The gym was quiet this early in the morning – people were still going to work, and the only person behind the desk was a tobacco-chewing man called Carl. However, when he pushed the glass doors open, he saw two people against the far wall, near the free-weights.

At first, he thought some stranger was bothering her. For some reason, a flare of annoyance and anger laced through him, and his eyes narrowed as he sized up the man. Tall, lanky, and sinewy, the man next to Kelly had dark slicked-back hair and shifty blue eyes which never seemed to stay still. He had a sharp, acute handsomeness to him, a sort of old fashioned charm which came through his clean profile and deep set blue eyes. A dingy white undershirt – which he dimly remembered as seeing on Kelly once before – covered his thin chest, a few gray curls peeking out over the top of his shirt. A gold necklace dangled in the void before him as he rested his forearms on his knees, and those dark blue eyes glared aggressively at him as Tommy approached. Kelly looked even smaller than she usually did next to the man – frail, almost – and she seemed to be tilting her face to the left for some reason. Was he bothering her? She seemed frightened of him, but the Kelly he knew wouldn't be sitting there meekly – she'd probably be up and chatting his ear off – or screaming for help. From his limited knowledge of Kelly, overreaction was something of a specialty of hers.

The man stood, and Tommy saw they were about the same height, but the other man was at least forty pounds lighter and had a good deal more muscle on his frame. "Hey," Tommy called, and drew closer, brows furrowing. "Kelly, what's up?"

Her lively brown eyes seemed dull as she looked up at him guiltily. It might have been the light, but did she have a black eye...? Tommy would have examined this further, except the wiry man had gotten right in his face and was sneering at him. "You're Tommy, right?" The man asked between his locked teeth. "You're the one trainin' my girl?"

His girl

? Tommy had used the phrase once or twice, to express favor over one of his friends, but from this man it sounded oddly possessive. "Yeah. Whatsa matter, who're you?" Tommy pulled his shoulders back and met the man square in the eyes, slate-gray orbs going stony at the challenging look the other man was giving him. People who challenged Tommy generally ended up badly hurt – and if this guy didn't get out of his face, he was going to join them.

"Jordan Packer, 'n Kel says you've been trainin' her." Jordan growled, cocking his head a little and thinning his lips. "I don't 'preciate that nobody told me about this, y'know?"

Tommy tried to catch Kelly's eye – why hadn't she told him? What was the reasoning behind it? But Kelly wouldn't catch his eye, kept her gaze fixed on the floor, and she seemed determined not to show the left side of her face. He turned his attention back to Jordan, and tried to force the anger out of his thoughts – it was jarring his senses, as usual. Clenching his knuckles, he nodded his head a few times, as if considering something, and then his dark eyes shot back up to Jordan's face. "Look, I dunno what Kelly didn't tell you, but yeah, I've been trainin' her. She's good."

"Well, it's off," Jordan said curtly, turning back to Kelly. "C'mon."

And he reached for her upper arm, as if to bring her upright, and Tommy recognized the action with a hard, brutal flash.

His father had reached for his mother that way, on one afternoon, when he had come home from school early because of a sick stomach. He remembered hearing the soft whimpers, more like sobbing bleats, and the creaking of the door hinges hidden beneath the pathetic noise. And then he had seen them, his mother cowering in a corner, shielding her face with her hands as his father rained kicks to her side, grunting a little each time as his foot connected with her ribs. His father had grabbed her roughly by the elbow, jerking her upright, snarling and spitting obscenities, his palm connecting with her cheek multiple times. And oh, god, he had just stood there, all of seven years old, and he didn't even remember screaming but he must have, because his father stopped and they both looked at him. His mother had looked just like Kelly, guilty and terrified and ashamed, and a sick bile reared in his throat. And as she tilted her head to the side, he saw that she had a doozy of a black eye, puffy purple-and-blue markings beneath her eyebrow.

"Hey!"

Jordan felt a wide hand clamp down on his arm with a bone-crushing grip, spinning him around, smashing him against the wall. Tommy seized two fistfuls of the stained white undershirt, keeping him harshly in place. "You want me to quit trainin' Kelly, fine, I'm okay wit' that. But you lay a finger on her, and I swear to God, I'll come to your house 'n break every one a' your ribs. You got me?" Tommy barked.

He was wriggling a little under the painfully tight grip he had, glaring furiously at him with those dark blue eyes. Tommy felt Kelly hitting his bicep, trying to pull him away, calling his name. "Tommy! Tommy, quit it, stop, he's okay! Stop it, Tommy!"

Tommy turned, never letting go of Jordan's shirt, and saw her upturned face in the full light. She had a pretty bad black eye – a dark blue-black shadow stretching to her temple and cheekbone. As if she could feel where his gaze traveled, she instantly turned her cheek, averting her gaze. "He do that to you?" Tommy growled, the bitter snarl still sharpening his words.

"I slipped in the tub," Kelly lied quietly, keeping her chin close to her chest. "Tommy, please, let him go. C'mon."

"Bullshit," Tommy snapped. His charcoal gaze landed back on Jordan, who was attempting to kick him between the legs.

"Hey, what's going on?" Carl shouted from the doorway. "Tommy, what the hell?"

Tommy released Jordan's shirt, stepping back a bit, jaw jutted forward angrily. Jordan massaged the nape of his neck where his shirt had cut into him, and glared hatefully at Tommy. "Nuthin," Tommy finally told Carl. "Jus' talkin' about the girl I'm trainin'."

"Tommy, please," Kelly hissed under her breath, brown eyes huge and panicked. "No, Jordon doesn't wanna –"

"Screw Jordan," Tommy said brusquely, turning his attention to Kelly. "Do you wanna quit? Huh? 'Cos if you do, I'll walk. But if you wanna keep trainin', then we will."

And he saw her indecision – flitting glances between Jordan and Tommy, brown eyes seeming to get bigger with each passing second. The moment was taut with tension, glassy and framed with fear, and both men were staring at her intently, waiting to see how she chose. Carl shrugged and left, but kept an eye on the trio standing off to one another. Finally, her gaze settled on Jordan. "Please, Jordan," She whispered. "It'll help pay the bills. I can get five hundred bucks if I win all the fights at this bar, and I can do it. C'mon, Jordan gimmie a chance."

He seemed to be struggling whether to shout at her or hit her, but settled for glowering at her and muttering, "We'll talk when we get home."

The nervous, back-and-forth energy seemed to desert Kelly that day, and Tommy didn't want to push her too far. Still, disjointed images of his mother trying to protect himself kept flashing before his eyes, and the same question kept floating to the surface of his mine – Why did they stay? Why did his mother stay with his father so long, after she had been so horribly abused, why was Kelly staying with that sleaze? He didn't know, and he suspected they didn't know either. He watched Kelly all that day, noticing how she arrived in a tee shirt instead of her tattered gray training bra, noted the limited movements from her right side, saw the hint of a bruise peeking out from underneath her loose jogging shorts. Little things he hadn't noticed, how could he have not noticed? She was almost a carbon copy of his mother. The same nervous, jittery attitude, the never-staying-still, and they both managed to do the same thing to him; both of them welled up feelings of protectiveness and helplessness. He wanted so badly to hate his father, but he couldn't, because he was his father. Just like Kelly couldn't hate Jordan, because they were in love, or whatever horrible emotion represented the word.

"Yo, Tommy, should we go?"

She was standing there, taped hands still in her boxing gloves, her shaggy pageboy haircut spilling across her eyes. Sweat stains marked her dark tee shirt, and she seemed petite and almost delicate in the mass of clothing. Those big brown eyes filled her whole face, and she seemed apprehensive of him, skittish. She brought her wrist to her teeth and tore the strap off her gloves, and the ripping velcro made a hissing noise in the quiet of the gym.

"Yeah," He said quietly, and tossed her cheap plastic water bottle at her. "Take tomorrow off, too. We'll meet at the gym again on Thursday."

"Hey, Tommy?" Kelly called from the benches. He turned, unfathomable gray eyes impassive and unreadable. She swallowed, dropping her gaze. She muttered the next few words to the concrete floor. "Thanks. For stickin' up for me."

Tommy was silent for a moment, and then shook his head a little. "Look, he gives you any trouble, you come to me, a'ite? I'll give you my address." He snatched a ballpoint pen from the desk, scribbled a few lines, and came over to her. "Don't let him hurt you, Kelly," He told her firmly, tucking the slip of paper into her gloved hand.

She gave him a weak, faltering smile, a loose facsimile of her usual quick grin. "I'll be okay. Hey, Tommy, when can I start fightin'?"

"Like I said, three months," Tommy said.

Kelly stripped her gloves off with her teeth and then carefully averted her eyes. "I can't be ready in a week?"

"You've been training for three weeks," Tommy reminded her tersely. "I don't care if you're Rocky, you can't be ready in a month."

She nodded, watched him go, and sat back down on the benches. Taking a swig of her water, she scanned the paper he had given her. It was simple, just his name, address, and phone number. Part of her burned, low in her belly, hot with shame and fear that someone knew. Kelly cursed herself mentally – she had tried to be so careful. She knew she wasn't fooling the neighbors – you can slip and fall only so many times – but Kelly had hoped to keep it a secret from Tommy. There was no reason for him to butt in. And the pity! She hated the pity. Her mind tripped over the emotion which had flashed, naked and fierce, in Tommy's gray eyes. He had been furious, enraged, ready to do battle. Why? She didn't know. But it didn't matter – she needed to be ready in a week. Kelly knew that the sooner she had the money in her hand, the quicker Jordan would be appeased. And when Jordan was happy, everything was fine. The small part of her which was actually sensible tried to say that she was spending entirely too much time making Jordan happy, but she squashed it instinctively. It didn't matter. Their problems were private – their problems were their business. Every couple had problems, Kelly told herself as she pulled on her sweats. They could work it out.

And she made up her mind right then in there, in a famous Kelly Martin on-the-spot decision. Whatever Tommy said, she was going to fight next week at Abe's Bar. Because five hundred dollars was a lot of money.

Five hundred dollars would go a long way to make Jordan happy.

A/N: Behold, Apprentice The Gimp! I broke my foot doing something EXTREMELY stupid, and now I'm hobbling around in crutches. -.- Also, I've had a slight confusion with my beta. Maybe she's not getting my emails. :) Whatever. At any rate, I hope you like this chapter, and I hope you review!

P.S. Rough Kelly sketch can be found on my profile. :) Most of my fanart is there.