Triangles, Part Nineteen

Lee shook his head hard, sending the sweat that was trickling down from his scalp flying. His every muscle was beginning to protest the extended activity and some part of his mind knew that he'd pay dearly later for all the unexpected strenuous activity but he shook that off, too. Despite it all, at that moment, a broad and feral grin stretched his lips.

He and D.J. had already been exchanging attacks at full speed for nearly half an hour straight, and been doing some light sparring for three quarters of an hour before that. Thus far, they had been evenly matched with neither able to get a definitive advantage over the other and, even after such a prolonged encounter, it didn't seem like the balance between them would change. Now, thankfully, they were again slowly circling each other with chests heaving as they searched for an opening or weakness.

Lee consciously slowed and deepened his breaths as he carefully shuffled leftwards, helping his body to recover from the strain faster. Just as he began to draw another deep breath, D.J. surged forward, his crouch deepening as he crossed the space between them. The sudden attack, launched during the most vulnerable moment in a fighter's rhythm, caused Lee to stop for just a moment.

As he tried to complete his breath and adjust to the oncoming attack, Lee watched his opponent explode upwards. By the time Lee's body began to react, D.J. was already airborne with his entire body compressed behind the edge of his swiftly approaching left foot. Because he had paused at that crucial instant, Lee had no choice but to completely relax and let gravity pull him to the floor before he was struck.

That flying kick was the closest D.J. had come all night to breaching Lee's defenses. Of course, he couldn't just let the attack go without retaliation. So, rather than simply wait for D.J. to pass over him, Lee rolled back onto his shoulders, coming close to a handstand, and whipped his own leg up and around. The ball of his foot struck D.J.'s inner thigh in exactly the same spot Lee's knuckle had struck the belligerent Jesimae the week prior.

Lee continued the roll begun by his kick until he'd regained his feet, never once letting his eyes leave his opponent. It was at D.J.'s landing that the effect of the strike became apparent. Instead of uncurling his legs and bouncing lightly back into position to receive a counter-attack, D.J. crumpled to the mat with a startled squawk - the first sound either of them had uttered since they began that wasn't a grunt, hiss or martial shout.

"Whoa," Lee responded, surprised that his kick had been as accurate and effective as it obviously was on the moving target. "Are you okay?"

D.J. had the leg Lee had struck pulled to his chest and was glaring up at him. “Bullocks,” he finally cursed, slowly extending the leg.

Lee stepped closer to his friend, relaxing his stance as he approached. When he reached D.J., he offered his hand saying, “Here, let me help you up. That’s a pretty tricky nerve strike.”

D.J. grunted and gripped Lee’s proffered hand, allowing his torso to be lifted from the floor. As Lee began to step backwards, though, D.J. used his free hand to trap Lee against his wrist and bucked. The sudden motion jerked Lee out of balance and towards his instructor. As Lee stumbled forwards, D.J. planted the foot of his uninjured leg into Lee’s stomach and gave a hard backwards yank. Without warning, Lee was tossed unceremoniously over D.J.’s supine form.

Lee crashed into the slightly padded mat in a heap, his left shoulder absorbing almost all of his momentum. D.J.'s maneuver left Lee unprepared and the landing showed it. By the time he had stopped skidding, he was halfway across the mat and completely uninterested in continuing the match.

When he finally looked over at D.J., Lee's sparring partner had his heels on the edge of the tatami and was bowing towards him in the traditional manner for their original style of martial arts. The grin on D.J.'s face said that he knew very well that Lee understood his mistake. Lee dropped back to the mat and groaned.

"Idiot!" he hissed into the floor. Well, it serves you right, that other part of his mind chimed in.

"So," D.J. interrupted Lee's moment of self-disgust, "are you alright?"

"Yeah," Lee sighed. He rolled over and sat up with a grimace, his right hand going immediately to his shoulder. "I'll live, at least."

"How bad?" D.J. asked, indicating Lee's clasped hand.

Lee glanced down at the shoulder in question as he began to gingerly test his range of motion. His lips pulled back from his teeth each time his arm moved rearward but he continued to probe the joint for damage in silence. Finally, he looked up and gave his friend a lopsided shrug.

"I've had worse."

D.J. didn't reply to the offhand comment. He just stared at Lee, his brows lifting expectantly.

"Really," Lee insisted as he twisted onto his knees then stood. "It's sprained pretty good, but it's not dislocated or completely torn. I'll be good as new in a week or two."

Which was true. Lee had always been a fast healer; fast enough to notice a difference but not so fast that anyone in the medical profession had ever taken an interest in the difference. Of course, he'd have to actually see a medical professional in order for one to discover his gift of healing and that was something he usually avoided.

Still, as a child, Lee had a knack for getting into the kind of trouble that resulted in injuries and his mother used to joke that he must be made of rubber because the damage never lasted long enough for it to possibly be as bad as it had first seemed. Lee's lips twitched as he remembered the many times he had come into the house careful to appear normal so his mom wouldn't catch a glimpse of some injury or another - and always getting caught.

As an adult, though, Lee didn't seem to get into too much trouble that required him to rely on such a valuable gift. As a matter of fact, if you didn't count the last week, he hadn't been hurt in over three years. And that was just a gash he'd gotten when a tree he'd been clearing came down onto an abandoned truck. A shard from a piece of plate glass that had been stored with the vehicle had embedded itself into his thigh. A week later, all that was left was a thin red line.

"A’right," D.J. agreed skeptically. “If you say so.”

Lee grinned. “I do.”

D.J. snorted and shook his head, then leveled a stern look on Lee. “It’s your own fault anyways,” he declared.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lee agreed cheerfully. He adjusted his voice to mimic his friend’s unique timber and New Zealand accent then quoted, “Always ensure the fight is really over before dropping your guard.” He returned to his own voice to continue with a sigh, “I know.”

It was D.J.’s turn to grin as Lee’s antics lightened the mood. “’Was a good hit though,” he ceded. “I didn’t even hardly feel you touch me, but it sure was effective.”

Lee smirked at the admission. “Yeah, hitting a plexus sure does the trick.” He slowly rolled the stiffening shoulder joint as he continued, “I was just surprised I landed it considering the maneuver I pulled to reach you.”

“Right,” D.J. grunted. He stretched a hand down and offered it to Lee, “Come on.” Once the two of them were on their feet, he hooked his thumbs into the belt tied at his waist. “So,” he began, “wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”

Lee shrugged his good shoulder. “Nothing much.”

“C’mon, mate. I don’t hear from you in weeks. You don’t show up for classes. Then, out of the blue, you call me up and wanna have an all out sparring session?”

Lee sighed. “Really, it’s nothing. Just the usual crap with work.” He shifted his stance, brushing away an imaginary annoyance. “We’ve got yet another social morality group sticking their nose in.”

D.J.’s brows rose but he remained expectantly silent to which Lee blew an exasperated breath. “And then Stacie had to go and get some nebby reporter after me.”

“Ah,” D.J. commiserated.

“I just really needed to work off some aggravation,” Lee finally admitted.

“Didja?”

Lee drew a satisfied breath. “Yeah. Thanks.”

D.J. clapped Lee on his uninjured shoulder, “Good.” He shook out the leg Lee had struck then turned his attention back to Lee. “C’mon. We need to get out of these uniforms before we cool off any more than we have.”

Lee nodded and followed D.J. towards the changing rooms. For once, his mind wasn’t on a certain redhead, nor on any of the problems that would be waiting for him when he got to work in the morning.

~Continued in [an error occurred while processing this directive] Part Twenty~
Back to Part Eighteen Return to Main Page