Drabble- Counts
It was still strange, watching him fight like this.
For how optimistic he was known for being, seeing him fight without a smile on his face was still so strange to Skrah’s eyes, particularly during their spars. He was as gentle and friendly as ever with their recruits, of course, but in the midst of combat he often seemed so . . .
Cold.
“That one doesn’t count,” Skrah grunted as he pushed himself up from where he’d stumbled against the wall at the end of their match.
“What do you mean it doesn’t count?” Axl crossed his arms, pistol dangling idly from his index finger. “I won fair and square.”
“It doesn’t count,” Skrah repeated. “Again.”
The gunner rolled his eyes, but stepped back, waiting for his friend’s nod of approval before darting in for an attack. They fought without so much as a word exchanged between them, Axl using his smaller size and lighter frame to help keep himself on his toes and at a distance. To this day, Skrah still hadn’t beaten the gunner in an all-out spar; purely at close range was another matter, but once distance was factored in, Axl usually gained the upper hand.
A point that was summarily proven when Axl used the recoil from his gun to fling himself across the room in an aerial tackle, knocking the former gladiator off of his feet and sending him skidding across the ground. “Agh . . . y’still get me with that every time,” Skrah muttered, getting to his feet and giving himself a shake. “You’d think I’d learn.” He paused, as if gauging something, before taking up a defensive stance. “Doesn’t count. Again.”
“Jeez, Skrah, if you wanted to practice longer, you could just say something,” Axl grumbled.
“I don’t. You’re making this difficult. We’re not stopping until one of them counts.”
“Fair enough, what constitutes ‘counts’?”
“I’ll tell you when you make one count.”
“Oy . . .”
They would spend the next two hours or so continuing to spar, each match ending with the former gladiator somewhere on the floor or against a wall and Axl standing over him with one eyebrow raised. And each time, Skrah bluntly stated that it didn’t count and insisted that they go again.
“Okay,” Axl said at last after a particularly long match, his chest heaving slightly as he caught his breath. “Okay, I give. Seriously. What ‘counts’. I’m goddamn exhausted.”
“I told you,” Skrah replied with a grunt, wincing and flexing a sore shoulder. “I’ll tell you when you make one count.” Damn, Axl really was a pain in the ass, wasn’t he. This was going to take some creativity . . .
Ah hell . . .
“Close range this time,” Skrah said, loosening his stance slightly. “And no, it’s not about winning, so don’t ask.”
“All right, all right.” Axl withdrew his pistol with a nod, settling into his own stance several feet away. “Ready whenever you are.”
This was going to be ridiculous. Skrah took a slow breath before beginning to bounce in place slightly, his weight nearly on his toes. He shook his arms out a few times, the odd movements making him look unusually relaxed compared to how he usually fought. “What the hell are you doing,” Axl asked flatly.
“Loosening up. C’mon Axl, quit stalling and bring it on already.”
Axl grunted, not being terribly fond of close combat in the first place, but rushed in for a swing, quickly falling into offense when Skrah began to dodge and weave around his attacks. The former gladiator ducked behind him and slipped past his guard, giving him a light swat upside the head.
“Hey!” Axl spun to face him, frowning slightly. “The hell was that supposed to be?”
“You tell me.”
The longer they fought, the more it became clear that the former gladiator wasn’t taking the match seriously in the slightest. He kept his movements quick and light, in sharp contrast to his normal no-nonsense hard swings, darting in for a light jab or a swat before ducking back out again to bounce on his toes a short ways away. “Y’know, this is hardly the kind of fight I’d expect out of you,” Axl said after a while, taking several hops back to catch his breath.
“I could say the same for you.”
The gunner tipped his head slightly.
“Oh, for Asimov’s sake, Axl . . .”
“What are you up to? Just tell me already, cripes!”
“I’m trying to get you to smile, dammit!”
A pause, and Axl allowed his stance to drop slightly as Skrah sighed and strode toward him. “Wh . . .”
Thwack!
“Ow!” Axl yelped, jerking back when a hand connected across the back of his head. “What?!”
“Great Asimov, are you that oblivious? I’ve been trying to get you to loosen up and relax all damn day. Axl . . .” Skrah sighed again, dragging a hand down his face and shaking his head. “You always used to have a smile on your face when we fought. You loved a good fight. Seeing you like this when we’re just messing around . . . hurts, you know?”
“I-I . . .” Axl dropped his gaze, his expression softening slightly. “I didn’t . . . even realize . . .”
“You’re such a dumbass sometimes . . .” The former gladiator shook his head, glaring halfheartedly at the ground. “I know a lot has changed in a short time. I know that. But . . .” He closed his eyes, irritation seeming to melt into exhaustion. “You’re still Axl. No matter how many people look up to you and call you a hero, you’re still Axl. And I . . .”
A pause, and Skrah allowed his shoulders to drop slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“S-Skrah . . .” Axl frowned, taking a pace forward and laying a hand on his friend’s arm. “Hey, come on. I may be old, but I don’t plan on going anywhere for a while. So don’t-”
“You know that’s not what I mean, dammit!”
The gunner flinched, dropping his arm to his side and lowering his eyes again.
“Axl, look at me. I’m not talking about age right now and you know it.” Skrah waited until hesitant green eyes peered up to meet his gaze before continuing. “I don’t want to lose you. Not the hero; not the world’s savior or the leader of the rebel forces- you.”
“I . . . I’m sorry,” Axl whispered, nodding slowly as the words sank in. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t . . . mean to worry you like this . . .”
“I know it isn’t always easy to smile.” Skrah gave a quiet ‘tch’, not quite a sound of amusement, but not quite disdain either. “Believe me- you know how often I smile. But . . . please, Axl.” He laid a heavy if comforting hand on the gunner’s shoulder. “At least try to smile for me when it counts.”
Axl’s lips twitched faintly, and he nodded again. “I-I guess I can try and do that much,” he whispered. “Th-thanks. A-and I’m sorry.”
“Yeah yeah. Now quit sulking and give me a proper spar already.” Much to Axl’s surprise, Skrah stuck out his tongue and tugged one eyelid down in just about the most childish gesture possible.
“Wh- hey!” Axl laughed- more than just a quiet chuckle, but a natural, warm-sounding laugh. “What the hell was that supposed to be?”
“You tell me. It worked, didn’t it?” It was clear from the light in his eyes and the smallest twitch of his mouth that Skrah was fighting a smile of his own, though he couldn’t hold back a rusty-sounding chuckle at the way Axl laughed. “That’s more like the Axl I know.”
“Hey, you actually laughed.” Axl’s smile was beginning to curl into a more familiar grin as he lightly jabbed his elbow against his friend’s stomach. “Now that is something.”
“So you’re contagious; don’t rub it in too much.” Skrah batted his arm away playfully and retreated to a safe distance, taking up the same light-footed stance as before. “Now come on, cut the chatter and let’s do this right this time!”
Axl closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a swell of confidence before shifting his weight to prepare himself for a quick movement. “Make this one count, right bud?”
“Damn right you better; bring it on, old man!”
“Oooooh, now you’re asking for it! This old man oughta teach you a thing or two about respecting your elders!” Axl darted forward, taking a swing to punctuate his last word.
“I’d like to see you try, Axl! I would love to see you try!”