Kyle & Terry | At the Fight Club
Mar. 28th, 2023 09:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsTerry drops in to watch Kyle fight and makes some unsettling discoveries... discussions are had. TW: Violence, opaque discussion of past sexual assault, unhealthy coping mechanisms
Terry entered the building in a plain black v-neck and jeans, her hair tied back into a high ponytail, more curious about the entire operation than she was necessarily concerned about Kyle's wellbeing. Angelo had given her excellent directions as well as the password she'd need to get in. It was fascinating, in its own way, and reminded her a bit of the disused commercial buildings the Irish Underground had once used to store supplies and sometimes people when she was younger. The smell of sweat and blood lingered in the place, getting stronger as she moved forward, taking in the many bodies crowded around what had to be their makeshift ring.
Working her way through the clumps of people, visible mutants as well as passers like herself, Terry couldn't help but smile a bit. People would do what they wanted to do, it was human nature, transcending even a physiological and genetic jump forward. She got a few looks, herself, but was left alone as she reached the edge of the crowd.
She could see Kyle in the ring, along with his opponent, and she stopped just to watch the way they moved, to admire Kyle's agility and innate strength.
Kyle's face was slick with sweat, and a little bit of blood, he thought. He could definitely smell it, in the up close and personal way that he could when it got in his mouth and nose. He'd already taken a mean shot to the ribs, his side ached like it was healing just a little bit wrong, and his opponent, a wiry woman with skin pebbled and bright like sea glass and knuckles that sparkled like gems had cackled when he kicked back at her after the shot. She'd danced back, Kyle had lunged forward and now he was in the unpleasant position of either needing to retreat, or slide to the side and take another kick to the ribs.
He watched her leg twitch forward, she was going to try to kick to his chin, and he dodged back and to the right, taking the kick on his arm instead, and grunting as her foot abraded his arm. "Fuck sake." He spat. "Sandpaper your feet, dammit." He took one overlong step back, and spun to scythe a kick to her arm in return.
Tilting her head to the side, Terry watched the calculated way Kyle took the kick to the arm rather than the chin. She'd watched enough fights in her life, she felt confident she could follow things easily. It wasn't that he hadn't dodged, because he had, it was more that... Kyle's agility and flexibility were marvelous. She should know, given some of their extracurriculars. His opponent was good, though, so Terry kept her eyes on the woman's form. The cackling, which continued after Kyle's comment about her feet, was a bit much.
The kick was blocked hard, the blow to his leg jarring it like an out of tune bell all up to his hip. This was definitely his least favorite opponent. He dropped on the now weak leg and winced as his rocky-skinned opponent struck, another hot blaze of pain up his side. His leg - his ribs, his head were throbbing, on fire, a rush of pressure and pain and muscles taut with restrained fury in a way that made them feel wound up and twitchy under his skin.
Terry's eyes narrowed. Kyle was better than that. He was like a dancer when he fought and that scrape on his leg shouldn't have happened. He could have capoeira'd out of it easily - more than easily, really. So why hadn't he? As the fight continued, she couldn't see that taking the hit had helped him, it hadn't opened the woman up for any kind of damage he might want to deliver. Nostrils flaring, Terry ground her molars together a bit, debating whether she should yell something, which risked distracting Kyle even more, but if he hadn't caught her scent by now, he likely wouldn't, and she wanted him to stop fecking about.
"Oi," Terry shouted, modulating her voice so those in the ring and closest to its edges could hear her. "Stop pussyfootin' about an' fight the cunt already, boyo! What the feck's wrong w'you t'night? Get on it."
Kyle's head snapped around, and he froze on the vibrant red hair and the voice. It was unmistakably Terry a few rows back. How long had she been there? He didn't have time to wonder, he took a rough-textured foot to the face, and stumbled back, one, two steps. He spat blood out around his mouthguard and shook himself head to toe. He was so unbelivably absolutely fucked.
'Eyyyy, Gibney, is that your cheer squad? Is your little girlfriend heeeere." Kyle's opponent sneered around her mouthguard. "Bet she'll let you cry about.." Her taunt was cut off with a tape-wrapped foot to the mouth, followed by a side-swiping kick with the other foot as Kyle handplanted, rolled into the kicks, and then came back up. "Bitch, I am real sick of your mouth." He muttered, and jabbed an elbow towards his opponent's neck. To her credit, she caught it, blocking with a hard strike back.
That was all the credit Kyle was going to give her - he stepped in, neatly avoiding a follow-up blow to his face, and then grabbed the woman's arm, twisted - and then both of them were on the ground, Kyle's legs wrapped around her arms as he delivered a triad of quick strikes to the woman's face before twisting to the side to pin her. "You suck you suck you suck you can't fight you just like hurting people." A constant stream of frustrated muttering came from Kyle's mouth. "Get..." He tightened his grip with his knees. "over." And leaned back. "Yourself."
And his opponent tapped out, slowly - reluctantly.
Kyle pulled himself up, waved off the ref who had hit the bell, and leaned against the mesh lining of the ring, grabbing a small towel and a water bottle from just outside, eyes refusing to rise above the floor.
Practically hopping with her anger and disappointment and confusion, Terry quickly grew frustrated with all the people between her and Kyle, so she hummed herself a stable enough soundwave and pushed herself upward, over everyone's heads, moved far enough to land in front of him, and then dropped to the ground, bending her knees just a bit for shock absorption. "Kyle, love o'm'life," she said, reaching up to turn his face so she could see where that lizard woman had last kicked him. "What the bleedin' feck were y'playin' out there?"
She paused just long enough to put up the sound barrier that would keep everyone else from hearing any more of their conversation, making both Kyle's and her own ears pop a bit, then levitated up to his eye level to check his other jaw.
"Whatja mean playing? I was getting my ass handed to me by a psychopath." Kyle muttered. He poured water onto his towel and started wiping blood off his face. "I dunno, I just like. Something." he waved his free hand towards the middle of the ring, keeping his face behind the towel. "Ow, fuck, I think she broke my cheekbone. Jesus I hate her."
Still levitating, Terry took the towel from Kyle’s hands and folded a corner of it over to a cleanish side. She narrowed her eyes, dabbing at the blood on Kyle’s face for an extended moment as she thought through what she wanted to say. Finally, tone level, Terry replied, “You weren’t gettin’ your arse handed t’you, Kyle. Y’were lettin’ that tacky fish-scented cunt hand it t’you. There’s a difference.”
She dropped her hand, tilting Kyle’s chin up with gentle fingers a moment later. “What was that about, then?”
Kyle didn't pull away, but his neck and jaw tensed, and he went unmoving. "I... dunno?" He started to shrug, and winced. "Aw, think I sprained my neck too. Fuck, this hurts." He reached up to poke at his face. "Man, ima have bruises all day tomorrow. I dunno what I was doing, just, like, I dunno, Ter. I don't think I was letting her hand me my ass." Kyle's fingers kept probing at his cheekbone and the bruising crept up towards his eye as he poked. "She's a sadist. Has like, some MMA in her pocket and thinks it makes her badass and she likes hurting people. Better me than somebody else, right?"
Terry scoffed quietly, watching bruises bleed away from the more visible injuries. “How often have I watched y’spar, boyo? Y’think I don’t know what it looks like when you’re utilizin’ your trainin’? I saw y’takin’ hits y’could’ve avoided altogether, lettin’ that bitch have at you. Put her down as soon as y’heard me, though, didn’t you? Near enough, anyway.” Batting Kyle’s hand away so he’d stop poking at himself, Terry continued, “And it’s only good when it’s you because you’ve the skills t’stop her from hurtin’ someone else, right? But that’s only accurate if that’s what you’re doin’. How many times have y’fought her?”
He could've lied - it was tempting. But the fight roster was public, Terry was smart and he was not an especially good liar. "Less than twenty, more than twelve?" He said, knowing the number was closer to the twenty side of that scale. "I dunno, Ter. I just... " He looked around, glared at one of the guys who wasn't in a fight today until he cleared a bench and then plopped down on it like he was releasing every muscle at once. "I don't know, okay? I just get in there and, I dunno, she says shit and I shut down."
"She telegraphs her moves," Terry said. "I could read her and y'know I'm no fighter." Tilting Kyle's head down so she could see his eyes properly, Terry said, "Y'know better than t'let anybody's trash talkin' get the better o'you. Y'do." The bleeding had stopped from the scrape he'd received to his face, so she stopped tending to it and finished, "If y'don't keep that cunt's sadistic arse from comin' back here an' hurtin' others, who else'll do it? Don't give her the chance t'go after someone who mightn't know how t'fend her off. And then -- " Before she could finish, the scaled woman shrieked something Terry couldn't understand and came at them.
"It's not like, trash talk..." Kyle started, and then his head whipped around. "Fuck sake." He stood, to his full height and then some, up on the balls of his feet. The claws he'd pulled into his fingertips slid back out, and he moved right up into his former opponent's space. To her credit, she got one swipe across his chest, and then Kyle had her in a headlock. "Do you really want more of this?" He growled. "Cluephone, I've been holding the fuck back. You really wanna go?"
Apparently the woman did, since she let herself fall like deadweight. She wound up in a crouch and turned to sweep one leg low at Kyle's ankles. Terry just rolled her eyes, still floating, and then propelled herself back toward the edge of the ring. She couldn't believe Kyle'd been up against that woman more than twelve times and hadn't broken her.
Ten minutes ago he might've taken the fall. Let the rocky skin scrape his ankles, hit the mat and feel the sting on his shoulderblades. Let her roll into a pin long enough for it to burn and then break out to go again.
He was absolutely having none of that shit right now. Kyle rolled, planted one hand on the ground, and the rough-skinned woman's leg swept nothing but air. He twisted mid-air, landed, and almost in the same motion, got both knees into her chest, driving her to the ground. "I. was. holding. Back." He growled, and pressed his forearm across her throat. Calmly, far too calmly, Kyle turned. "Terry. Can you yell for.. uh, I think it's Gunther on security tonight." His forearm never moved, even as the other woman struggled. "She knows the rules. She's out. Looking at a ban."
Dropping the sound barrier she'd maintained out of habit, Terry said, "Aye, momentarily." She flew up and out of the cage, then down to the ground and let herself drop the last foot or so. Straightening up, she took a breath to literally yell for Gunther, since it wouldn't be difficult to make sure she was heard throughout the area, but a very large, very hairy man with shoulders so broad she'd bet he could bench press Pyotr in metal form walked into view. His eyes were a strange, glowing combination of smoke and orange that seemed to flicker as he blinked.
"Hello," Terry said, hoping this was Gunther and not one of the woman in the ring's friends. "Are y'Gunther?"
"Yeah," the man said, not impolitely, more just a bit surly and obviously displeased by what was going on in the ring. "You oughta stay outta the ring, Tiny. Even if the fight seems to be over."
"Ah," Terry said, ever so slightly chagrined as she looked up and up and up at the man -- he had to be taller than Kyle, even. "Yes, of course. I apologise."
"Okay," Gunther said. "'scuse me, I'm gonna go handle that woman Gibney's got pinned."
Stepping aside, Terry moved out of the large man's way.
Gunther climbed into the ring area, an aura of flickering orange smoke rising off his skin as he got closer. Kyle didn't move until Gunther was practically on top of him. "Hey, G. Was hoping it was you. Can you take Rocky here? I'm kinda tired of getting my skin cheese scraped off by her." His forearm stayed pressed into the rough-skinned woman's throat. "I'll take dealing with you or G-Two any day instead. How is Gustaf?" He was light and conversational, despite the twitching tendons in his shoulders. "I would get up but she's still trying to fight me here."
"Gustaf's good," Gunther said, reaching down to pick up the woman by the back of her shirt. She stopped most of her struggles immediately, a thin sheen of ice spreading from the tall man's hand where it gripped the fabric toward the skin at her shoulders.
Kyle snorted as he untangled himself and let Gunther pick up his opponent, dusted himself off, and swiped at freshly scraped skin.
"His wife just had another baby," Gunther said as the ice continued advancing, giving Rocky's skin a faint blue tinge. "Came out with scales," Gustaf continued, holding Kyle's opponent parallel to the ground. "Think it's from his mother's side."
"Well at least one of us has a happy partner." Kyle glanced guiltily at Terry. "Love to chat and tell G Two I'm sending him some Starbucks cards, but I'm probably... you know, need to explain my damn self to the girlfriend." He held the ring gate open for Gunther, and his struggling cargo, and then hopped out himself, slouching as he met back up with Terry. "So. Uh. Yeah. I was. I got no explanation"
Reaching out, Terry knocked her knuckles briefly against Kyle's elbow as he came up even with her. "Well," she said, not quite as angry as she'd been just a little while ago. Then she reminded herself that she'd seen Kyle, one of the most agile, skilled fighters she'd ever had the pleasure to watch as he trained and sparred with others, letting that half-stone woman land pot shots and some of the anger came back. She brought down another shield to keep their conversation private, her ears popping, and said, "I'd say I'm no' mad, but I still am a bit. This's what y'do all the times y'come here?"
"Like, fight people, or fight her?" Kyle said. "I mean, I'm not even always in the ring when I'm here. I'm on security detail with the G's, sometimes I'm the door guy, sometimes I'm just watching." He paused. "Did Angelo rat me out, because eh, that's fair if he did." He shrugged, scratched his sweaty hair, and flaked a little dried blood out. "I'm not always letting myself get beat up either." He added, hastily. "Just. Like. Sometimes. When. I dunno." He tilted his head back, and puffed out air and frustration. "Sometimes I just feel shitty, and then I'm like, it's harder to fight back."
"What's your therapist have t'say about that?" Terry asked, narrowing her eyes again. "Y'have told your therapist about this, haven't you?"
"See I wanna tell you the truth and I'm really kinda not feeling great about it but I also don't want you to like, be so pissed at me that you're gonna think I'm too fucked up to deal with." All the words came out of Kyle at once, and he sagged, like the truth came out alongside his posture. "Cause I'm not doing great."
The bottom dropped right out of Terry's stomach and she was very close to letting her jaw go completely slack. Before she'd thought through her actions, she'd hopped up to wrap her legs around Kyle's waist and take his face between her palms before muttering, "I'm no' mad at you, boyo. I'm mad cause y'let yourself get hurt by a bag a rocks with a cunt an' no' enough brains. Y'could've come home tonight w'broken bones from a mission and I'd fret, but I'd never be upset. It's tha' -- love. Kyle, it's. I don' know wha' t'say except I love y'more than I have anyone who's no' blood related t'me."
The redhead kept her eyes locked on Kyle's, then rose up a little higher and kissed his forehead before pressing it to her own. "Nothin's ever, ever goin' t'make me think you're too much o'anything t'deal with. I don' care if you're no' doin' well, I don' care if you're ill or mad as a hatter or so tired o'everythin' y'just want t'lay down an' forget the world for a little while. All I want's t'be able t'be there w'you, t'help however I might, just so y'know you're no' alone. You'll never have t'be alone with somethin' like this. Isn't that what bein' t'gether's s'posed t'mean?"
"It's not just about her, like." Kyle rested his forehead against Terry's, entirely aware of how sweaty his hair was and choosing to ignore it. "I can't talk about this and I don't know why. I could talk about M-Day. Fuck, my therapist knows about Genosha. They're vetted, the Prof cleared them to know all this weird shit." He paused. "Actually they're an underground node, so you know, they know shit. Anyway. Like. Like, like like like..." He rolled one hand in the air, as if he could somehow grasp the right words by grabbing them out of nothing. "Like, how do I go into there and talk about the next fucked up thing and have to go right into the fucked up thing after that and the fucked up thing after -that-, and I mean shit they know about Laurie, I've talked about that but I can't talk about the shit that happened with that goddamn demon lord."
Terry shifted just enough so the end of her nose touched Kyle's and she was staring very directly - very closely - into his eyes. She threw up a second sound barrier and reinforced the first to keep people away from them in addition to keeping their conversation private. "Don't tell me what happened if you're no' there yet," Terry said, fingers finding their way into the hair at the base of Kyle's skull before she continued, "But y'can talk around it a bit, maybe. What about it's keepin' y'from feelin' like y'can't talk to people about that mission."
"I can't even say the word." Kyle mumbled. "I tried to.. I tried to talk to Laurie about it, and she got all pissy about it, medical knows because Doc Grey was there for it and I barely did a mission writeup and I can't even say the word." He sat up and scrubbed at his eyes, and then the rest of his face, rubbing the heels of his hands against the stubble on his cheeks. "It wasn't. I mean. It.. Ter, Ter I had a crush on Garrison when I was a teenager. I'd have thrown myself at a chance and it was gross and fake and I can't even say the word."
Terry leaned up a bit, fingers gently sifting through Kyle's hair, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before looking him right in the eye again and saying, "Kyle, whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. None of it. I know people say that and sometimes it's hard t'hear, t'believe, but no matter what was done or what y'did..." She paused, because there was a tangle of feelings and emotions and none of them were hers.
She loved Kyle the way she loved air, something so natural and necessary about him being in her life that nothing would change her view of him, but she wasn't... a psychologist, she didn't know how to help with this kind of trauma. She'd pointed other people toward assistance in the past, but this was Kyle. This was her lover and her friend and he was fast becoming one of the most important people in the world to her.
How did you name a thing like rape for someone who wasn't even able, by their own admission, to say that word? How did you tell them it was okay if their body reacted in a way that they didn't want when it wasn't even really under their control? How were you supposed to explain that the awful, forced fulfillment of an old wish wasn't the same as enjoying that wish when it was made? What on Earth was she supposed to say that would give Kyle the strength and support he needed right now?
Taking a breath, Terry exhaled before freeing one hand and clasping Kyle's with it. "Whether y'did or didn't, would've or wouldn't've, your choices were taken from you. So if y'can't say the word, don't try an' force it. Y'will or y'won't in your own time. It's nobody's business but your own." She gave his scruffy cheek a kiss as well, then said, "But I need y'tell a professional. I'll be there for y'every step o'the way, but I don't have the trainin' or the knowledge t'help y'work through this, just you and me. If it takes y'a while t'find someone, no worries. I'll listen t'whatever y'want t'tell me. I'll help however best I can and I'm gonna support the ever lovin' fuck outta you."
"Can I stink up the car so I don't have to go take a shower with like, whoever else is in the shower room?" Kyle asked, voice dry and flat. "It's why I keep coming home with bruises, it's why my team leathers keep ending up on the floor of your bathroom. Not doing great with the locker rooms right now." He was making himself shower, he couldn't tolerate himself when he felt greasy, it made him too aware of his body, of sweat or hair or skin, but he could only just barely tolerate the shower, too aware of skin and claws and reminders of the blisteringly hot shower he'd taken as soon as he'd been cleared from medical after the mission. "Hot water helps the healing factor get its shit together. Like, that and helping Gar with the Malice thing are about the only two shits I have together. Jesus, this was easier when I was mad at him. I wanna be pissed, I want to... " he hung his head. "You know what's fucked up, the worst part was just that that fucking demon made me admit some shit I don't even wanna repeat, and I'm gonna have to."
"In your own time," Terry said. "An' o'course y'can ride in the car." Releasing her hold on Kyle's waist, Terry' let herself hover in the air in front of him. "Y'can shower wherever y'like, however y'like. I've... I have a therapist o'my own I see," she continued. "She's been vetted by the leadership in the Underground as well. She's helpful, good listener. If y'like, y'can speak with her t'see if she might be helpful. She's in the City, though. Bit o'a drive. But we can talk about that later. I just want y'to know I'm here. Always. For whatever y'need."
"I gotta figure that out. Like, mine knows my trauma shit, I wouldn't have to fill in the blanks." Except the blank around the subject itself. He had a suspicion his therapist wouldn't be shocked. "But also she knows all my trauma shit, so I dunno. Would somebody who doesn't know be better? God, therapy shopping the first time was bad enough." He grunted, picked up his sweaty towel, and then coughed and spat into it. "Also yep, cheekbone's broken. Can we like. Can we, I dunno, go home, so I can take a shower, cough out all the shit in my face, and then talk about this more because... " He wadded up the towel, looked around for somewhere to toss it, and gave up, twisting it in his hands until the edges frayed on his claws. "Because I don't wanna right now.." He felt petulant, saying it like that. "I will. I promise I will, I just. Ter, I can't, talking about it feels gross, and I already feel gross."
I'll break that cunt's bloody cheekbone -- and every other bone she's got -- if I ever see her again, Terry pointedly didn't say. She just nodded, saying, "Yes, let's get y'to the car an' we'll head back t'the mansion. Y'can shower however long y'like an' then we'll get y'somethin' t'eat, if y'can stomach it. An' if y'can talk about it, then that's good an' if not, that's also just fine. I'll help y'an' care for y'however's best for you, y'just let me know."
"I could eat. Eating's easy, no stress." Kyle said. "Just nothing, uh. Nothing that smells burned. Hell dimension." He trailed off, then added, "and no eggs. Eggs are gross. Eggs are gross, anything that's burned is gross, beets are gross." He paused. "In general. That last one's general grossness, not specific to my stupid trauma."
"No beets, then," Terry said, nodding. "Ever. Promise, cross m'heart and everythin'," she continued. "D'you want t'ride back? Or fly? I flew, but I'm happy t'drive."
"Drive. If you fly me I'll barf." Kyle said. "You know what I want? I wanna shower, food, and then make me call my therapist tomorrow. Like. Like, she knows some shit is going on, just." He let out the longest, deepest bass huff Terry had ever heard. "Just if you don't, ima just keep talking myself out of it, and then we're just gonna be right back here in two weeks."
"No flyin', then," Terry said, nodding. "And I'll make y'call your therapist tomorrow, promise," she said, extending her hand for Kyle's keys.
Terry entered the building in a plain black v-neck and jeans, her hair tied back into a high ponytail, more curious about the entire operation than she was necessarily concerned about Kyle's wellbeing. Angelo had given her excellent directions as well as the password she'd need to get in. It was fascinating, in its own way, and reminded her a bit of the disused commercial buildings the Irish Underground had once used to store supplies and sometimes people when she was younger. The smell of sweat and blood lingered in the place, getting stronger as she moved forward, taking in the many bodies crowded around what had to be their makeshift ring.
Working her way through the clumps of people, visible mutants as well as passers like herself, Terry couldn't help but smile a bit. People would do what they wanted to do, it was human nature, transcending even a physiological and genetic jump forward. She got a few looks, herself, but was left alone as she reached the edge of the crowd.
She could see Kyle in the ring, along with his opponent, and she stopped just to watch the way they moved, to admire Kyle's agility and innate strength.
Kyle's face was slick with sweat, and a little bit of blood, he thought. He could definitely smell it, in the up close and personal way that he could when it got in his mouth and nose. He'd already taken a mean shot to the ribs, his side ached like it was healing just a little bit wrong, and his opponent, a wiry woman with skin pebbled and bright like sea glass and knuckles that sparkled like gems had cackled when he kicked back at her after the shot. She'd danced back, Kyle had lunged forward and now he was in the unpleasant position of either needing to retreat, or slide to the side and take another kick to the ribs.
He watched her leg twitch forward, she was going to try to kick to his chin, and he dodged back and to the right, taking the kick on his arm instead, and grunting as her foot abraded his arm. "Fuck sake." He spat. "Sandpaper your feet, dammit." He took one overlong step back, and spun to scythe a kick to her arm in return.
Tilting her head to the side, Terry watched the calculated way Kyle took the kick to the arm rather than the chin. She'd watched enough fights in her life, she felt confident she could follow things easily. It wasn't that he hadn't dodged, because he had, it was more that... Kyle's agility and flexibility were marvelous. She should know, given some of their extracurriculars. His opponent was good, though, so Terry kept her eyes on the woman's form. The cackling, which continued after Kyle's comment about her feet, was a bit much.
The kick was blocked hard, the blow to his leg jarring it like an out of tune bell all up to his hip. This was definitely his least favorite opponent. He dropped on the now weak leg and winced as his rocky-skinned opponent struck, another hot blaze of pain up his side. His leg - his ribs, his head were throbbing, on fire, a rush of pressure and pain and muscles taut with restrained fury in a way that made them feel wound up and twitchy under his skin.
Terry's eyes narrowed. Kyle was better than that. He was like a dancer when he fought and that scrape on his leg shouldn't have happened. He could have capoeira'd out of it easily - more than easily, really. So why hadn't he? As the fight continued, she couldn't see that taking the hit had helped him, it hadn't opened the woman up for any kind of damage he might want to deliver. Nostrils flaring, Terry ground her molars together a bit, debating whether she should yell something, which risked distracting Kyle even more, but if he hadn't caught her scent by now, he likely wouldn't, and she wanted him to stop fecking about.
"Oi," Terry shouted, modulating her voice so those in the ring and closest to its edges could hear her. "Stop pussyfootin' about an' fight the cunt already, boyo! What the feck's wrong w'you t'night? Get on it."
Kyle's head snapped around, and he froze on the vibrant red hair and the voice. It was unmistakably Terry a few rows back. How long had she been there? He didn't have time to wonder, he took a rough-textured foot to the face, and stumbled back, one, two steps. He spat blood out around his mouthguard and shook himself head to toe. He was so unbelivably absolutely fucked.
'Eyyyy, Gibney, is that your cheer squad? Is your little girlfriend heeeere." Kyle's opponent sneered around her mouthguard. "Bet she'll let you cry about.." Her taunt was cut off with a tape-wrapped foot to the mouth, followed by a side-swiping kick with the other foot as Kyle handplanted, rolled into the kicks, and then came back up. "Bitch, I am real sick of your mouth." He muttered, and jabbed an elbow towards his opponent's neck. To her credit, she caught it, blocking with a hard strike back.
That was all the credit Kyle was going to give her - he stepped in, neatly avoiding a follow-up blow to his face, and then grabbed the woman's arm, twisted - and then both of them were on the ground, Kyle's legs wrapped around her arms as he delivered a triad of quick strikes to the woman's face before twisting to the side to pin her. "You suck you suck you suck you can't fight you just like hurting people." A constant stream of frustrated muttering came from Kyle's mouth. "Get..." He tightened his grip with his knees. "over." And leaned back. "Yourself."
And his opponent tapped out, slowly - reluctantly.
Kyle pulled himself up, waved off the ref who had hit the bell, and leaned against the mesh lining of the ring, grabbing a small towel and a water bottle from just outside, eyes refusing to rise above the floor.
Practically hopping with her anger and disappointment and confusion, Terry quickly grew frustrated with all the people between her and Kyle, so she hummed herself a stable enough soundwave and pushed herself upward, over everyone's heads, moved far enough to land in front of him, and then dropped to the ground, bending her knees just a bit for shock absorption. "Kyle, love o'm'life," she said, reaching up to turn his face so she could see where that lizard woman had last kicked him. "What the bleedin' feck were y'playin' out there?"
She paused just long enough to put up the sound barrier that would keep everyone else from hearing any more of their conversation, making both Kyle's and her own ears pop a bit, then levitated up to his eye level to check his other jaw.
"Whatja mean playing? I was getting my ass handed to me by a psychopath." Kyle muttered. He poured water onto his towel and started wiping blood off his face. "I dunno, I just like. Something." he waved his free hand towards the middle of the ring, keeping his face behind the towel. "Ow, fuck, I think she broke my cheekbone. Jesus I hate her."
Still levitating, Terry took the towel from Kyle’s hands and folded a corner of it over to a cleanish side. She narrowed her eyes, dabbing at the blood on Kyle’s face for an extended moment as she thought through what she wanted to say. Finally, tone level, Terry replied, “You weren’t gettin’ your arse handed t’you, Kyle. Y’were lettin’ that tacky fish-scented cunt hand it t’you. There’s a difference.”
She dropped her hand, tilting Kyle’s chin up with gentle fingers a moment later. “What was that about, then?”
Kyle didn't pull away, but his neck and jaw tensed, and he went unmoving. "I... dunno?" He started to shrug, and winced. "Aw, think I sprained my neck too. Fuck, this hurts." He reached up to poke at his face. "Man, ima have bruises all day tomorrow. I dunno what I was doing, just, like, I dunno, Ter. I don't think I was letting her hand me my ass." Kyle's fingers kept probing at his cheekbone and the bruising crept up towards his eye as he poked. "She's a sadist. Has like, some MMA in her pocket and thinks it makes her badass and she likes hurting people. Better me than somebody else, right?"
Terry scoffed quietly, watching bruises bleed away from the more visible injuries. “How often have I watched y’spar, boyo? Y’think I don’t know what it looks like when you’re utilizin’ your trainin’? I saw y’takin’ hits y’could’ve avoided altogether, lettin’ that bitch have at you. Put her down as soon as y’heard me, though, didn’t you? Near enough, anyway.” Batting Kyle’s hand away so he’d stop poking at himself, Terry continued, “And it’s only good when it’s you because you’ve the skills t’stop her from hurtin’ someone else, right? But that’s only accurate if that’s what you’re doin’. How many times have y’fought her?”
He could've lied - it was tempting. But the fight roster was public, Terry was smart and he was not an especially good liar. "Less than twenty, more than twelve?" He said, knowing the number was closer to the twenty side of that scale. "I dunno, Ter. I just... " He looked around, glared at one of the guys who wasn't in a fight today until he cleared a bench and then plopped down on it like he was releasing every muscle at once. "I don't know, okay? I just get in there and, I dunno, she says shit and I shut down."
"She telegraphs her moves," Terry said. "I could read her and y'know I'm no fighter." Tilting Kyle's head down so she could see his eyes properly, Terry said, "Y'know better than t'let anybody's trash talkin' get the better o'you. Y'do." The bleeding had stopped from the scrape he'd received to his face, so she stopped tending to it and finished, "If y'don't keep that cunt's sadistic arse from comin' back here an' hurtin' others, who else'll do it? Don't give her the chance t'go after someone who mightn't know how t'fend her off. And then -- " Before she could finish, the scaled woman shrieked something Terry couldn't understand and came at them.
"It's not like, trash talk..." Kyle started, and then his head whipped around. "Fuck sake." He stood, to his full height and then some, up on the balls of his feet. The claws he'd pulled into his fingertips slid back out, and he moved right up into his former opponent's space. To her credit, she got one swipe across his chest, and then Kyle had her in a headlock. "Do you really want more of this?" He growled. "Cluephone, I've been holding the fuck back. You really wanna go?"
Apparently the woman did, since she let herself fall like deadweight. She wound up in a crouch and turned to sweep one leg low at Kyle's ankles. Terry just rolled her eyes, still floating, and then propelled herself back toward the edge of the ring. She couldn't believe Kyle'd been up against that woman more than twelve times and hadn't broken her.
Ten minutes ago he might've taken the fall. Let the rocky skin scrape his ankles, hit the mat and feel the sting on his shoulderblades. Let her roll into a pin long enough for it to burn and then break out to go again.
He was absolutely having none of that shit right now. Kyle rolled, planted one hand on the ground, and the rough-skinned woman's leg swept nothing but air. He twisted mid-air, landed, and almost in the same motion, got both knees into her chest, driving her to the ground. "I. was. holding. Back." He growled, and pressed his forearm across her throat. Calmly, far too calmly, Kyle turned. "Terry. Can you yell for.. uh, I think it's Gunther on security tonight." His forearm never moved, even as the other woman struggled. "She knows the rules. She's out. Looking at a ban."
Dropping the sound barrier she'd maintained out of habit, Terry said, "Aye, momentarily." She flew up and out of the cage, then down to the ground and let herself drop the last foot or so. Straightening up, she took a breath to literally yell for Gunther, since it wouldn't be difficult to make sure she was heard throughout the area, but a very large, very hairy man with shoulders so broad she'd bet he could bench press Pyotr in metal form walked into view. His eyes were a strange, glowing combination of smoke and orange that seemed to flicker as he blinked.
"Hello," Terry said, hoping this was Gunther and not one of the woman in the ring's friends. "Are y'Gunther?"
"Yeah," the man said, not impolitely, more just a bit surly and obviously displeased by what was going on in the ring. "You oughta stay outta the ring, Tiny. Even if the fight seems to be over."
"Ah," Terry said, ever so slightly chagrined as she looked up and up and up at the man -- he had to be taller than Kyle, even. "Yes, of course. I apologise."
"Okay," Gunther said. "'scuse me, I'm gonna go handle that woman Gibney's got pinned."
Stepping aside, Terry moved out of the large man's way.
Gunther climbed into the ring area, an aura of flickering orange smoke rising off his skin as he got closer. Kyle didn't move until Gunther was practically on top of him. "Hey, G. Was hoping it was you. Can you take Rocky here? I'm kinda tired of getting my skin cheese scraped off by her." His forearm stayed pressed into the rough-skinned woman's throat. "I'll take dealing with you or G-Two any day instead. How is Gustaf?" He was light and conversational, despite the twitching tendons in his shoulders. "I would get up but she's still trying to fight me here."
"Gustaf's good," Gunther said, reaching down to pick up the woman by the back of her shirt. She stopped most of her struggles immediately, a thin sheen of ice spreading from the tall man's hand where it gripped the fabric toward the skin at her shoulders.
Kyle snorted as he untangled himself and let Gunther pick up his opponent, dusted himself off, and swiped at freshly scraped skin.
"His wife just had another baby," Gunther said as the ice continued advancing, giving Rocky's skin a faint blue tinge. "Came out with scales," Gustaf continued, holding Kyle's opponent parallel to the ground. "Think it's from his mother's side."
"Well at least one of us has a happy partner." Kyle glanced guiltily at Terry. "Love to chat and tell G Two I'm sending him some Starbucks cards, but I'm probably... you know, need to explain my damn self to the girlfriend." He held the ring gate open for Gunther, and his struggling cargo, and then hopped out himself, slouching as he met back up with Terry. "So. Uh. Yeah. I was. I got no explanation"
Reaching out, Terry knocked her knuckles briefly against Kyle's elbow as he came up even with her. "Well," she said, not quite as angry as she'd been just a little while ago. Then she reminded herself that she'd seen Kyle, one of the most agile, skilled fighters she'd ever had the pleasure to watch as he trained and sparred with others, letting that half-stone woman land pot shots and some of the anger came back. She brought down another shield to keep their conversation private, her ears popping, and said, "I'd say I'm no' mad, but I still am a bit. This's what y'do all the times y'come here?"
"Like, fight people, or fight her?" Kyle said. "I mean, I'm not even always in the ring when I'm here. I'm on security detail with the G's, sometimes I'm the door guy, sometimes I'm just watching." He paused. "Did Angelo rat me out, because eh, that's fair if he did." He shrugged, scratched his sweaty hair, and flaked a little dried blood out. "I'm not always letting myself get beat up either." He added, hastily. "Just. Like. Sometimes. When. I dunno." He tilted his head back, and puffed out air and frustration. "Sometimes I just feel shitty, and then I'm like, it's harder to fight back."
"What's your therapist have t'say about that?" Terry asked, narrowing her eyes again. "Y'have told your therapist about this, haven't you?"
"See I wanna tell you the truth and I'm really kinda not feeling great about it but I also don't want you to like, be so pissed at me that you're gonna think I'm too fucked up to deal with." All the words came out of Kyle at once, and he sagged, like the truth came out alongside his posture. "Cause I'm not doing great."
The bottom dropped right out of Terry's stomach and she was very close to letting her jaw go completely slack. Before she'd thought through her actions, she'd hopped up to wrap her legs around Kyle's waist and take his face between her palms before muttering, "I'm no' mad at you, boyo. I'm mad cause y'let yourself get hurt by a bag a rocks with a cunt an' no' enough brains. Y'could've come home tonight w'broken bones from a mission and I'd fret, but I'd never be upset. It's tha' -- love. Kyle, it's. I don' know wha' t'say except I love y'more than I have anyone who's no' blood related t'me."
The redhead kept her eyes locked on Kyle's, then rose up a little higher and kissed his forehead before pressing it to her own. "Nothin's ever, ever goin' t'make me think you're too much o'anything t'deal with. I don' care if you're no' doin' well, I don' care if you're ill or mad as a hatter or so tired o'everythin' y'just want t'lay down an' forget the world for a little while. All I want's t'be able t'be there w'you, t'help however I might, just so y'know you're no' alone. You'll never have t'be alone with somethin' like this. Isn't that what bein' t'gether's s'posed t'mean?"
"It's not just about her, like." Kyle rested his forehead against Terry's, entirely aware of how sweaty his hair was and choosing to ignore it. "I can't talk about this and I don't know why. I could talk about M-Day. Fuck, my therapist knows about Genosha. They're vetted, the Prof cleared them to know all this weird shit." He paused. "Actually they're an underground node, so you know, they know shit. Anyway. Like. Like, like like like..." He rolled one hand in the air, as if he could somehow grasp the right words by grabbing them out of nothing. "Like, how do I go into there and talk about the next fucked up thing and have to go right into the fucked up thing after that and the fucked up thing after -that-, and I mean shit they know about Laurie, I've talked about that but I can't talk about the shit that happened with that goddamn demon lord."
Terry shifted just enough so the end of her nose touched Kyle's and she was staring very directly - very closely - into his eyes. She threw up a second sound barrier and reinforced the first to keep people away from them in addition to keeping their conversation private. "Don't tell me what happened if you're no' there yet," Terry said, fingers finding their way into the hair at the base of Kyle's skull before she continued, "But y'can talk around it a bit, maybe. What about it's keepin' y'from feelin' like y'can't talk to people about that mission."
"I can't even say the word." Kyle mumbled. "I tried to.. I tried to talk to Laurie about it, and she got all pissy about it, medical knows because Doc Grey was there for it and I barely did a mission writeup and I can't even say the word." He sat up and scrubbed at his eyes, and then the rest of his face, rubbing the heels of his hands against the stubble on his cheeks. "It wasn't. I mean. It.. Ter, Ter I had a crush on Garrison when I was a teenager. I'd have thrown myself at a chance and it was gross and fake and I can't even say the word."
Terry leaned up a bit, fingers gently sifting through Kyle's hair, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before looking him right in the eye again and saying, "Kyle, whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. None of it. I know people say that and sometimes it's hard t'hear, t'believe, but no matter what was done or what y'did..." She paused, because there was a tangle of feelings and emotions and none of them were hers.
She loved Kyle the way she loved air, something so natural and necessary about him being in her life that nothing would change her view of him, but she wasn't... a psychologist, she didn't know how to help with this kind of trauma. She'd pointed other people toward assistance in the past, but this was Kyle. This was her lover and her friend and he was fast becoming one of the most important people in the world to her.
How did you name a thing like rape for someone who wasn't even able, by their own admission, to say that word? How did you tell them it was okay if their body reacted in a way that they didn't want when it wasn't even really under their control? How were you supposed to explain that the awful, forced fulfillment of an old wish wasn't the same as enjoying that wish when it was made? What on Earth was she supposed to say that would give Kyle the strength and support he needed right now?
Taking a breath, Terry exhaled before freeing one hand and clasping Kyle's with it. "Whether y'did or didn't, would've or wouldn't've, your choices were taken from you. So if y'can't say the word, don't try an' force it. Y'will or y'won't in your own time. It's nobody's business but your own." She gave his scruffy cheek a kiss as well, then said, "But I need y'tell a professional. I'll be there for y'every step o'the way, but I don't have the trainin' or the knowledge t'help y'work through this, just you and me. If it takes y'a while t'find someone, no worries. I'll listen t'whatever y'want t'tell me. I'll help however best I can and I'm gonna support the ever lovin' fuck outta you."
"Can I stink up the car so I don't have to go take a shower with like, whoever else is in the shower room?" Kyle asked, voice dry and flat. "It's why I keep coming home with bruises, it's why my team leathers keep ending up on the floor of your bathroom. Not doing great with the locker rooms right now." He was making himself shower, he couldn't tolerate himself when he felt greasy, it made him too aware of his body, of sweat or hair or skin, but he could only just barely tolerate the shower, too aware of skin and claws and reminders of the blisteringly hot shower he'd taken as soon as he'd been cleared from medical after the mission. "Hot water helps the healing factor get its shit together. Like, that and helping Gar with the Malice thing are about the only two shits I have together. Jesus, this was easier when I was mad at him. I wanna be pissed, I want to... " he hung his head. "You know what's fucked up, the worst part was just that that fucking demon made me admit some shit I don't even wanna repeat, and I'm gonna have to."
"In your own time," Terry said. "An' o'course y'can ride in the car." Releasing her hold on Kyle's waist, Terry' let herself hover in the air in front of him. "Y'can shower wherever y'like, however y'like. I've... I have a therapist o'my own I see," she continued. "She's been vetted by the leadership in the Underground as well. She's helpful, good listener. If y'like, y'can speak with her t'see if she might be helpful. She's in the City, though. Bit o'a drive. But we can talk about that later. I just want y'to know I'm here. Always. For whatever y'need."
"I gotta figure that out. Like, mine knows my trauma shit, I wouldn't have to fill in the blanks." Except the blank around the subject itself. He had a suspicion his therapist wouldn't be shocked. "But also she knows all my trauma shit, so I dunno. Would somebody who doesn't know be better? God, therapy shopping the first time was bad enough." He grunted, picked up his sweaty towel, and then coughed and spat into it. "Also yep, cheekbone's broken. Can we like. Can we, I dunno, go home, so I can take a shower, cough out all the shit in my face, and then talk about this more because... " He wadded up the towel, looked around for somewhere to toss it, and gave up, twisting it in his hands until the edges frayed on his claws. "Because I don't wanna right now.." He felt petulant, saying it like that. "I will. I promise I will, I just. Ter, I can't, talking about it feels gross, and I already feel gross."
I'll break that cunt's bloody cheekbone -- and every other bone she's got -- if I ever see her again, Terry pointedly didn't say. She just nodded, saying, "Yes, let's get y'to the car an' we'll head back t'the mansion. Y'can shower however long y'like an' then we'll get y'somethin' t'eat, if y'can stomach it. An' if y'can talk about it, then that's good an' if not, that's also just fine. I'll help y'an' care for y'however's best for you, y'just let me know."
"I could eat. Eating's easy, no stress." Kyle said. "Just nothing, uh. Nothing that smells burned. Hell dimension." He trailed off, then added, "and no eggs. Eggs are gross. Eggs are gross, anything that's burned is gross, beets are gross." He paused. "In general. That last one's general grossness, not specific to my stupid trauma."
"No beets, then," Terry said, nodding. "Ever. Promise, cross m'heart and everythin'," she continued. "D'you want t'ride back? Or fly? I flew, but I'm happy t'drive."
"Drive. If you fly me I'll barf." Kyle said. "You know what I want? I wanna shower, food, and then make me call my therapist tomorrow. Like. Like, she knows some shit is going on, just." He let out the longest, deepest bass huff Terry had ever heard. "Just if you don't, ima just keep talking myself out of it, and then we're just gonna be right back here in two weeks."
"No flyin', then," Terry said, nodding. "And I'll make y'call your therapist tomorrow, promise," she said, extending her hand for Kyle's keys.
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Date: 2023-03-30 10:55 am (UTC)