freya shepherd ✧ rey skywalker (thatsameforce) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2024-02-23 15:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | daisy rojas, freya shepherd, gabriel martinez, kyle roth, matt silva |
Who: Gabe, Freya & Matt / Kyle & Daisy
What: In which dyads interrupt a fun night out and a not-so-fun training session. Also Matt is an idiot, as is his wont.
When: Thursday, September 3rd, 2020 (early evening / early afternoon)
Where: The King Arthur pub in Glastonbury, UK / The training rooms at Resistance HQ in Los Angeles, California
Note: Part 1 of 2.
It was September now, which meant that on their side of the pond everything was starting to get a lot more… Well, wet. The heavier rains hadn’t really settled in yet, wouldn’t for maybe another month, but everything was still notably damper all the same. Not always strictly true on Camelot’s grounds, where they had magic on their side to manipulate the climate inside their little bubble, but everything outside of there? Nothing but moisture as far as the eye could see.
This particular evening was no different, the roads wet enough that even Gabe had noticeably driven a little more carefully than usual into town (except for on those long stretches of road where there was no one else and no sudden turns to break their speed). It wasn’t often that they got time off like this, but he and Matt had been running shorter missions lately, and Freya still hadn’t been to The King Arthur. Going there was practically a Camelot-given right of passage.
Nestled in the small town of Glastonbury and not too far from the mysteriously elusive location of Camelot itself, The King Arthur was a pub that garnered as much love from the locals as it did the members of Camelot. It was an old favorite whenever the castle walls started to feel too small, and you needed a nearby change of scenery. Not that the scenery was all that different, though. All of the tables were round (of course), many of them with medieval designs etched into the wood. Knightly banners hung from every available area of the ceiling and the structure itself was built from vintage stone, with old fashioned beer steins as big as your head.
One giant, aesthetic cliche? Sure, but the place had an undeniable charm even to those who spend a good deal of their time living and working inside of the real Camelot Castle. The locals could get a little too rowdy sometimes and there had been more than one occasion of a disagreement between parties but there was always a fire going and the people that ran the place never once forgot your order. Perfect for a few card carrying members of Camelot who were off for the night and aiming to have a little fun. (And, most importantly, it was dry.)
Reappearing with another round of drinks and dodging various clumps of patrons in the process, Gabe Martinez set them down at their chosen spot closest to the pool tables with his trademark grin and clapped Matt Silva once on the shoulder as he slid back into his seat. “Drink up, cabrón, I think that bartender lady wants to take you home and introduce you to her cats. She asked if you were allergic.”
***
“Thanks but no thanks, asshole.” Looking pleasantly warm and buzzed, Matt finished shrugging off his leather jacket and swiped his beer from Gabe without missing a beat. “Already got too many cats in my life, don’t need any more.”
Freya Shepherd raised an eyebrow at this, sensing a story there but also wondering if Matt was being literal or crude. Literal, she decided as she watched the two pilots banter and quietly sipped her own beer (which may or may not have been larger than her entire head, and decidedly less than half full). Given the blithe look on Matt’s face, the double meaning hadn’t even occurred to him. Probably wouldn’t, until someone pointed it out.
Gabe’s laughter rang out in the small pub before immediately getting lost in the din, the sounds of general merriment inside the establishment set to a low, continuous rumble as the trio re-settled into their private party. Gabe’s eyes were noticeably glassy as he picked up his second beer, shooting back a remark that was something along the lines of, ’Doesn’t sound like much of a problem to me, man,’ glancing knowingly at Freya before burying his face in his own drink.
Freya caught Gabe’s eye but merely smiled behind her stein. Sometimes Matt made it too easy for them. Still, she was content to let it slide and bask in the warmth of the moment. Alcohol warming her from the inside, the roaring hearth from without, and the presence of friends she saw less often than she liked doing the rest.
It was shaping up to be a perfect evening. Nothing was missing (nothing, she repeated to herself, almost believing it). The pub was not the kind of establishment she normally frequented, but the change was a welcome one. Instead of losing herself in pulsing beats and pressing bodies, she had something a club couldn’t offer here with Matt and Gabe in this cozy little pub. Something she usually lacked.
Company.
I could get used to this.
Except that she couldn’t, actually, and letting herself believe it for even a moment was a problem she’d have to deal with eventually, but… not now. The lighting in the pub was dim, but the shadows of Freya’s choices would stay in the periphery until Matt and Gabe left for the next mission. She could allow herself that much, at least.
“So, kid.” Matt pulled Freya’s attention back in his direction with a sideways look that temporarily made her question Lydia’s constant denial that things were over between them. How could anything be over, when he looked like that? Lydia’s willpower had to be limitless, which was a quality Freya could stand to pick up from her. It would make other things simpler. A lot simpler.
Freya quickly squashed that thought, tipping her head back and drinking deeply.
“You a cat person? Dog person? Gabe’s a dog person,” Matt added, nodding helpfully in Gabe’s direction, and Gabe acknowledged with a sudden fit of choking mid-sip. Offering no other explanation, the younger pilot only shrugged.
“Uhh. Both? Is that cheating?” Freya ran a hand through her hair, long and down for once, if a little frizzy from the rain and the training session earlier that afternoon. To brave the weather, she’d also left her typical athleisure behind at the castle, trading it in for a black denim jacket and gray dress over leggings and boots for the occasion. The heat of August felt very distant once the September rains hit in England. “Got a cat at home, though.”
“Ugh,” Matt groaned behind his hand. “More cats.”
“Wait,” Freya eyed Gabe again, “he’s not a cat person?”
Detaching himself from the rim of the beer stein he’d claimed long enough to answer, Gabe flashed her an impish grin. “Says he’s not but he doesn’t do shit to get rid of the ones that come around for some love, this man is like the pied piper of ca–”
“Irrelevant!” Matt’s voice was perhaps a touch too loud in his attempt to drown Gabe out, his dismissive wave a touch too forceful to successfully divert the conversation away from his peculiar stance on cats. Pretty funny to watch him try, though. Freya bit back a grin. “You home a lot, then? Seems like whenever we’re here you’re here, so…”
Freya tried not to shift in her seat while Matt shrugged and went back to his beer. No spy worth her salt shared information about her habits if she could help it, even between friends. Strangely, though, that wasn’t what sent a sinking feeling into her stomach. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to interrogate it, because that would mean admitting that the feeling had been there long before Matt asked his innocuous question. The feeling was always there, had been growing and itching for weeks now, at least since their – no, her birthday. And try as she might, she couldn’t ignore it. Even here. Even now.
She took another long drink, draining her glass. Maybe she could drown it instead. Just this once.
It almost worked.
“I’m home when I’m home.” Freya mirrored Matt’s casual shrug and stole his earlier tactic, hoping that would be enough. “Besides, cats are pretty self-sufficient. But you already know that, right? Being a cat person and all.”
Matt drew his finger and pointed it at her faster than a blaster over the sound of another bark of laughter from Gabe’s corner of the round table as he raised a hand to high-five Freya. “Hey! Not a cat person!”
With her free hand, Freya patted Matt’s arm supportively. “Of course you’re not.”
The feeling in her stomach deepened. Freya grabbed the second round Gabe had brought for her and drank again, smile only disappearing once she was safely behind the fresh glass.
***
The members of combat all trained together under Kyle Roth’s strict instruction. They received it right here in these rooms, the very ones that Kyle had received his training in as a boy. Then, he was a student. Now? He was tasked to lead others. Nothing had changed inside these rooms, the very walls looking identical to the ones from memories of how he spent his youth, but they had all evolved within them. Every soldier who entered left a better, more disciplined fighter.
Kyle wouldn’t tolerate anything else.
After the years he’d spent being molded by others, he was now expected to do the same. It was something he used to find at least some shallow satisfaction in, but lately he could barely stand it. It wasn’t enough, and Kyle had to force himself not to think about why that was. How none of it could compare or even come close after he’d started training with... her.
Freya had become a problem he not only lacked the answers to, somewhere along the way, he’d stopped searching for them. The way he behaved himself with her was unsettling to him, and in more recent days Kyle had found he didn’t sit as well with the conflict that grew within him every time that they met, constantly at war with itself the longer this drew on. The feeling of something missing that had begun to burn a hole in his side like the phantom pain of a wound he’d never received consumed him, and Kyle was determined to distract himself from it.
“Everyone is dismissed.” Groups of exhausted bodies began to wearily file out of the training room for the day but Kyle, radiating irritation, spoke next only to Daisy. “Except you.”
Today’s training had barely accelerated his heart rate while everyone else looked ready to drop, his own hunger for power and other things still unable to find in himself to name far outweighed the limits of most under his instruction. Except, perhaps, one.
Daisy Rojas didn’t command the same power as Kyle, but her ability to wield fire and lightning was not far removed from a Sith’s connection to the Force. Firebending, she called it. In her hands, it was lethal, both in the training room and on the battlefield. Daisy had no qualms about making examples out of her fellow comrades in the Resistance if they failed to live up to her standards. Many bore permanent burn scars from her merciless blue flames. A little vulgar, perhaps, but the effect was undeniable. She cultivated fear like she was born for it.
While her mere presence set him on edge enough to avoid any unnecessary interaction with her, she was perhaps the only one in combat who qualified on his level. Not his equal, there was only one other person in the world he gave that consideration to. But Daisy was powerful, and Kyle was restless.
Dousing the sharp flames at her fingertips, Daisy turned to Kyle with an air of disinterest. False, more likely than not. Even she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore him. The bun at the top of her head, unmussed despite the past hour’s dedicated ministrations to her training partner (who wisely scurried away once her attention was elsewhere), bobbed slightly as she tilted her head to evaluate her superior.
“In a mood today, are we, Roth?” She crossed her arms over her red uniform, eyes much sharper than her casual attitude. “Must be, if you’re seriously considering taking it out on me.”
Some of the others exchanged nervous looks but nobody presumed that Kyle could possibly be talking to them, so the rest of the tired troops left, and Kyle stalked back to the center of the room. “Your overall technique still needs improvement,” his voice remained dangerously level as he chose to ignore her remark. “But we’ll start with your floor work.”
Unlike the rest of the recruits who most seemed to live in constant fear of their combat leader’s temper, Daisy was just as likely to blow him off as she was to heed a command from him. A fact that infuriated him to no end, but now he wielded like a weapon. Kyle assumed that insulting her would get him the results he desired far more quickly than attempting to ask politely.
“My floor work.” Proving him right, Daisy’s eyes narrowed into narrow slits of pure hate before she caught herself. The cold smile that then unfolded across her face told him exactly what she thought of him, and how she thought this would go.
Every tangible item in this room could probably be used to kill someone. The Resistance was fond of their toys, having collected (ie. stolen or procured through other questionable means) a fast array of weaponry over the years fit for a veritable army that until they were needed, were kept safely locked away to prevent any idiotic accidents. Many of them fit into the category of obscure, but not all. There were as many guns and standard blades as there seemed to be alien-powered objects and things that shot lasers. Kyle was interested in none of it. The only weapon he ever used was the one he chose now to keep at his side, strapped to his hip.
He wouldn’t need it for this fight. Kyle was resolved to beat her without it.
“Please, Supreme Leader.” Her tone dripped with venom as she moved into a familiar defensive form, one leg behind her and two fingers of each hand pointed at him, ready to ignite. “Show me exactly what I’m doing wrong.”
Forcing his muscles to loosen until the moment they would be needed, Kyle regarded his opponent with a cold determination. This wouldn’t resolve the conflict in him anymore than it would get him to stop seeing Freya’s face even when they weren’t connected through the Force, but at least he would have the satisfaction of a momentary victory over Daisy Rojas.
God, but he hated her.
***
Freya loved many things about her limited time with Gabe and Matt, but her favorite was just listening to them. After a certain point, years of established rapport between the two men steered the conversation away from her, but never in a way that made her feel like a third wheel. She often preferred it this way, half for the entertainment factor and half for the comfort that came from vicariously experiencing such a deeply rooted friendship. It was all too easy to revel in the interplay between Matt’s outrageous stories and Gabe’s sly interjections, to lose herself in their innate and welcoming ease.
“You’re so full of shit, man,” Gabe’s good natured laugh could be heard over Matt’s latest tale from the old days, “I won that bet fair and square and you know it. Not my fault we got interrupted by some weird guys in tracksuits.” Matt’s retort made Gabe spit out his beer.
It’s like having brothers again, she thought in the middle of Matt’s latest finger-pointing protest, then swiftly clamped down on the thought. She didn’t want to think about her brothers. Not ever, really, but especially not when she’d already had to push away musings about Olivia earlier tonight. When they first arrived at the pub, Freya’s fingers had found the etchings in their table and idly traced them, the decoration instantly reminding her of her older sister. Olivia, who knew she was alive now. Oliva, whom she was steadfastly avoiding.
No, she definitely did not want to think about any of her siblings tonight. Alive or dead.
Funny how something so harmless could unleash such an overwhelming cascade of guilt. She avoided touching the table after that.
And too late she was realizing the alcohol wasn’t helping. As the front of her mind engaged with her friends, reacting and laughing at all the right moments, the back was getting… slippery. Thoughts she normally compartmentalized trickled through the cracks, which was alarming enough without the encroaching sensory overload from her surroundings. No one in the pub was strong with the Force, but all the same, she could feel them in the Force, each and every one of them. A blanket of general camaraderie and merriment didn’t stop particularly strong emotions from piercing through her alcohol-thinned defenses, creating distractions in a mind that was already drifting. The bartender’s loneliness and resentment at being lonely pricked at Freya’s sympathy. A man at the next table, so in love with the man sitting with him and so miserable about it, invaded her sense of self and confused her until she remembered she was the invader. And an undercurrent of anger, somewhere. Familiar anger.
Her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to place it. Months had passed, after all, since the last time she felt anger like this.
A moment’s delay, and her heart skipped a beat. Is it really…?
Keeping her expression impassive, Freya quickly scanned the crowd beyond Gabe’s shoulder. Relaxed when she only saw strangers. For a moment, she’d been caught in a terrible place between hope and dread. And for what? Nothing. No one was there.
Guess this is why Jedi don’t drink, she thought, halfway to her glass. And then she froze.
Her eyes caught something they’d missed before – there, behind Matt. A man, tall with dark clothes, and black hair just barely curling at the nape of his neck.
No, no, no. Freya’s knuckles went white around her glass. He can’t – not now –
The man laughed.
It wasn’t him.
Thank the Force for that laugh. Even before the stranger turned to reveal a face completely unlike the one she’d come to know as well as her own, the laugh gave away that it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Kyle.
The tension left her body in a single breath, and she covered it by drinking until her glass was drained. Relief flooded through her, racing the warmth of the beer to the ends of her fingers and toes, until it very suddenly dried up as she realized: that familiar anger lingered in the air. That anger still felt close.
She stood abruptly, shaking the table and interrupting the comforting buzz of Matt and Gabe’s chatter. Two sets of brown eyes stared at her. “You good?” Gabe’s face, flushed from drinking, briefly morphed into a look of mild concern.
“Yeah!” Freya flashed a sheepish smile and thumbed the direction over her shoulder. “Just gotta, y’know – “
“Lemme guess,” Matt said drily, a slight slur in his words the only giveaway that he was pretty close to drunk himself. “Big glass, tiny bladder?”
Freya nodded, a little over-enthusiastically. Matt practically shooed her away.
Despite the mask she wore for their benefit, it still took all of her control not to bolt for the bathroom. By the time she shouldered through the door, her heart was in her throat. The Force told her the bathroom was empty, and she sealed the door behind her as an afterthought. Or maybe as a precaution. She was too far gone to know the difference.
Hands clutching either side of a porcelain sink, Freya closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep, slow breaths. With each one, the panic receded a little bit more, until finally she was able to look up in the mirror and meet her own eyes, green and wide and lost.
“What is wrong with you?” The weak rasp of her voice paired well with the stricken look in her reflection, but of course the girl in the mirror didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. They both already knew.
Which was worse – seeing Kyle when she knew he wasn’t there, or only feeling like herself when he was?
It had come upon her slowly, this awareness that in the time not spent together in training sessions or nightly meetings through the Force, Kyle’s absence pained her like a phantom limb. Then it happened quickly and haunted her like a ghost just out of sight. She saw him everywhere. She felt him everywhere. Tonight was not the first time her mind played tricks on her, projecting his presence some place he simply could not be.
More and more she had to remind herself – just because she felt him didn’t mean he was actually here. Through their bond Kyle was a constant shade in the Force, distant and hazy when they weren’t actively connected but there all the same. That was nothing new – in fact, at the beginning it had been a perpetual source of irritation – but lately it felt like an itch she had to use every ounce of willpower not to scratch. Especially at times like these, when she felt so strongly that if she could just talk to him, just for a moment, then she’d be able to breathe again.
It would take no effort to reach out to him now. To turn her head and find him standing at her side, looking down at her with an expression of mild impatience. No effort at all.
Freya broke eye contact with her reflection and took a shaky breath. No. Bringing him into this now while her distress was at the surface would be much worse than accidentally connecting with him in the middle of a night out with two people he could absolutely never know about. She knew that. She knew that. So why was the pull so strong? It had never been like this for Rey. Never this intense. Rey’s bond with Kylo originated in a completely different context, yes, but rather than a comfort this only left Freya at more of a loss. And it was getting worse, she knew that too. Since their birthday, since the bookstore, it was worse. And the more she tried to bury it, the more an undeniable truth snuck up on her at the most inconvenient moments. Tonight it was on the verge of pushing through.
She pushed it back.
It worked, for now. Soon it wouldn’t. She was always trying to push things out of her mind, so many things and most of all this, but there was nowhere for them to go. And this wasn’t something she could blame on the alcohol, as tempting an excuse as that was tonight. No, that was all her.
Freya Shepherd, master of denial.
Scoffing at herself, Freya slid both hands over her skull until they met at the back of her head. A poor substitute for smoothing over something far more convoluted than her tangled hair. She’d have to figure out a way to sort through it eventually, but tonight? Tonight she just needed to get her shit together, and keep it together. No more falling into false visions. No more slipping.
And that, she decided as she left the bathroom, face set and shoulders steady, meant no more beer.
A distraction might be nice, though.
Almost as if the universe had heard her, and had a pretty twisted sense of humor, across the bar it looked like Matt and Gabe were maybe two seconds away from a confrontation with a couple guys from a nearby table. Be careful what you wish for.
***
The last of the stragglers had filed out of the room, leaving Kyle and Daisy alone, with nothing but the tension in Kyle’s perpetually coiled body and the hatred shared between them to keep them company. He didn’t hide the satisfied smirk as she let herself be provoked by him, which he’d counted on. Kyle had no moral objections to using his position to get what he wanted.
He moved, slowly and deliberately, to join his opponent in the middle of the floor, bare feet gripping the training mat underneath him. Kyle’s training uniform was not unsimilar to what he wore when he did this with Freya, except the military grade jacket he often wore fitted over his usual long sleeved black shirt, pants and gloves was now back in place. He’d stopped wearing it at some point, with Freya. He couldn’t say exactly when, but he had. Like shedding a layer of protective skin, he’d slowly started to shed the things he wore every day to protect himself, but not here. Not with Daisy, and the fire that came out of her fingertips that others so feared.
Combat leader or not, Kyle didn’t trust that Daisy wouldn’t try and burn him given half the chance. Not for one second. (If he hadn’t been so focused on the impending fight, Kyle might have realized with a shock that the comparison implied that he trusted Freya. He wasn’t entirely certain when that had happened either.)
Kyle also didn’t seem to notice the small but still not insignificant differences in his appearance even now. The ability to feel the cool, firm texture of the mat underneath his toes where he used to only ever train with his boots on just the latest of many signs pointing to the ways she was subtly changing his routine that Kyle was steadfastly ignoring. His head and feet were exposed, but the rest of him was protected well enough, and Kyle favored the balance he’d found like this.
”See? Nobody loses.”
He could hear Freya’s voice now as clearly as if she were actually speaking to him inside his own head, or right next to him, the memory of her words almost as strong as if she were actually reaching for him in that moment. Since that strange day when they had stopped fighting each other and started fighting together, things had begun a steady shift towards an unknown that Kyle was far from comfortable with. She was in his head even when she wasn’t, a fact that only served to deepen the rapidly growing conflict in him the longer he spent denying its appeal.
Mostly unwillingly, Kyle allowed himself to remember for one, uncomplicated second how it felt to move with her instead of against her. Not something he expected to find here.
Facing off against Daisy, Kyle begrudgingly acknowledged how very different training with Freya felt in every way. There was no comparison. Dropping into his typical offensive stance with one leg leading the other to arrange his arms strategically in front of him, Kyle knew without question which he preferred. Given the choice, he would choose Freya every time, a knowledge that he preferred not to linger on. But his options today were limited, and he would have to make do with what was in front of him.
”Please, Supreme Leader. Show me exactly what I’m doing wrong.” At Daisy’s mocking, Kyle chose that moment to strike, surging forward to meet her counter with lightning fast reflexes born from years of training and discipline. Kyle was an exceptional fighter in most respects, his natural ability to wield his own physical strength and Kylo’s raw power making him an opponent that few wanted to take on, even in practice. And usually, he would immediately use his less naturally born talents to his advantage, with no thought to making it an equal fight.
Instead of leading with his fists (a poor substitute for a lightsaber, in his opinion, but they would do), Kyle let himself be led by his movements as he quickly found a natural rhythm with the violent motions of his body, delivering and blocking as many hits as she seemed to return. To the outside viewer, it would seem that a clear winner was impossible to determine, their techniques undeniably different though both yielding persuasive results. That wasn’t enough for Kyle. With Freya, he had found a more compelling interest in what they could achieve by working together that didn’t necessarily hinge on a single victor. But he wasn’t keen on working with Daisy, or improving her floor technique. Kyle was just looking for a way to blow off steam.
The anger that provoked Daisy into action receded as she engaged Kyle, a mask of cool confidence settling over her features despite the ferocity of the fight. She neither flinched from Kyle’s attacks nor showed any fear at the power behind them. She relied on speed to evade or counter most of his hits, whipping and ducking around him, eerily like Freya. But there was no playfulness to the blows she attempted to land. Each strike was a calculation. When one failed, she threw herself into the next, undaunted. She wouldn’t stop until she won.
Not like Freya at all.
With a look of grim determination, Kyle spun away from her momentarily to reset. His movements were systematic in their coldness but no longer wild and unchecked, as they often notoriously were. The absence of his typically erratic fighting style made for a more even fight, even if that wasn’t what Kyle was intending as an outcome to this match. He attacked again.
Daisy countered with brutal efficiency. She seemed as tireless as him, Kyle thought, strength unwavering in each of her impressive blows, but he noted the sweat already dotting her brow and strain tightening her mouth. Keeping up with Kyle was taking everything she had. Curious, then, that she’d not yet used her firebending to press the advantage. If anything, Daisy was even less interested in a fair fight than he was most days. What was she trying to prove by holding back? Kyle wasn’t fool enough not to be wary, but he also didn’t care, so long as she was still the main focus of his aggression.
He had hoped that this would be sufficient enough to clear his mind, but with every twist and strain of his body as Kyle met Daisy blow for blow, it seemed to be having the opposite effect. Freya was never far from his mind but in the moment she felt more present to him then he realized, almost as if she was in this very room with him. Was she? While Daisy spun, Kyle moved to give her a wide berth and looked around sharply, dark eyes searching for the familiar projection of Freya he saw in his mind with a certain regularity whenever she opened their connection, the inability to determine whether or not her presence he sensed in the room was real or wishful thinking in the moment only working to unnerve him further.
Was it not enough that he could barely think when he was with her? That was a more recent phenomenon in their meetings that remained something of a larger concern, and Kyle blew out a noise of frustration that had nothing to do with the hit that Daisy nearly landed while he was distracted, only barely twisting out of her reach. That was too close.
An invasive memory conjured up confusing urges in Kyle and stayed with him even as he fought, soft wisps of blonde falling into her eyes as she stared up at him with… had it been hope? An idea so foreign to Kyle that he couldn’t immediately say, his recollection of that day shifting to the sense memory of her hand in his before shoving it viciously aside.
But not quickly enough. The momentary lapse was the opening Daisy had been waiting for. Without warning she jumped and spun into a kick, but this was no ordinary kick. Daisy’s feet — also bare, as common for her as it was not for Kyle — propelled through the air with jets of blazing blue fire behind them. Fire she did not extinguish before landing a blow mercilessly to Kyle’s kidney.
Kyle didn’t have time to try and counter before her foot connected solidly with his body, just below his rib cage with brutal precision. Even through his armor, he felt the unmistakable heat of her fire along with the lingering pain that came with a direct hit and a spark of genuine annoyance coincided with the sharp, white hot explosion in his side that received the full, physical brunt of her fiery kick.
“How’s that for footwork?” Triumph flared in Daisy’s eyes as she began circling him while he recovered, though there remained some watchfulness behind them. Daisy was a fool but she wasn’t completely stupid. “You always were a blunt instrument, Roth, but now...” She tilted her chin, eyes too probing. “Now something’s slowing you down.”
Allowing the momentum of her kick to carry him a few steps backward before planting his feet instead of uselessly sacrificing his position to keep his footing, Kyle still recovered easily enough, inwardly seething as he steadied himself and finally swung around to meet her. Slowing him down? His nostrils flared in indignation at the very idea, identifying the smell of singed clothing where his kevlar didn’t quite reach at the angle Daisy’s blue flames had found him.
Eyes flashing darkly and temper rising, Kyle watched her closely from where he stood as she circled him, body slowly turning to follow his gaze and her movements. After another moment’s calculation, he lunged forward. “Again,” he spat through gritted teeth, ignoring the pain to his kidney as he tried to block everything else out and throw himself back into the fight.
The smell of old books and layers of collected dust flooded his mind next. Freya’s face, so much closer to his than before, looking up at him in a way that made his throat go dry. The solidness of a bookshelf against his shoulder and the undeniable feeling of… closeness.
Enough. She’s only distracting you, Kyle ordered himself, a grunt of frustration getting lost in the mingling sounds of footsteps thudding rhythmically on the mats and the slap of fists meeting open palms, mixed with Kyle’s own breathing thundering in his ears.
As the fight between him and Daisy grew beyond a simple training session, Kyle moved to a sudden crouch and stuck out a leg to take her out at the knees.
***
Although too far from the confrontation to determine its source, Freya knew it was Matt’s fault. Teeth flashed through his silver-black beard, and that particular Solo brand of innocent insouciance poured out of him in every gesture as the aggression from the two other men grew. Gabe, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from his best friend, seemed to be perfectly at ease to the naked eye of someone who didn’t know better. Someone who did would note the subtle tension in his upper body despite his deceptively relaxed posture, even from across the room, or the way that his sights were locked onto the two men like a sharpshooter locking onto his target. He wasn’t moving a muscle, or participating at all in the tense exchange that was unfolding (which Matt was most definitely exacerbating), but he seemed ready to act.
Freya stared for a moment, scrunching her lips to one side. She should probably save them from themselves. That would be the Jedi thing to do. Resolving conflict and all that.
Instead, she turned on her heels and headed for the bar. It was the easier choice and probably not the most loyal one, but no part of Freya wanted to get involved in whatever dumb fight Matt was starting. She was already on edge as it was, that feeling of wrongness still not quite out of her system. A tension was building in her, and no amount of clenching and flexing her fingers at her side or telling herself that she could get through it would release it. Yes, she thought pathetically, staying out of it was the right decision. Getting into a fight while feeling like this would only be tempting fate.
Most of the pub’s patrons gathered companionably at the tables, leaving the bar itself largely empty save for one or two loners and the designated retrievers of another round. As a result, the bartender immediately saw Freya step up and offered her a friendly smile. “What’ll it be, love?”
“Water, please.” Freya glanced back at their table, saw Matt laughing now (which, knowing Matt, probably wasn’t helping anything), narrowed her eyes, and made an executive decision. “Actually, make that three.”
The bartender caught her glance, then asked as she gathered began pouring, “Ooh, you with the American boys?”
Freya gave her a distracted mmhm, eyes drifting back to the escalating scene over her shoulder. Gabe and Matt were both on their feet now, as were the two men in question, but Gabe had loyally wedged himself in between Matt and them. His movements looked like he was on the defensive, one hand raised harmlessly to the other man’s chest level as a potential barrier between them but his other hand was tightly balled into a ready made fist at his side. Still, whatever Gabe was saying to them now seemed to have the closer of the two men hesitating, at least for the moment. Despite Gabe’s attempt to ease back, Freya felt the tension continue to build, though now she was unsure of the source. She felt oddly muddled, like she wasn’t entirely here. It would be too easy to blame that on the alcohol. Too convenient. Freya’s frown deepened.
“Bit old for you, aren’t they?”
The bartender’s comment, punctuated by a slide of three comically small water glasses across the bar, shocked Freya out of her preoccupation. Her mouth fell open in confusion, then closed as she sensed unmistakeable British judgment rolling off the bartender in waves. And not a little bit of jealousy.
Freya mustered a kind smile over her momentarily displaced unease. “Oh, we’re just friends. They’re, um. They’re not really my type.” The bartender raised an eyebrow doubtfully, and Freya felt a pang of sympathetic understanding. She knew what Matt and Gabe looked like. They were everybody’s type.
Not hers, though. That was true. But saying it out loud only made everything Freya wasn’t saying that much louder to herself.
Hastily leaning forward to gather the glasses, Freya added offhandedly, “The one with the beard, though? Loves cats.”
The bartender’s return smile was fast and genuine, if a bit perplexed, and Freya turned away feeling marginally better. More like herself, though that creeping feeling wasn’t totally gone yet. She started back toward Gabe and Matt, taking a breath that was somewhere between resigned and resolved. It almost looked like the conversation they were having was turning something just shy of civil, if only because no one had thrown a punch yet. Not exactly a high bar, and judging from Matt’s generally aggressive body language, it likely wasn’t going to stay that way for long. She still didn’t want to get involved, but maybe, miraculously, an interruption and an offer of non-alcoholic beverages would stop Matt’s altercation before it got too far.
Getting there in time was her only hope. But getting there at all was proving to be a challenge. The crowd seemed determined not to let her pass, despite her pointed excuse me’s! and jutting elbows. With two hands and three glasses, the lure of using the Force in public was stronger than ever. Lifting rocks was for babies compared to this logistical nightmare.
“Need a hand, babe?”
Freya stopped short, a man in a red collared sweater suddenly stepping into her path. Immediately, a cold warning sent Freya into high alert, instinct sobering her up as though she’d already downed the water in her hands. The man was taller than her (but then, most were) and clearly thought he was God’s gift, but it was the entitled “babe” that gave him the way. Freya knew without ever having met this man that he was the type who would use his height to his advantage, cornering her virtually in the middle of the pub with the bar behind her and packed tables on either side. He didn’t keep her waiting long to prove her right, stepping into her space and looming over her with a smirk just a degree shy of a leer.
“I’m good, thanks.” She stepped back, voice flat, no smile.
“Really? ‘Cos I’ve got extra hands.” He grinned widely and stepped forward again, plucking a glass from her grip, the one in the center that she was hugging to her chest between the other two. “I’d love to use ‘em.”
Freya almost laughed. Suddenly this whole night seemed like a cosmic joke. She’d been afraid that intervening in Matt’s fight would be her undoing tonight? That just by proximity to something so trivial she’d make the wrong decision and unleash everything she’d been holding back? What an absurd thing to be afraid of. An impossibly tempting outlet for all the tension rippling through her nerves was standing right in front of her, yet she felt no temptation at all. She just felt tired. This stupid little man had no idea who he was trying to intimidate. And he had no idea how lucky he was that he never would.
Instead she exhaled slowly and flattened her expression. Soothing, emphatic command laced her voice. “You’ll take those hands, go back to your table, and keep them to yourse—”
Suddenly the man pitched forward with an oof of surprise. Freya’s quick reflexes propelled her out of the way just in time, though they didn’t save her from spilling water all over herself and dropping the remaining glasses on the floor. Flabbergasted, her eyes widened, bouncing first from her soaked dress down to the cursing giant at her feet, then up to the grinning rogue who was shaking out the shoulder he’d clearly just used to knock the other man over.
It was Matt. Because of course it was.
“Sorry, bud,” Matt called down at the heap on the floor. “Didn’t see you there!”
“I was handling that,” Freya said coolly. She peered around Matt, back at the two men by their table who seemed to have replaced their aggression with utter bewilderment. Gabe half-turned where he’d still been standing between Matt and them, wide and wary eyes finding Freya and Matt quickly before making a move to reach them. Well, at least that conflict had been resolved.
Half rolling her eyes, Freya plucked at the dripping fabric sticking to her torso. “So, what, it wasn’t enough for you to almost start one fight tonight?”
“You saw that?” Rather than look chastened, Matt waved her concern away. “Whatever, kid, this clearly took prece–”
Freya felt the threat before she saw it and moved on instinct. The man in red launched himself at Matt, wielding a shard of broken glass. At the very same moment, Freya dropped, kicked his legs out from under him, and summoned the glass to her hand before it could do any real damage, either to Matt or to the moron holding it.
Still crouching, Freya threw out her other hand to stop the man from crashing into a table, but something froze her before she could summon the will to actually do it. A strange feeling, almost like double vision, except her eyesight was as clear as ever. It only lasted between the space of one breath and the next, but that was more than enough. While the glass landed safely in her hand, the man slammed into the table, sending people and drinks flying in all directions. There was a brief, brief moment of silence.
Then all hell broke loose.