Session 10

Bustling. It seemed to Vicious that the dorm room was spacious until they all got ready for Sensei's class. Finding space was difficult at best. Elbows and knees closing in from all directions while they changed clothes. But the others knew what the price would be if they contacted him, even inadvertently. They took care. Didn't mean Vicious relaxed. His scowl was an ever present ward as he slid his arm into his gi.

An impact from behind jarred Vicious, pitching him forward so he was forced to grab the metal frame of his cot. His knuckles flared white.

Vicious stared daggers into Spike's back as the gi-clad boy dashed past, calling out to Anders he held up a lighter. A quick, unapologetic glance over Spike's shoulder was all Vicious got from him. He ground his teeth, moments from baring them before shrugging into his gi and roughly tying it shut.

I swear I'll teach him! What's wrong with that little shit? Vicious sinched the knot tight. Ever since Spike had started handing out sweets to the other boys Vicious had caught his eyes studying him, rimmed with fascination. Not just in the training sessions either, it was every opportunity. Was he aware Vicious was the undisputed leader here? Was he trying to figure out how to usurp him? Or was that reverence? No—it wasn't reverence. He'd seen that before. That's how Gable looked at him. Still, if Spike thought that he could buy the loyalty of the other kids through sweets, he had another thing coming.

Vicious cracked his knuckles. Perhaps it was time to teach this shit a lesson. Maybe he could convince Sensei it was time for a field game. Nothing brought the fear like the realization that Vicious controlled the others like an army. Besides, it was easier to hide a beat down in an exercise.

A rumble of thunder shook the dorm walls. Vicious flexed a fist. So much for a chance at a private lesson. Stuck with another day of drills.

Though he loathed it, Vicious glared as they sunk in a lengthy rhythm of sequences, not even targeting one another. Solo stuff, perfecting form. He wanted to yawn. But that would mean breaking the breathing.

In the mirror a bit of motion demanded his attention. Spike's narrowed eyes fixated on him, studying him even as he continued the flow of the routine. Vicious scowled. A moment later, Spike averted his eyes, feigning innocence.

He's trying to analyze me. The bribing of the others isn't enough for him? That's it, the moment Sensei pairs me with that little shit I will pound the mat with his face.

All throughout meditation, behind closed eyes Vicious visualized defeating each and every one of the boys while Spike watched. His face growing more panicked before his turn came. Vicious savored slicing a blade between his ribs, watching the blood flow out. Breathing shallower, skin paler. Life ebbed.

"Open your eyes," Sensei beckoned them from the front of the room.

Vicious felt the grin tugging his lips into a tight line even as the thunder rolled once more.

"Nature reminds us that we are not isolated in this world. Sound, sight, sensation … it all influences us." Sensei padded silently across the front of the room as a flash of lightning flickered through the windows. "Reflect on that for the remainder of the day."

Vicious pushed up from the mat the moment Sensei released them. Childish prattling. Who cares? We don't need to ponder how the wind blows to know how to kill people. He stormed back to the room and reclined on his bed, glaring up at the ceiling. The boys created their usual racket, chattering about air-headed nonsense. Didn't they know how to be quiet?

It seemed—one did. Vicious slid his gaze toward Spike. Back in his street clothes, he sat in the recessed window smoking a cigarette. After a few moments it became obvious. The angle Spike was sitting at, the faint flick of his sleepy eyes—he was still watching Vicious.

Of all the—no wait, he's trying to get a rise out of me. Vicious shut his eyes to all but a crack. Fine, let him try to jump me. I can take him!

The rest of the day ticked by agonizingly slow. But none of it mattered to Spike. He spent the ticks of the clock studying his target, enthralled for one hint of a reaction.

Nothing.

Silence descended as the boys settled down for the night. Spike'd nearly fallen asleep slumped against the window frame above his bed when the squeak of a spring caught his attention. Through the crack of his eyelid a shaft of light pierced the dark room. It fell over Vicious's empty cot.

The routine Spike had covertly watched for the last week played out once more. There was more one reason he'd lain in the window ledge and not in bed. It was time for his plan. Silently, he slid off the window ledge and made his way through the rows of snoring boys. His eyes fixed on the distant sliver of light coming from the shower room. He ghosted around the corner, wary of the mirrors and the echo chamber of tile.

Where was Vicious? What was he doing? Why did he always wait until everyone else was sleeping?

A shuffling drew him to peek around the edge of a wall. If he was careful Vicious wouldn't glimpse him.

There Vicious stood with his shirt flung on the floor, he tugged on his skin and peered down the back of his arm. His fingers pressed down, gliding over a few faded bruises in various colorations due to age.

Still Spike's eyes focused on the back of Vicious's neck. He inhaled sharply.

The echo snapped Vicious's head in his direction. "Who's there?" He hissed, pumping a fist.

Well shit, there goes the idea to avoid confrontation. Spike rammed his hands in his pockets and slumped as he wandered out. "Yo."

"It's just you, the runt." Vicious slashed the air with his hand dismissively.

That stung, but Spike shrugged it off, closing the distant between them even as Vicious turned his back. Not that it mattered, the mirror afforded him a full tracking of Spike's motions. "I was thirsty." Of course, he didn't bother with the charade of going to the sink. Instead he stood beside Vicious as the boy scowled into the mirror. "Practicing?"

"What?"

"Are you practicing intimidation?"

"No." Vicious folded his arms. "I knew it was you, I could smell that cigarette smoke."

"Anders smokes. So do a number of the other boys."

Vicious wrinkled the bridge of his nose. "Well, aren't you mister observant."

Spike slid a glance over at him. "You are one cold bastard. Couldn't quite figure out why. That was until today."

Stiffening, Vicious adjusted his balance.

Oh, he is a guarded one. Doesn't want anyone to know his little secret. Too late.

In a swift motion, Spike plucked something from the back of Vicious's neck. Between his fingers he held up a single pin. At the tip of it balanced a single red droplet.

Vicious growled and took a step backward, rubbing the back of his neck. He glared hard as his finger came up stained. "How dare you poke that in me!"

Spike's eyebrow raised up as he brandished the pin. "You didn't react when I stabbed you."

Vicious lunged to grab it. But Spike drew back, evading. "You shithead! I'll teach you to slash me!"

He wasn't smiling in triumph. "In fact, you didn't react the entire damn day."

"What?" Vicious's fingers ran back to his neck.

Spike stared straight at him, watching the expansion and contraction of his pupils as it slowly dawned. His tells we subtle, edging on non-existent.

"This morning." Vicious exhaled. "You … when you ran into me."

"Confirmed my theory." He pointed with the pin. "It was in you all day. No wonder in sparring you hit so damned hard. You don't feel any pain."

Vicious's jaw locked hard as he stared, one hand pumped in a fist, but there was little drive behind it.

"I had to ask myself why it was that you came in here in each night." It all made sense now, especially Anders's account of Vicious's initiation. He'd tried to stand on a sprained ankle—the others took it as sheer determination. He legit hadn't known. "What was the reason for the privacy? Of course, if you can't feel an injury, the only way is you have to see it. Can't look when the others are in here, you know, keeping up tough appearances and all." Spike held his hands up. "I get that. Showing weakness is a death sentence on the streets."

Snatching up his shirt, Vicious thrust it back on. "Pain is weakness!"

Tugging up his pant leg, Spike bared the old dog bite scar. "Pain informs. I mean, it's hardly enjoyable, but still. You don't want to bleed out in a stab wound you don't even know you have." He rolled the pin end over end across his fingers.

Vicious grabbed Spike's collar and hauled him in close, snarling, "You try that stunt again—"

"Relax." Spike half-hooded his eyes. "Besides, I think if I did stab you that breaks Sensei's rules about outside of the dojo."

"You have no issue stealing sweets. If I were to tell—"

A slow smile spread on Spike's face. "But you won't. You'll keep that a secret."

"Why would I?"

The pin glinted in the light. "Because this will be my half of the bargain."

Vicious pushed Spike backward. "You manipulating son of a bitch."

Spike caught his balance and shrugged. "Hey, consider it a valid truce. You were the one who punked me. I'm not stealing your thunder … publicly anyway."

"How did you figure it out?"

He shrugged and tucked the pin in his pocket. "In your sparring matches it became a pattern. I'm no stranger to adrenaline, but still a bruise that deep?" He pointed to the back of Vicious's upper arm where a yellowing bruise marred his skin. "That should at least earn a wince when it's received. Yet, you have no restraint. You have no idea what pain feels like. No idea what you do to others. Had to born like that."

"You consider yourself an expert." Vicious scoffed. "Fine, what does pain feel like?"

Spike stared off at the distance for a long moment. How to sort that out for someone devoid of the sense? It was like how to describe red to a blind person. "Pain is … an unpleasant boundary."

"Huh. I have no use for boundaries."

"Nice in theory, but it does have its uses." Spike leaned back against the wall, though he remained prepped to react in case Vicious decided to discard this temporary truce.

"Uses? What use—aside from inflicting it on others—is there?"

Spike chuckled, the ice in that glare said it all. "You really wouldn't understand."

The flicker was brief, but Spike caught it before Vicious dashed his gaze to the far corner of the room, heating his glare forcefully. Curiosity. For the briefest moment Vicious seemed to acknowledge he wasn't like the rest. "What would a punk like you know?"

"Ehhh, you're right." Spike stretched his arms up and crossed them behind his head. "I mean, you are the one everyone looks to in this joint."

"Damn right they do."

There is was again, that flicker. In that moment it dawned on Spike he hadn't been quite right. Vicious could feel pain, it just wasn't physical. And in his numbed void he had thrashed any real chance at a friendship with the others.

Once more the light glinted off the pin as Spike held it out between them.

Vicious blinked at it. "What is this?"

Spike shrugged. "A promise that I won't do that again. Doesn't mean I'm not going to throw my all at trying to match you on the mat, though."

Slowly, Vicious took the pin and studied it. "No one else knows," he whispered. "None of the boys, not Sensei. You're the only who has figured this out."

Was that a flash of respect?

"Maybe there is a use for you." Vicious tucked the pin in his pocket before stalking out of the room and shutting off the light.

In the darkness, Spike lit a cigarette, barely taking in the glint of light off the tiles. He exhaled a puff of smoke and laid his head back against the cool surface. Darkness and silence. He knew this. Even the drip of a faucet echoing was familiar. But even here the rules remained. The gamble had paid off. Knowledge was power. That game he knew how to play.