Session 8

Early morning, long before dawn Spike ghosted past Anders's bunk, dropping a pack of cigarettes on the covers on his way by. Anders sat up and blinked, holding them up in the scant moonlight.

Spike pulled a few more packs out of bag he'd slung over his shoulder. He tucked them beneath his mattress and then shoved the bag deep under the bed frame, more objects rustled inside. Noting he was being watched, he glanced over his shoulder, placed a finger to his lips and grinned.

Anders scratched his head as if to say, How the hell did you get this?

The next object to appear in Spike's hand was the lock pick. He let it glint in the moonlight before his deft fingers made it vanish.

No door was locked to him.

Spike took a deep breath, all eyes were on him again. It felt, awkward. But he knew his task. Simple enough. Without any warning he darted across the mat, his palms shot out in front of him in a driving strike to Sensei's shoulder.

No … through where Sensei was. Where did he go?… wait, is that his grip on my wrist? … Oh SHIT! Rather in a panic Spike found himself airborne trapped in a disorienting overhand throw. He kicked and twisted, throwing his weight around in a desperate scramble. Just in time he managed to land mostly on his feet, catching his balance with one hand. Sloppy, but better than a face plant.

That wrenching had been harder than yesterday when Vicious had done it. More forceful. Spike resisted the urge to rub his right shoulder. Still inside the boundary of the square, Spike studied Sensei through narrowed eyes.

Sensei stood relaxed and smiled. "You landed close to the line. You want to try again. I can see it in your eyes."

He didn't say a word. Just rose to his feet and dusted himself off. Once more not giving much of warning Spike charged, this time not leading with his hands, he saved the strike for the last minute. Sensei didn't shift out of the way this time. Instead when Spike drove his hands forward, Sensei simply stood up straighter, moving the center of mass higher. The contact stopped Spike's momentum as harshly as a brick wall. Something Spike didn't have long to contemplate as a second later an elbow slammed into the center of his back between his shoulder blades. Forced to the ground, Spike's breath left him in a pained grunt, leaving him panting as Sensei stood above him.

"Too stiff, Spike. Remember to be fluid. Like water."

Fuck water! Where the hell did that truck come from? Cracking an eye open, Spike gritted his teeth as he pushed up off the floor. The expressions on the other boys' faces were cringe-worthy. So much for yesterday's invincible impression. He staggered to his feet and tried to stretch out his back.

That hurt. A lot.

Sensei shook his head. "We're done."

"No." Spike narrowed his eyes, trying to key it in. Fluid, unpredictable, adaptable. How could he gain the critical strike without Sensei being able to evade? This was a shot on the pool table. That was it. "It's a matter of angles."

Sensei remained idly at the ready. "If you are certain you want to try again. Alright. Whenever you are ready."

Tip him over. That's all he had to do. Knock Sensei's balance off enough he'd go over. There were plenty of trick shots Spike knew that involved leverage. How a force applied, direction and place of contact, was everything. So, all he had to do was nail him in a direction he wasn't expecting. Spike smiled and once more darted, this time with a jump, driving downward at an angle.

That was a mistake! Spike had just enough time to process that thought as Sensei flashed a grin up at him and leaned back. A second later, Sensei's leg came up against Spike's gut. Using Spike's right arm, again, Sensei guided him into a throw pushing up against Spike in a controlled layout kick. This time too much force for him to possibly compensate. There would be no overcoming inertia this time.

"Shit!" The force against Spike's gut resulted in the unflattering scream until he collided, ass over tea kettle, into the wall. An odd space on the wall strategically devoid of objects, but it did sport a large dent, rather resembling the shape of body impacts. Something Spike no longer pondered now that he had the experience of why.

Day one, left impression on classmates. Day two, left impression on the wall.

" … owwww … "

Spike lay on his shoulders, back up against the wall, feet dangling in the air. A groan escaped him as the room spun. A blurry Sensei wandered into his star-strewn vision, his voice calm and confident. "You guessed wrong. No one is born knowing how to do this. Now. Can you stand up?"

That would prove difficult. Spike barely shifted, the main result was a grimace and a hiss as he rediscovered where Sensei's elbow had previously driven between his shoulder blades. That had been jarred by the impact against the solid wall.

When Spike didn't respond with anything verbal, Sensei continued, "Can you at least tell what direction is up?"

With a sigh, Spike pointed.

"Close." Sensei leaned down and tapped his finger over. "I do believe you are done sparring for the day."

With a grumble, Spike flopped onto his side and dragged himself to his feet. "No. Again." He took two steps before his equilibrium deserted him. Collapsing forward, he found himself draped over Sensei's waiting arms. "Dammit."

"Nice try. Ambition cannot overcome everything. Patience is needed as well. You will learn nothing from being further thrashed today."

His hands withdrew once Spike had found a semblance of balance. The final steps back to the edge of the mat were far from steady with the room still shifting beneath his feet. But at last he knelt down, back in his place arching his back and trying to relieve the deep ache.

Anders, at his side, leaned closer and whispered. "You alright?"

"I'll tell you when I stop seeing stars." Spike couldn't even spare a glance for Vicious across the mat, though he was certain that boy was watching him, probably smiling. Damn it, why had Sensei done that? More than one joint hurt like hell now. But especially his upper back where he couldn't even reach. Oh, that had not been a mistake. It was a lesson. He was sure of it.

When at last he did look up, Vicious stood in the middle with Sensei. The exercise simple, a series of driving strikes meant to work on targeting. Vicious delivered away, but the moment he got off track, Sensei delivered a counter strike right into him. The brutal blows were no more held back for Vicious. The boy held his ground, only grunting when Sensei nailed him in the gut. Vicious staggered back for a second to catch his breath and then resumed the drill.

There was no doubt why the others looked up to him. The recent thrashing reminded Spike of how powerful Sensei truly was, a realization he had not been forced to face since they first met. Vicious held his ground against those blows. Of course, his challenge was different than the one Spike had been tasked with. But still, Spike had just had his ass handed to him. That stung a little. His pride, not his ass.

Once every student had their round getting their own personalized lesson, Sensei split them into pairs. He gestured to Spike and Anders, "Since you both are the most bruised, you two drill against one another."

One small mercy. Spike rubbed his shoulder.

Anders absently gripped his ribs as they stood up together. Spike heaved a sigh and tried to find a comfortable way to assume the proper drilling stance. Anything he did tugged on the bruise he knew he sported in the center of his back. Resigned that this was just gonna hurt, he settled and raised his hands. A sign he was ready for the back and forth blocking drills. Muscle memory building. Spike knew enough of that from the pool hall. Of course there is a distinct difference in hitting a ball verses hitting flesh.

Still, the repetitious exercise afforded them a chance to chat as they traded the motions. "Does he do that to everyone?"

Anders glanced up at the question. "You could say that. Part of everyone's second day in the class. It's kind of a right of passage. Makes you one of us now."

Spike grunted against his will as he delivered a strike into Ander's waiting palm.

"How did you guess?" Ander's cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, the dented wall was a pretty big clue. That and for some strange reason no one was in the way when he threw me that direction. So, it seemed like they knew he was gonna do it and moved to avoid it."

He chuckled. "You can call it Sensei's target practice. We all ended up there at least once. Even that little prick, Vicious."

"Bet that was fun to watch."

Anders smiled, "Hell yes. He pretty much lost his shit and tried to claw the Sensei. Course, Sensei just launched his ass back into the wall. That time he busted an ankle. Tried to get up, but couldn't. Haha! Can't train on crutches. He couldn't take another shot at it til he healed. Honestly, you fared better than he did."

"That so?" Spike shook his head. "Sensei's made a challenge for me. I aim to knock him down."

"Good luck. Takes a while to figure it out. We don't have the weight for it. So it's harder, but not impossible. It's all about physics."

Spike straightened up for a second. "Physics?"

"Yeah, you know; force, momentum, inertia."

"Oh, pool." Spike huffed a breath as he threw a blow. Yup, he had been right. Just needed to discover the right angle to sent Sensei onto his ass.

They continued to trade the blows back and forth into eachother's hands. Crossing over some of the time, direct strikes in others.

Anders broke off the routine, rubbing his side. Spike ran a hand through his sweaty hair, eyes to the ceiling he caught something. The gleam of two bells hanging down on bright braided cords. They were high off the floor, over a story above his head. And the distance between, as he rocked back and forth trying to gauge it, was just wider than an average man's performing the splits.

Anders followed his line of sight. "Oh yeah, those. Sensei put 'em up there as a challenge years ago."

"A challenge?"

"Ring them both at the same time." He shrugged. "No ones been able to do it. They're too far apart to hit. Can't tell you how many attempts I've taken at it. Boys bigger than me tried, many ended up with sprains. Heh, a twig like you couldn't do it. I doubt you could even jump that high."

Spike cocked his head at the bells. Their winking light beckoning him. Anders was right, nobody could jump that high. But if the solution was simple, someone would have done it by now.

The stars twinkled in the night sky. Restless, Spike once more found himself reclining in the broad windowsill. The ache in his back wasn't helping him any. He should have been resting, but old habits died hard. Against his better judgment, as everyone else was sleeping, he lit a cigarette, needing something to occupy his runaway thoughts.

How to knock over the sensei … there had to be a way. The task teased at his mind like staring at a pool table without a decent shot.

The scent of the smoke grew a bit stronger. He glanced to the side as Anders joined him, the red glow at the cigarette end a twin to his own. Anders leaned against the windowsill, eyes unfocused outside. "You don't sleep much, do you."

Spike shrugged, and slightly regretted it. Yeah, there was a bruise back there. Bone deep. Laying his head back he resumed stargazing as if they held the answer to his problem. Around the cigarette he muttered, "Used to scavenging at night. Sleeping in the mornings before the marks came in to get drunk."

Anders eyes shifted to below the bed where the sack lie. "That explains a lot. Pretty slick scoring these." He held up the cigarette. "But you better be careful not to get caught."

Get caught? What could they possibly do him that was worse than Joe's punishment? Spike's eyes nearly closed. "Whatever."

"Seriously. This place isn't a game, Spike. Have you been out there in Tharsis City? This is a place you gotta have resources and connections. I've done a few runs with the ranks, seen how nasty things can get. If they decide to turn you out, it's over, kid. You're finished."

The twist of smoke hazed the air as Spike mused. He shifted his gaze to Anders. "Tomorrow, do you think I'll have another go at knocking Sensei off his feet?"

The cigarette in Anders's mouth tipped down as his jaw slackened. "Uh, usually. That's how his lessons work. You don't get to the next one before you nail the current one."

Spike turned back to the stars. "Good."

The scuff of bare feet on the floor caught both of their attention. From the hall, framed by the bathroom light before it shut off, they spied Vicious. He strode back toward his bunk offering a threatening stare toward the window before he climbed back in bed, cold shouldering them both.

Undeterred by the unveiled threat, Spike snubbed out his spent cigarette. This would be a strange place to navigate, no doubt.

See You Space Cowboy