Author's Note: I'm back to posting and will do my best to keep to my former schedule, with new chapters every Monday. But I make no promises, for Darth Real Life is still hot on my heels.
Civil
Companion piece to Aggression and Reluctance
1500 hours.
The gymnasium had been cleared out and that was a bit of luck Gaff hadn't counted on.
Too bad it was also the only bit of luck he'd had so far.
1502 hours.
The sound of Whynge's fist hitting his jaw was a quick, sharp thwack.
Gaff hadn't seen the fist slip past his defences and Whynge was out of range again before his head had snapped back.
He tried to retaliate.
Gaff's right leg shot out, going for a momentary break in the other man's cover just as Whynge was aiming another upper-cut his way. By the time he saw the slight gleam in Whynge's eyes, he couldn't stop the motion.
The arm that had been aiming for his shoulder dropped and wrapped around his ankle, cushioning a kick that would have bruised ribs and trapping the leg in the process.
There were countermeasures to such a trap, but a real fight was never like training or the holovids. There was no taking turns; no waiting a polite five seconds for your opponent to process what had happened and counter. There was only movement.
Whynge pivoted and twisted and Gaff cried out as his ankle was wrenched to an unnatural angle and his other bare foot lost its hold on the mat. His body twisted with the movement, muscle-memory trying to turn a tumble into a controlled fall.
He was half-successful.
Gaff landed on his shoulder, rolled and felt himself grabbed at the same time. His elbow snapped backwards just as a knee thrust itself into his right kidney. Gaff flinched, his body instinctively trying to curl around the source of the white-hot pain. Whynge's weight dropped atop him like a sack of duracrete. The commander's breath came in great, wheezing whoops and had there been time to think, Gaff would at least have had the satisfaction of knowing he'd grazed - or even hit - Whynge's carotid artery.
1504 hours.
Gaff was getting his ass handed to him and the only ones to witness his humiliation were Commander O'sic, Kase and Vice, Whynge's captain and second-in-command.
It would be the captains' job to carry the outcome of the match to the rest of Elix and Flash and then the matter would be settled, once and for all.
The man who'd issued the decree, O'sic, remained standing at the edge of the mat; his gaze watchful and calculating as one of his company commanders beat the other to a pulp.
With his knee still pressed into Gaff's kidney, Whynge's arm snaked around his neck. The muscles flexed; began to squeeze.
Gaff bucked, but his naked feet slipped on the mat and he couldn't get enough traction to throw Whynge off. In response, the commander only tightened his hold around Gaff's neck.
"What's the matter, shiny?" Whynge's breath was hot and moist against the shell of his ear, mingling with the sweat running down his face and neck. "Run out of pretty words?"
Gaff's vision was beginning to grey. He had maybe eight or seven seconds of consciousness left.
"Should have stayed on Kamino with your tail tucked between your cheeks, shiny."
The GAR was a force of peace. The clone troopers serving the Republic fought for order and democracy. They were a pillar of civilization.
Right now, Gaff was done being civil.
He strained with his left leg; not against the mat, but up, driving his heel into Whynge's groin.
Whynge was well-trained, but only Human. He screamed with the shock and pain of the attack and his arm went slack around Gaff's neck.
Gaff had been well-trained, as well.
He slammed his head backwards, feeling the back of his head impact with something semi-solid. The crunch of bone and cartilage was Whynge's nose breaking. Hot blood spilled onto the back of Gaff's neck, mingling with his sweat and running down his shirt. In the close confines, its coppery tang was sickening.
Whynge's eyes were streaming tears and his breathing was no more than a thick, phlegmy whistle, but he was a combat veteran and had fought with worse wounds. He drove his knee deeper into Gaff's side, trying to chop at his neck, but half-blind, the blow was uncoordinated and missed its mark.
Gaff's didn't.
He felt Whynge shift his weight and didn't even use the moment to suck in a deep breath. Ignoring his screaming kidney and aching lungs, Gaff scissored his legs and trapped Whynge's with his, then flung himself to the side, taking the other commander with him.
Whynge grappled, trying to get a hold of Gaff's neck again, but pain and sweat made his grip weak.
Vice was on his feet, shouting encouragements and obscenities neither combatant heard. Kase was still, but alert; taking note of every detail and foul play.
He was straddling Whynge now. Gaff angled his elbow and drove it into Whynge's sternum with all the force he could muster.
Whynge's eyes, still overflowing with tears, widened to the size of plates and his mouth popped open, trying to suck air into lungs that had been forcefully decompressed.
Gaff's throat was dry and sore. The side that had earned the close attention of Whynge's knee burned and he felt the desire to urinate, knowing blood was more likely to come out. Another few minutes and his skin would be mottled with bruises. Just like his ego and his ideals.
In a sudden wash of fury as hot as the blood that had flown from Whynge's broken nose down his back, Gaff cocked his fist and drove it into the mat beside Whynge's face.
It was over. He'd won O'sic's challenge and there was no point in staining that fact any more than it already was.
He stood, leaving his opponent beaten and bleeding on the ground.
1505 hours.
Gaff glanced at the writhing, gasping Whynge, then turned towards his CO.
O'sic's eyes were cool; his face expressionless. The tick in his cheek was still.
"How's that for a kriffing spine?" he rasped and spat at the man's feet.
He turned about-face and limped out of the gymnasium without looking back, Kase trailing behind him, while Vice tried to help his commander to his feet.
He did not hear O'sic's quiet response of: "Pretty decent."