Not Without A Fight
Annaleise Marie

Round Seventeen

AN: Sorry for the wait, guys. I seem to be saying that a lot lately. For those of you who have stuck with me through my sporadic updating through the last year or so, thank you very, very much. I promise I'll do better. :)

I own thirty yards of black pleather that will someday be three Organization XIII cloaks (or so I'm told), but I do not own Twilight. That's Stephenie Meyer, and if you knew me, you'd know I look nothing like her. And if I don't even look like her, then chances are, I'm not her. Right? Right.

/

The morning of the match with Insight was cold, the air heavy and scented with approaching snow. I got up early to run with Jasper, and then went to breakfast with him, Alice, and Rosalie, for a bit of carb loading. The meal was tense, mainly because Alice and Rosalie were doing the good girlfriend thing and trying to get us pumped up for the match, but Jasper and I really didn't want to discuss it. I didn't want Rosalie to know what I was planning.

In retrospect, that was probably the first sign that I shouldn't do it. But hey, I'm a slow learner, I guess.

After breakfast, we split up and Jasper and I went to the gym for a quick pre-match practice before suiting up and heading out to the benches. The Insight wrestlers were already there, and I could see Royce, towards the right side of the bench.

My eyes flickered to the stands, where Rosalie sat with Alice, both of them perched on the edge of their seats, as though anxious. Part of me was glad she was here, but another, larger part of me was anxious myself at this reality. I knew what I was going to do, and Royce's words less than an hour ago had only cemented that decision, but I didn't really want Rosalie to see it. I didn't want her to be able to imagine me as that violent person, or even suspect that I was capable of it.

Not that it changed anything, of course. But still, I almost wished she would become miraculously distracted the moment I stepped onto the mat, and not turn her attention back until it was over, but I knew there was no way that was going to happen.

I heard mine and Royce's names over the crackly gym speakers and stood. Jasper stood as well, resting his hand on my shoulder and leaning towards me to whisper conspiratorially.

"Listen man, if all else fails, twist his nuts. He'll go down like a bag of rocks," he said.

"What?" I asked, sure I had heard him wrong. The serious look on his face told me otherwise. "Gross, Jasper, no!"

"It'll work," he insisted.

"I'm not getting disqualified for groping another guy's balls," I hissed. He shrugged and sat back down as I made my way to the mat, where Royce already stood, sneering at me.

I strode to the center of the mat and reached down to grab the green strip of vinyl and strap it around my ankle, never breaking eye contact with that fucker. I'd be wiping that smirk off his face soon enough.

"Shake," the referee commanded.

I gave that fist he had used to pummel my woman a quick pump, and stepped on the line as Royce did the same. The ref backed up and gave a loud blast from his whistle.

Game on.

We circled each other a few times, but I wasn't about to wait for him to make the first move. I shot forward, reaching toward his right leg, but he was surprisingly fast. My hands closed around thin air, and before I could blink he was counter-attacking. I saw him coming at me from the side, but I managed to turn before he could get his hands completely locked around my waist. I got one hand around his neck and the other into the crook of his arm.

I could hear Coach Clapp yelling something at me from the sideline, but with the funky headgear and the noise of the crowd, I couldn't understand a fucking word he was saying.

Royce was trying to sweep my legs out from under me, going for the take-down, but fuck that and fuck him. He may have been fast, but I had brute strength.

I rushed into him, knocking him backward onto his ass.

"Take-down, green!" The ref bellowed, holding up two fingers.

He squirmed underneath me, flipping onto his stomach. "Fuck," I heard him mutter as he started crawling toward the edge of the mat.

"Oh no, you don't," I muttered back, digging my fingers into his flesh. I wasn't about to let him escape like the pussy he was.

Unfortunately, I didn't make the progress as quickly as I was hoping for, and the next thing I knew, a loud buzzer was going off, sounding the end of the first period. I was pissed. Pissed at myself and pissed at Royce. He was better than I'd thought, but I wasn't about to let this continue.

The ref flipped the red and green coin. "Green," he announced and looked at me expectantly.

I heard Coach Clapp yell "neutral!" probably thinking I'd be able to score another take-down. But I wasn't interested in playing another round of "chicken" and trying bring him to his knees.

"Offensive," I said, narrowing my eyes at Royce. This wasn't about scoring points; this was about punishing him for crimes against women. A woman. My woman.

My disregard for Coach Clapp's advice didn't go unnoticed by Royce as he shrugged his shoulders and gave me that stupid smirk again before dropping to his knees. I crouched behind him, wrapping one arm around him and placing a hand on his navel. My other hand rested lightly on his arm, near the crook of his elbow.

The whistle blew again. "This is for Rosalie," I grunted, immediately driving my fist as hard as I could into his stomach and jerking his arm behind his back.

The sound of his gasp, then loss of air, was music to my ears as I collapsed on top of him.

But before I could celebrate too much, I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my balls. That fucker had pulled his leg back to kick me right where it counted.

I jerked his arm even harder behind him, wishing I could break it off right at the elbow. I pulled my fist out from under his stomach and placed my forearm right behind his neck.

"Eat mat, asshole." I said, as I kept pushing and pushing, driving his face as hard as I could into the floor. I heard a snap, and Royce's scream of pain at the same time.

Oh shit, oh goody.

The ref blew his whistle again, and I felt him tapping me on the shoulder.

"Injury time out!"

Blood was pouring from Royce's nose, as he rolled back and forth along the mat as I crawled off of him.

Good.

However, Coach seemed to disagree.

"What is wrong with you?" he shouted.

"Sorry," I mumbled, shooting a look out of the corner of my eye at Rosalie. She looked upset, and understandably so. I had to remind myself that this was all for her. No one fucking touches my woman and gets away with it.

Coach Clapp was spouting some kind of strategy that I should be using, but I was hardly paying attention. All I could think about was Rose and destroying Royce - that is, assuming he didn't puss out over a little thing like a broken nose.

Finally, the ref blew the whistle again - apparently Royce hadn't had enough yet, and I was face-to-face with the devil incarnate once more. He must have had at least a pound of tissue shoved up his nose.

Once he was on his knees and I had assumed the position once more, the whistle blew, and I attacked. Royce tried to scramble out from under me, but with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins, he didn't stand a chance. He twisted as best he could, shoved a hand under my chin, and pushed with all his might.

I couldn't see anything other than the ceiling above me, but I managed to get a hand around his throat and squeeze.

I groaned as the fucking whistle went off again, right in my ear. "Potentially dangerous!" The ref yelled as he tapped my hand.

Well, no shit, ref. I had tried my best to disguise what I was doing, but all I really wanted to do was choke the life out of him. I guess I hadn't hidden it as well as I thought.

Royce was sure playing it up though, coughing and rubbing his throat like I'd tried to murder him or something. Okay, maybe I had - but for Christ's sake, be a man about it.

We moved into position again, and at the sound of the whistle, I was back in attack mode. He almost managed to worm his way out from under me this time, but I held onto his waist and refused to let him escape.

I heard him mutter "fuck you, asshole," right before his elbow crashed into the side of my face, not once - but twice.

"No, fuck YOU," I was furious now, like an angry grizzly bear. I grabbed a hold of him and flipped him onto his back, pinning him down with my weight.

The crowd went nuts - cheering for the obvious fall. And I might have been satisfied to just shove his shoulders against the mat and take the win.

But Royce didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. "Rose prefers to be on top, too," he sneered at me.

At that moment, something inside me snapped.

The cheers turned into screams, as my fists connected squarely with his face over and over again, but I couldn't hear anything anymore really - not the sound of the whistle blowing or the referee's yelling, just a faint whooshing sound. I just kept punching, even as the ref and Coach Clapp were dragging me off of Royce's motionless body.

I didn't care that I'd just been disqualified. I didn't care that Royce would be awarded the win. I didn't care that the crowd probably hated me for what I'd just done. I didn't care that I'd be kicked off the team for this. I only cared that I had achieved my one goal - punishment - and if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

Coach Clapp steered me forcefully to the bench, pushing on my shoulders to make me sit beside Jasper and giving me a look that plainly forbade me from moving as he rushed back to the mat. I was thankful, in a way. I felt drained, exhausted, now that the adrenaline was leaving my veins.

"Whoa." I turned my head to see Jasper staring at me incredulously. When had my hearing returned? "Whoa," he repeated, gaping from me to Royce. "Whoa!" he breathed again when two paramedics entered the gym.

"Can't you fucking say anything else?" I snapped. He raised his hands defensively.

"Whoa, down Tiger," he said, shaking his head. "Just kind of shocking, is all."

"Yeah, well," I muttered, watching as the paramedics finally got Royce to stand and led him over to his team.

/

RPOV

Oh my God. Oh my God.

I stared in horror at the aftermath of the match. Seated nearly on the middle of the bleachers, I was surrounded by both Forks and Insight supporters. Not that Forks seemed to really have many supporters, after that show.

"Oh my God," Bella gasped, echoing my internal sentiments. I looked at her and her eyes were wide, her hand clasped lightly over her gaping mouth. Alice, seated on Bella's other side, looked fairly unsurprised and was craning her neck to see Royce as the paramedics sat him on the bench.

"Oh, he'll be fine," she said, waving her hand dismissively. Bella's eyes snapped to her, and if it were possible she looked more horrified. I wondered how I looked. I couldn't tell; was my face pulled into that mask of horror? Was I calm? I couldn't think.

I turned my attention to Emmett. Coach Clapp was yelling at him, and he was strangely still. On the mat, the matches went on. I don't think anyone was actually watching anymore. Emmett nodded sharply after a moment and stood up, walking towards the locker room. Alice reached behind Bella to push me between the shoulder blades. I glared at her but stood up at her assured nod, stepping down the bleachers to cross in front of the bench and enter the girl's locker room.

The back exit led to a long hall that ran along the front of the gym, and I stepped out into it, crossing quickly to the men's locker room once I was sure no one was in the hall. I paused at the door, suddenly unsure.

I knew no one was in there, so why was I so hesitant to go in? The image flashed through my mind, of Emmett pinning Royce down, his heavy fists making contact with his face, Royce lying motionless on the mat, blood pouring from his nose, Emmett's face twisted in rage, Coach Clapp pulling him off, having to use all of his strength to restrain Emmett from lunging at Royce again, the crowd cheering, then screaming, the masks of horror, rage…

I was afraid of him.

And that's not something I ever imagined feeling with Emmett.

/

EPOV

I was supposed to wait in the locker room for Coach Clapp, but waiting was driving me insane. I was restless, the adrenaline still coursing through me. I didn't want to just wait here, especially because I already knew what was going to happen. I was off of the team, that much was certain. I might be suspended. Who cares? I just wanted out.

I changed quickly and gave Coach Clapp a courtesy five minutes to come in. When he didn't, I slammed through the door to the outer hall of the gym, hearing a small squeak in response. Rosalie was standing just outside the door, thankfully out of range of being hit by it, her hand held to her chest, her expression startled.

"Emmett!" she exclaimed. "Jesus Christ, you scared me."

"Sorry," I said, smiling. "You ready to go?"

"Am I ready to… Do you remember what just happened in there?" she asked, looking genuinely concerned for my sanity.

"Of course."

"You're just so calm," she said.

"Should I be upset?" I asked. What was the deal here? Surely she wasn't actually upset about what I had done to that piece of shit?

"Well, Emmett, you kind of went crazy in there…" she said, trailing off.

"Don't fucking tell me you're worried about him," I said, anger rising. She opened her mouth to speak. "No, don't Rosalie. Don't even fucking…" I trailed off, trying to find words for what was running through my head. Frustrated, I turned and headed for the door. I needed to cool down before I could deal with this.

"Emmett!" Rosalie shouted, and I could hear her heels clicking sharply on the linoleum as she followed me. "Would you stop? We need to talk about this!"

"I don't want to talk about this!" I shouted back as I threw open the gym door. I knew it sounded childish. I didn't care.

"Emmett!" she shouted before the door swung shut. A second later it slammed open again as she burst through it, her steps slowing a little as she tried to navigate the ice in her heels. My Jeep was in sight now. "Really, you're just going to walk away from me?"

"Why not?" I asked coldly. It hurt. Ten more steps. "Shouldn't you be back there comforting Royce? I mean, he's such a victim and all, what with big bad crazy Emmett beating the shit out of him for no good reason, right?"

"Emmett—" she started, her voice breaking. Five steps. "Emmett! Would you just stop? I never said any of that!"

"But that's it, isn't it?" I demanded, turning to face her by the door to the Jeep. She had stopped when I did, about a yard away.

"I just don't think it was really right, what you did," she said quietly. "It doesn't seem like you."

"Not right?" I asked, astonished. "It's not right for him to have to pay for what he did to you? He did so much worse to you, Rosalie! What I did was practically fucking merciful!"

"How is what you did any better?" she demanded. "How does it make you any different than him?"

That one hurt. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

"How does it make me any different from the guy who raped and beat you?" I asked. "How… Tell me something, Rosalie, how am I different? If I'm so much like him, then what about you?" I could feel it. It was coming forward, and I couldn't stop it. This was going to hurt her, and it was going to hurt me, but I couldn't stop it. "When he raped you, did you like it? Did you get off, like you do with me? Did you tell him you loved him? Did you like it when he hit you? Because you say I'm like him, but I don't remember ever mistreating you. So it couldn't have been that bad when he did it, right?" I sneered. Her face fell, her complexion draining.

"You don't mean that," she whispered. "You know—"

"That's just it, Rosalie," I said. "I don't know anymore." I opened the door to the Jeep and started to climb in. I had to get away, from her, from what I had just done, just said. I had just shattered everything, and I needed to get away before it broke completely.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice choked.

"Home," I said, before shutting the door. She shook her head as I started the engine. I had looked down for one second to turn on the heat, just one second. That was all it took. In the next moment there was a resounding thunk, and a crack, and when I looked up, my windshield had spiderwebbed. What the hell had just happened?

Rosalie was now standing, feet shoulder-width apart, her arm outstretched as if she had thrown something, tears streaming down her face. I looked down, towards the windshield wipers, and spotted her ring resting on them. I was torn between awe that she could throw something that small with enough force to break a fucking Jeep window, and the mantra that had started in my mind.

Before it breaks… before it breaks… before it breaks…

Too late.

/

AN: This chapter was originally a lot longer, but well, we've got quite a lot going on, don't we? Plus, I wanted to update so I broke it into two parts.

Ahem. The actual wrestling/fight scene was written by the lovely, talented, inspiring, life saver, and my soulmate, Nachos4Children. Be sure to let her know what you thought! :D I also recommend reading it through with "Hell No!" by Better Than Ezra. Brings it to the next level, I think.

Since I get the feeling I'll be fairly lynched if I leave this hanging in this way for very long, I'm going to update fairly quickly. But the more reviews I get, the more motivated I become. /hinthint

And now, I'll toss it to you, you lovely readers, you! What do you think?