest, he reclined in the wide windowsill gazing out at the view. One leg hung over the edge, swinging idly. His arm rested on his raised knee. The boys chatted and jostled around the room, casting glances his way. He noticed, but he didn't really care.

Spike's mind was preoccupied analyzing how his gamble had played out. That measured square on the mat had been similar to a pool table. Approach the side without giving the con away. Let the overconfidence fuel the opponent. Then, once they fall into the trap, never let them get their traction back. He'd known he couldn't get through Vicious's defense. Vicious was stronger and Spike didn't have the reach yet. But strength and reach weren't everything. Speed and agility should never be ignored. However—there was a far more powerful wound.

Not that Spike knew much about human bonds, after all Joe had been a shit-show of a role model there, what he had witnessed around the pool table was the crippling power of an ego-trip. No punch could possibly do more damage that a shot at reputation. The toughest schmuck in the pool hall could be reduced to a pitiful tantrum if his bluster failed to hold up.

The conversation around this room sounded similar, bringing back memories. He didn't miss the hunger or discomfort. But he found a particular itch difficult to scratch. The scent of cigarette smoke teased him as his fingers shifted against his knee, longing for something he hadn't had in months.

Anders leaned against the windowsill and ran a hand through his hair. In his other, a lit cigarette. "You sure are a ballsy little shit. Hey, your name's Spike, right? Mine's—"

Spike cut him off, "Anders." When he blinked in surprise, Spike pointed to each of the boys, "Gable, Kieran, Vicious, Kade, Lance, … "

"Well, that's a neat trick. How'd you know?"

Looking back out the window. "Three of you I met shortly after arriving here." He eyed Vicious, dressed in a dark button shirt and slacks, lying on his bunk with a book in his hands. He wasn't reading. His eyes peered above the cover spying on Spike. That was until he noted he was being watched. He flicked a page hastily. Subtle. "The rest, well, I've been watching all of you."

Ander's looked a bit older, a shadow of scruff on his jaw, he wore a red hooded sweatshirt with a smudge of something dark. It smelled of gunpowder. His voice had dropped into a lower register. As he spoke, his bright blue eyes narrowed. "Sensei let you watch without telling us?"

Spike shrugged. "Sensei couldn't stop what he didn't know I was doing. The man isn't a god, can't be everywhere at once."

Lowering his voice, he whispered, "Damn, guess I shoulda known the kid who could stand a round against the resident brat wasn't the average recruit."

The red ember this close stole Spike's attention. He couldn't help the pre-occupation.

Anders caught it and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fresh cigarette. "You're kinda young to have this vice. Where'd you come from?"

Spike swallowed as he took the offered balm to that deep itch. The moment Ander's lit it with a match, he inhaled deep and sighed before answering, "Deseado."

Several heads turned at that. A crowd closed the distance standing in the shadow he cast. Spike leaned his head back, savoring the relief as he held the sweet tobacco in his lungs before letting it out in a puff. This was a good brand, whatever it was.

"You're shittin' me." Anders flicked the ash onto the floor. "Nothing worth a damn crawls out of that pit. Hell, word has it that's where morons who have fucked up run to die in hopes that no one will follow their sorry asses there. No one wants to be sent there on a run. Least that's what I heard the ranks say."

Spike eyed him sideways. "It's also where Yenrai and his buddies play pool after leveling a city block."

Anders cocked his head, staring at the cigarette in Spike's mouth. "Let me guess, you were there."

"I worked as a shark in the pool hall." He flicked the ash on the floor alongside Ander's.

"You played them?"

Spike nodded slowly, drawing the boys in closer. "Specifically Yenrai. Not sure I'd call it an actual game, though. He only shot twice."

Lance leaned forward, "Our master?"

Anders cuffed the boy playfully. "As if there's another Yenrai. Who else would have brought him here?"

Lance rubbed his head and shrugged. "Well, I haven't seen him in a while, not since he brought me here. Hey Anders, you think my dad is coming?"

The older boy hid a roll of his eyes before he tucked his hand in his pocket. "Seriously kid, can you give that rest? Ain't you figured it out yet? Nobody here's got folks coming for them. That's exactly why we're here. They either died, are in prison, or just plain don't give a fuck what happened to us."

Spike closed his eyes, resting his head against the wide window frame. So many years had passed now since he had last seen their faces. He hardly remembered them, just vague shadows, bits of memories. There'd been no point clinging to any hope, that ember long extinguished in the gutters that tried to claim him. The meager hope in Lance's voice almost stung.

When he opened his eyes Vicious stood at his side with his arms crossed, a scowl fixed in Spike through the strands of silver hair. "Who do you think you are?"

Spike raised an eyebrow but didn't reply as the other boys, even Anders, took a step back. He realized that if Vicious chose to do anything at the moment he would be trapped.

Vicious inclined his nose, the higher timbre of his voice sounding almost funny as he threw an attitude more suited for a full grown man. "You think that trick you pulled in the dojo is going to work? You have no idea who you screwed with. That dojo is mine."

Anders palmed his face. "Give it a rest, Vicious. Nobody cares."

Plucking out the cigarette, Spike adopted a bemused expression and narrowed one eye. "Uhhh, I do think that Sensei and Yenrai might have something to say about that. I was under the impression this joint was theirs."

Vicious reached up and grabbed Spike's shirt and yanked him closer. Spike let it happen, even as many of the others cringed. "You will learn your place, runt."

That stung a bit. Spike couldn't help the flinch, but he kept his voice level, "I know my place. Toe to toe with you, hothead."

"Tsk!" Vicious spat, the shock evident in his eyes.

Spike wondered when the last time was that someone had dared to even defy him. By the cringing of the others it seemed they lent credence to his self-belief that he ruled this place. Fanning the flames of an ego was dangerous, and Sensei's words confirmed that Vicious was a hard one to control. After all, what kind of a person named themselves Vicious? Well, so much for boredom.

Anders grabbed his hand and released the hold, staring Vicious down. "That's enough."

His confidence deflated a moment later when Vicious took a mock strike at his chest, Anders curled into a guard, a flash of fear in his eyes. "You want me to remind you where you belong? Next time I'll break a rib."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Haven't you injured enough of us already?"

"I am the best fighter here."

"And yet you're still here." Anders pointed. "Get a clue, Vicious, if that's what you insist on being called. I can't wait to get initiated so I can get away from you."

Vicious cracked his knuckles. "Maybe you won't even make it out of here."

He bared his teeth. "You mean like Haru and Davis? Don't think I don't know what you did. Sensei will find out one of these days, you demented little ass. Every time one of us is close to initiation something happens."

He smiled, venom in his eyes. "I am ready to take my place."

"You are twelve." Anders snapped. "You're not even close to being old enough."

"Knocking the others out increases my chances of being chosen."

"Uh, no it doesn't. Trust me, I've done a run with a ranker." Anders pointed out the window. "All it's doing is making things tougher out there. So you better knock it off before you get kicked out."

Vicious's smile only intensified. "Unlike you, Yenrai will never kick me out."

As Vicious turned and walked away, Anders growled just above his breath, "That kid pisses me off."

Spike snubbed out the butt of the cigarette and eyed Vicious from a distance. "He's a lot of hot air."

"My bruised ribs say different."

"Say Anders, where'd you get the smokes from?"

He pulled the pack out of his hoodie pocket and pointed. "Yenrai has some in the mansion. It was my reward for running a task with one of his squads. You can earn stuff like this doing favors."

The lock pick twirled in Spike's fingers as he glanced out the window. "The mansion, you say? Hrm."

See You Space Cowboy