She caught the kiss, and for a moment they were younger, when things had seemed simpler, though they probably weren’t. Or maybe they hadn’t seemed simpler but they actually were. It was hard to say at this point. Brandon watched, detached in that way he got before a fight where nothing could touch him, as Clara walked over to Link. He put two and two together and got four pretty quickly. So, this was the boyfriend. Brandon had expected … more. But hey, what did he know? He’d just assumed Clara, with her shiny new life, wouldn’t want to date someone who thought cage fighting was still a fun and cool activity after 21. Well, this was going to be awkward, wasn’t it?
Link looked pissed, which just added jealousy to another list of unattractive behaviours, as well as a poor ability to control his temper. Real winner, definitely. Brandon stepped up, nodded calmly at the ref and waited for Link to take a swing at him, slipping out of range and slamming his fist into Link’s rib cage and elbowing him in the shoulder to try and knock him off balance. His other arm was already coming round in a fakeout punch that would put Link in range for the slamming kick that Brandon delivered. They traded punches and kicks for a while, back and forth, Brandon feeling Link out and waiting for the moment when the other man’s rage made him sloppy. Link got in some good hits, enough to give Brandon a clear idea of his fighting style, and seemed loose enough on his feet. But fighting angry almost always fucked you over.
He didn’t enjoy it, he didn’t dislike it, he didn’t even really think of Link as a person, just an opponent that he had to defeat. The fact that Clara was watching him beat up her boyfriend was something he would think about later, when it didn’t matter anymore. Once Link was on the ground, Brandon knew it would be a short match, his ground work being his tightest. Avoiding Link’s face was more to do with not wanting to do any kind of concussive damage than anything else. Link was entangled in Brandon’s legs, and Brandon kicked him in the ribs anytime he moved, trying to find a finishing move position. He isolated Link’s arm and pulled, knowing it would dislocate if Link didn’t tap out. It was, from Brandon’s personal experience, excruciatingly painful. Every time Link tried to get out of the move, Brandon pulled harder. He would simply wait.
In their relationship, nothing had made Clara feel more worried or more terrified than when Lincoln turned around and seemed to look right through her. At least when they argued about his fighting, he could see her and she could reach him; at least when he walked into the ring calm and in control, she knew that her and Laney and the home that they shared would be his last thought when he went in, and his first thought when he came out. Now she wasn’t quite sure, and it was enough to almost make her take a step back.
Instead, the brunette stepped after him when he pulled away, trying and failing to grab his wrist again as he moved into the ring and out of reach. Her first and only instinct was to go after him, the only thing stopping her from rushing in and pulling her boyfriend the hell out being the group of patrons standing around her, holding her back from interfering—and rightfully so, given that it really wasn’t her place to. Lincoln was his own person. He made his own decisions, and it was her choice whether or not Clara supported him in them. She didn’t support this at all, and there wasn’t a single cell in her body that wanted to watch this fight, but she knew that she would anyway. Because that was the kind of person that she was.
And it was in this state that the deputy watched the majority of the fight; concerned and on edge, more so than usual, noticeably flinching every time either of them got hit and looking like she was constantly about three seconds away from running in and throwing herself between them like Pocahontas. She knew Brandon well enough, or at least she used to, to know when he had something under control. She definitely knew Lincoln well enough to know when he didn’t. It was like she could see the outcome of every move before it happened; knowing that Brandon was nothing but focused and disciplined in almost everything that he did, that being angry made Link careless in the ring, and that getting smacked down as a a result of being careless only made him angrier.
As soon as he was on the ground, as soon as it was clear to everyone watching exactly what Brandon was trying to accomplish, Clara knew. She knew that Link would have to tap out. He probably knew it too, and yet she also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t. Turning away from the ring, the brunette pushed through the crowd until she reached Sloan, aware of the fact that she was about to ask for a favour that she had always respected her friend too much to ask for before. “Call the fight,” she all but demanded, looking visibly pained and with a frantic kind of urgency to her words. “Call it. Please.“
In the entire time that she’d run Chess Club, Sloan had called exactly three fights. One was because a man pulled a knife, the other was because someone was so drunk that they’d thrown up all over her ring after receiving a punch to their gut, and the third was because the fight was so fucking boring that she felt she’d actually lose interest in her business if she allowed it to continue. Sitting on the bed of a pickup with her cooler of drinks and lockbox of cash, she held a mental debate as to whether she would add fourth to the list.
Sloan hadn’t ever paid much attention to Link’s fights, mostly because she didn’t want to seem biased – - he was her employee, after all - – and also because she never expected she would need to intervene on his behalf. He was responsible and had always fought fairly enough; there wasn’t any cause for alarm when a the crowd around him and Flanagan began to grow restless. The mechanic had missed Lincoln falling to the ground and couldn’t see Brandon beating the ever loving shit out of her best employee; if anything, she thought the charged atmosphere around the ring would lend itself to more drinks being purchased and more bets being laid down by the end of the night. It was a win for her, so Sloan turned her attention to writing up matches and selling beers. She’d feel guilty about it later – - much later, when she was in bed thinking about Clara and the anguish clearly written across her face - – but Sloan’s mind was on money and she tended to have tunnel-vision when it came to capital.
Clara didn’t even sound like herself. Voice strained, drowned out by the den of yelling men and cheering women – - Sloan barely heard her and even started in on her usual spiel (”All fights are over at the discretion of the fighters. Unless someone’s guts are on the fuckin’ ground, I’m not calling anything.”) but only managed to make it to ‘discretion’ when she realized who had made the request.
It took less than a second for her to route around, looking for any sort of improvised weapon that she could use to threaten someone with. When nothing appeared in her grasp, she groaned and pulled her ass off the bed of the truck. “Ah, shit. What’s going on?”
Her first thought was that Link finally lost his shit, but the tears in Clara’s eyes were a good enough indication that the case was quite a bit more dire than that. Selfish though tit was, Sloan’s first thought was that she’d be giving Link time off from work and would have to pull his weight as well as her own. Her friendship with Clara was secondary, but it did provide just the extra push she needed to break through the crowd and survey the damage.
Link was stubborn, but Sloan had never known him to be stupid. The angle of his arm was twisted in such a way that even Sloan’s stomach was tied up in knots, making her wonder if he wasn’t tapping out because he simply couldn’t. The thought was abandoned, but it did prompt her to action, enraged at a fight that she clearly should’ve been watching.
“Fight’s over! Flanagan, get the fuck off him.” She twisted her fingers into the back of Brandon’s shirt and yanked with all her might, which still wasn’t enough to move a sizable man but would hopefully knock him off kilter. “I’m calling it. Get the fuck out of my ring! Both of you!” Even the crowd seemed to agree with the result, although a bit of belligerent booing broke through at the last second. Suddenly very much unfazed by lost money, Sloan searched the crowd for any familiar face who might be willing to pull Brandon off Link if it came down to it.
It became very obvious, very quickly that this fight was going nowhere. Sure Link got in a good punch or two, but compared to the ones he received in return, he didn’t stand a chance. The young mechanic was aware that his temper was one of his biggest weaknesses, his easiest pressure point. And yeah, it was a cheap shot hitting on Clara, but Link should have expected as much. Instead taking on an absolute beating, and where he should have taken a step back and reevaluated the situation, he only got angrier. Every time he stumbled backwards, or a new cut would open on his face, he got more enraged. Until they hit the floor, and Link’s arm was twisted into a position where it was tap out or have his shoulder dislocated. And if you knew Lincoln at all, it was very clear that there was no chance in hell he’d ever tap out.
Prepared and willing to have his arm dislocated for the fight, Link still scrambled to get out of the mans grip, despite being aware there was no escape. They’d have to drag him from that ring unconscious or dead if they wanted this fight over. And Link wasn’t known for being knocked unconscious easily. However it took a split second glance to the crowd and the sight of Clara’s brunette hair sweeping away in a rush, for Link to be aware exactly what she was doing. He knew she never wanted this fight to happen in the first place, and if they could have avoided the thing all together, it would have been the go to option. He also knew that this situation didn’t look good, and Clara wasn’t usually in the business of standing idle by. She better fucking not. He thought to himself, feeling the looming early end of this battle. He spat blood onto the concrete below him, before expelling what little energy he had left, into a last ditch attempt to resurrect this brawl back to it’s feet.
Then that all familiar and booming voice of Sloan came over the room, silencing the rowdy crowd and calling the end to their fight. “It wasn’t done!” Link protested louder than anyone else was, knowing that it was Clara who had requested this end, but Sloan that had carried through. However he didn’t feel done, he wasn’t any less angry than he’d been going in. And despite appearing furious at Sloan and her chose to call it early, he wasn’t. Maybe he wasn’t angry at anyone at all, but rather just furious in general. Disappointed that once again he’d allowed his short temper to get the better of him. “You can’t fucking do that, I wasn’t finished.” he said as they were separated, Link dragging his legs underneath himself and using all his strength to push up onto his hands and knees. As if attempting to prove a point, that he was still capable of carrying on the fight. All it did was prove that he was in no position to go forward, as his elbows constantly buckled below him. His face was a mess of torn skin and blood, bruising already coming to the surface in particular spots. That was it for him....he was definitely finished.
