Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: So, I'm back. Difficult trip, glad to be home. Hope you like the new chapter – thank you for waiting for me!
~ tsubasa means ~
So finally the day was nigh. After months of training tomorrow it was going to be all or nothing.
Ash leisurely cruised the ice and imagined the arena full of people. The idea sent excited shivers down his spine. He knew well how electrified the air felt right before a game and he figured the atmosphere at a skating contest wouldn't differ much. By now he had learned that skaters took their sport damn seriously, too.
It was well after closing time and the only reason Ash was still allowed at the rink was that he was friends with the night watchman, Daniel. The guard, a Desert Storm veteran with a bad leg, had witnessed Ms. Matsumoto and Christina pushing Ash harder and harder over the months. Quite a walk down memory lane sometimes, back to when he had been with the marines. Ms. Matsumoto would have made a fine drill sergeant.
Daniel had also coincidentally eye witnessed Ash and Christina's first overhead twist. Jesus Christ, what an insane maneuver! And God damn, how well the boy had pulled it off! He would have advised Ash to join the army, damn talented kid he was, but there was also something gleaming in his eyes that told the seasoned veteran he probably wouldn't deal too well with orders.
Anyway, considering how hard the boy had worked, Daniel figured he deserved some extra time on the ice and left for his usual tour of inspection, granting Ash some twenty minutes plus to do some final mental preparation. Daniel had followed a similar routine prior to battle, more years ago than he cared to remember, and he knew it was key to survival.
Ash however, suddenly realized that he was not only in the arena way past closing time, he was also seriously transgressing his curfew. His mother was out of town, he was staying at the warehouse and by now Guerrero had probably tracked his cell, checking his whereabouts. Uh-oh, he was in for an earful when he got home. And probably a punishment along the lines of scrubbing the bathroom with a toothbrush, peeling a ton of potatoes or walking Carmine for a week – depending on who got to decide…
As he quickly skated towards the exit, Ash for the first time fleetingly wondered what it would feel like to actually win that contest. He liked the idea. Granted, lifting the Junior ice-hockey cup over his head would have been better, but… remembering the ice-hockey tournament finals that would go down tomorrow as well quickly sobered the boy. His team wouldn't make it. The other team had a fantastic enforcer and the Assassins had never quite managed to find a suitable substitute for Ash. A couple of days ago they had also had to find a stand-in for their goalie. Timothy, the regular one, was in hospital with appendicitis. With two mainstays missing, they were pretty much sunk.
Ash's stomach tightened at the thought. If the dates had only slightly differed! He could have done both, he was sure. It would have been hard with school and all, yeah, but for his mates…
Unfortunately, however, they hadn't and thus he had had to make a decision. And now he had to live with the consequences.
Speaking of consequences… Suddenly Ash became only too well aware of the fact that this late in the evening the arena was awfully quiet. All the grand lights were turned off, causing huge parts of the ice, the stands, the aisles to lie in darkness.
What had raised his awareness? Ash wasn't quite sure, but suddenly he was highly alert.
Condition Orange.
He now skated very slowly, straining to separate the rhythmic swoosh of the blades from any unusual sounds. Some sort of noise had caught his attention, he was pretty sure about that. But what kind of noise? Maybe just Dan returning from his tour? But he had only left five minutes ago, unless some sort of emergency had occurred, that was way too early.
Muscles tense, Ash stepped off the ice, through the small exit door. Long shadows obscured most of the corridor that led towards the lockers, only the dim auxiliary lighting led the way. What was he supposed to do now? Somebody could easily lurk there. It was probably wiser to turn around and get back onto the ice, wait till Dan reappeared. On the ice Ash was fast, an advantage towards any kind of attacker… if there was an attacker. Maybe he was just Guerrero-paranoid.
Ash stepped back onto the ice and then did something that probably looked foolish to any onlooker: He removed his blades, placed one by the boards and held the other one firmly in his right hand. Feet only clad in socks, he stepped off the ice again. Now he was able to move silently and swiftly. Not to mention that he was armed with a rather sharp weapon.
Advancing slowly through the corridor, he kept straining his ears for any kind of noise. But there was nothing except the low humming of the machine that kept the ice from melting and the occasional clicking of a light bulb. The building was drafty, causing doors here and there to creak a little in their hinges, but that was it. His breathing slowly returning to normal, Ash entered the locker room. Maybe he was indeed just Guerrero-paranoid after all.
Why in the world had he felt safe in the locker room? A second after his feet had crossed the threshold, he knew he had made a mistake.
"Hey Ash."
He immediately recognized the voice. Simon, his team captain.
"Nice to see you, bud." Darren, the left winger.
Oh damn.
Ash dropped the blade in his hand. These were his buddies. The way they were puffing themselves up they were up to no good, obviously. But that didn't mean Ash wanted to cut their throats.
"You don't really think you're going to win tomorrow while we're going to get our asses kicked?"
Simon's question was rhetorical and Ash knew it. These two were out for blood tonight. There was no other explanation for them showing up this late, hiding out in the locker room… he took a step back and lifted his hands in a gesture of placation, palms turned outward.
Just like Baptiste had taught him.
Yeah, Baptiste.
Which means the second his former friends decided to ignore this gesture and approach him in a clearly aggressive manner, he could use his palms to deliver the first blows – straight to their noses, aiming to break them but not to drive the bone fragments into their brains. All a matter of the angle. Ash had practiced that with Baptiste for hours.
Now, had Baptiste delivered these blows, the fight would have been over before it had really begun.
Ash, however, was nervous, inhibited by the fact that he actually liked his opponents… he didn't strike full force, one of the absolute no-no's in a true fight. And this was a true fight: Darren managed to grab his right arm and twist it around, not inhibited at all. Was he really willing to break it to make sure Ash wouldn't win?
Damnit, THAT HURT!
Ash decided he wasn't going to stick around to find out.
A headbutt to the disfavor of Darren's chin, a kick to Simon's stomach and a violent throw later, the fight was history and Ash was fleeing from the building.
His shoulder was throbbing from Simon's twist, there was some dull pain in the back of his head and his wrists felt a bit odd, but aside from that he was okay. At least physically.
Ash's mind was windmilling. All the way home he wondered what he was going to tell his Dad. He or some other team member would surely spot the traces of the fight on him. Should he tell him what had happened? He felt the urgent need to talk to him… he had just hurt his friends… people he had really liked… Ash felt horrible.
When he came back to the warehouse, however, he found it deserted, except for a very nervous Ilsa who realized with a shock that she had totally forgotten checking on Ash, although Chance had explicitly told her to keep a wary eye on him.
Tonight was the night. They were finally going to free Michele.