Chapter Sixteen
Gossip
Uploaded on 3/13/07
It had been a week since the debriefing after the Thierry mission and Sin hadn't hung around the compound long enough to catch wind of the consequences. For the past seven days, Sin had seen no reason to leave his apartment or attempt to make any contact with people on the outside of it. He'd ignored the knock on the door when the maintenance people had come around seeking his supply card and he'd ignored the phone when Ryan had called twice.
He didn't care to speak to anyone because he was pretty firm on the idea that humans were generally just as disappointing as he'd always imagined them to be. He'd spent the week exercising vigorously and fasting strictly; he already felt the consequences of the abuse. It was the strain in his muscles, the sharp pang in his stomach and the slight weak and dizzy feeling he felt overall, but he told himself that he deserved it and more. He needed to be retrained and he was doing it the same way his father had done it the first time around; by severely punishing his body for idiotic emotional weaknesses of the mind.
A week spent in the cold, darkness of his apartment had done him a lot of good. He'd been able to reflect on everything that had happened in the past couple of months; been able to realize how embarrassing his behavior was without having Boyd appear near him to once again corrupt all of his thoughts and ideas. He'd come to the realization that Boyd had distracted him from his purpose in life, the purpose his father had given him during his training.
He was supposed to be a fighter, pure and simple. He wasn't supposed to have the emotions and feelings of normal men; he was above that and he should not have even been capable of it at all. His father had worked to turn him into an assassin with the strengths and none of the weaknesses of typical agents; he had worked to turn him into a machine and he'd been proud of the progress his son had made, proud even after he'd realized that at times Sin showed signs of severe mental instability.
His actions with Boyd had reminded him that inevitably he really was just a man; Boyd was the snake in Paradise Lost and he was Eve, so easily tempted by the notion of knowing something, feeling something, doing something more than work for some higher power that he'd thrown all of his ideals away. He'd felt desire, lust, jealousy… He'd experienced things that he'd never thought necessary and he'd liked it. It was a disgrace to the last twenty years he'd spent molding himself into a fighter with no weaknesses, a soldier who had no holes in his armor.
Sin stared up at the ceiling idly and didn't allow himself to shiver from the cold. He was stretched out on the floor in front of the window wearing nothing but his briefs and wondering mildly whether or not he would get sick from the complete lack of heat in his quarters. On one hand, sickness would prevent him from fulfilling his duties as an agent but on the other hand, it was another punishment that he deserved.
Pale, green eyes closed and he forbade himself to think about Boyd. Earlier in the week, the blond had consumed his thoughts. A part of him had felt guilty over the incident in the conference room; he'd told himself that he was being too hard on Boyd, after all he did many things that he disagreed with for the Agency and Boyd had just done the same. But then he reminded himself that the Agency had complete control over him and that even if he were to stray from mission parameters and wander off, the GPS stuck in his neck would completely prevent him from ever getting out from under their thumb unless he found a way to remove it without causing himself to bleed to death. Boyd on the other hand could resign if he wanted to and would only risk the possibility of surveillance; but still he'd willingly given himself to a man he barely knew, a man who treated Sin like something he'd stepped in. The jealousy had burned inside of him for days and then eventually it'd turned into shame. Shame for being stupid enough to give into lust and for being stupid enough to believe that Boyd would ever return his advances. It was then that he'd begun this purification ritual in an attempt to cleanse the taste of Boyd from his mouth and the heady smell of sex from his nose.
This time when he told himself that he was a killer, a tool, nothing more, it felt like it worked and he was able to experience complete blankness of thought once again.
He lay there in the same position until his limbs grew stiff and cold and his eyelids began to grow heavy with exhaustion. He'd almost drifted into sleep when there was a shrill, ringing sound.
That damned cell phone.
He shifted and grabbed the annoying device from the coffee table, staring at the number that was displayed. His mouth curled in disgust and he flipped it open. "What?"
"Get to my office within the hour," The deep voice demanded gruffly.
"I'll be there with bells on, sweetheart." He hung up the phone and closed his eyes again, more than slightly annoyed by the fact that he had to leave the apartment.
The idea of running into Ryan or Boyd irked him. The possibility that simply seeing Boyd could destroy his week of mentally retraining angered him. He knew that Boyd had no intentions of pretending to be a friend anymore; his attitude and anger outside of the conference room had made it very clear. But what really bothered Sin was that the inevitable cold silence from his partner would bother him and that once again he'd feel those ridiculous feelings of bitterness and rejection. It was idiotic. He knew it'd probably been an act all along anyway, how else could the new remote be explained?
The fact that Boyd had not wanted him sexually had stung him, had driven his jealousy wild, but despite the fact that his feelings had been hurt, it was when he realized that Boyd was so disgusted and frightened by his touch that the nail had finally been driven in the coffin of his shaky trust. Sin wasn't exactly sure when Boyd had started resisting; he'd been incredibly, stupidly drunk at the time and he'd been lost in the sudden confusing heat that had swept through him. However despite the fact that he hadn't really known what he'd been doing, despite the fact that he'd been confused by the vodka he'd consumed in a stupid emotional moment after finding the new remote, he was positive that at first Boyd had kissed him back. He'd kissed him back and then it'd been like... like he remembered who Sin was, what Sin was, and he couldn't wait to get away.
Boyd had said that he'd never intended to use the remote but why else would he have brought it with him? It didn't make any sense to Sin and for some reason that combined with the fact that there had been actual, genuine fear in the younger man's eyes only made it seem like a lie. It made Sin think that Boyd was alarmed at how Sin's attitude had begun to change around him, that he thought he'd been getting too close and that he wanted to control him, keep him at a distance just like everyone else.
Despite this, however, he knew that he and Boyd would have to work together once again and he wanted to be firm in his resolve before that day came. He would revert back to his typical attitude and would treat Boyd just as he treated others. It had been his strange favoritism with the boy that had begun this whole thing in the first place.
Sin pressed his back against the floor and sprang to his feet, stretching and rolling his shoulders to get the cramps out. He strode into the bedroom he never used and yanked his old clothes on, not bothering with the things Boyd had purchased for him. He tried to banish the thoughts of Boyd once again, but it was like a sickness that began to seep into him as soon as he set foot out the door.
He wondered what his father would think about this new aspect to his personality; he wondered if he'd be disappointed that all of his conditioning had been for naught.
As Sin walked towards the main building, he ignored the bite of the wind and the subzero temperature, focusing on his thoughts instead. He thought that he'd grown more introspective in the past few months, probably because he hadn't had much to think about before then; but it was all of the thinking that was his downfall. The past week had done him a world of improvement but it was obvious that he needed to give himself even more time if he wanted to completely banish everything from his mind. Maybe some time in the box would do him some good… Maybe then he'd realize that he couldn't afford to be so weak and trusting.
The closer he got to the main building, the more annoyed he became. He realized immediately that he was receiving more attention than was absolutely necessary; even more so than usual. He felt eyes on him everywhere but as soon as he turned his cool gaze on anyone, they looked away silently, without delay. He knew people were talking about him, but he didn't care. He was used to being ostracized by everyone and had been since he'd first arrived at the Agency.
He took the stairs to Connors office on the seventeenth floor and realized with some chagrin that he was mildly tired afterwards, most likely due to lack of nourishment in the past several days. His body was still stiff and sore but he ignored it and swiped his keycard, entering seventeenth, where Vivienne's and Connor's offices were located.
"What are you doing up here?" A feminine voice demanded as soon as he entered the wing.
Sin stared down at Ann scornfully, mouth quirking into a cruel smile. "Your father has summoned me. He can't live without my presence for long, you know."
Fiery hazel eyes glared at him from under a silky fall of dark blonde hair. "I can't believe they let you out of your box," Ann said, pretty, red mouth twisting in a sneer. "More importantly, I can't believe they allow you on this floor. You belong on the fourth floor of the detention hall with the rest of the retards."
"Speaking of retards," Sin began innocently. "Does your twin still require spoon-feeding or have her motor skills improved in the past year and a half?"
The smack echoed throughout the empty lobby and he didn't even blink, smirk never leaving his face. "Fuck you," She seethed and stormed in the direction of Vivienne's office.
"Not without dinner first," He called after her, but despite the snideness in his voice, his mouth twitched down into a frown and he dropped his eyes to the floor. If he was totally honest with himself, he'd admit that he was not comfortable with what he'd done to Lydia, that he was glad that he'd blacked out during the entire incident. He knew he would not have committed those acts if he'd been in a more stable state of mind, but it'd been her that had forced him into instability in the first place. However, he did not dwell on it and the only time the image of milky white skin tattooed by a web of scars haunted him was in his dreams.
Sin shook his head and continued towards Connors' office once again. He glanced briefly at Samuel, Connors' assistant, but didn't speak and walked right by him, ignoring the way the man's watchful gaze followed him.
No one knew much about Marshal Jacob Connors and most agents spent most of their careers without ever meeting the man despite the fact that their every action was dictated by his commands. He ran the Agency but very little was known about his history or how he'd gotten involved with it; even less was known about who his contacts were within the government. The US government and military denied the existence of the Agency but it was obvious to those involved that there was a direct connection; how else could the constant neutralizing of groups and figures who opposed the US be explained?
Sin knocked on the door and looked up at the camera with a kissy face as he waited for Connors to admit him into the room. There was a buzz, the light next to the doorknob turned green and he entered. It was probably the largest office in the building and was far more luxurious than Carhart's. Despite that, there were no personal effects to be found in the room, no hints about his life before the bombings and the war, not even a photograph of his wife or daughters. It was Spartan and cold, just like Connor's personality although his appearance wasn't always what people expected it to be. Most agents assumed Connors was like General Carhart; tall, muscular and obviously capable of holding his own in any number of combative situations. However Connors was quite the opposite and looked more like a politician than a soldier.
"I just saw your lovely daughter," Sin commented mildly as he sat in the chair across from Connor's desk. "She's as hostile as ever, Jacob. You must be proud."
"She's as hostile as she needs to be," Connors replied flatly, steel grey eyes glaring at Sin from under bushy eyebrows. "She's as wary as she needs to be. This explains why she is still here and why her twin is an invalid."
Sin said nothing and folded his hands in front of him. "You are a cruel man, Jacob. Poor Lydia."
"Poor Lydia was an idiot and I do not further wish to discuss her, especially not with the creature that is responsible for her condition."
"She's responsible for her own condition," Sin replied coldly. "She's the one who deemed it necessary to drug me, force me to speak of violent events and then get the brilliant idea to sexually accost me in that state."
"Precisely. And that is why I do not further wish to discuss her," Connors said shortly and turned his eyes back to whatever he was writing.
Sin said nothing and gazed at Connors calmly. He crossed one leg over the other and noted that the office was far warmer than his quarters ever were. There was a long stretch of silence as the Marshal finished whatever he'd been working on and then he pushed a thin manila envelope across the table. Sin noticed that Connors watched him the entire time that he opened the envelope, as though he were waiting for a reaction. Sin opened the file, stared at the image, and snorted. "Wow."
"Question?"
"Isn't this the guy who rebuilds poor neighborhoods and donates all of his money to charities?" Sin asked, dark eyebrows arched slightly as he thumbed through the file.
"Yes."
Sin nearly laughed. "Wow."
"It should be noted," Connors began coldly. "That he also donates a considerable sum of his money to Janus, which in turn leads to them purchasing arms."
Sin raised his eyebrows, a smirk playing on his lips. "Feeling the need to justify yourself, Jacob?"
"Why would I feel the need to justify myself to something like you?"
Sin shrugged and continued to read the assignment. After another moment he laughed out loud, eyes dancing merrily. "So this guy is so squeaky clean that you have to manufacture dirt on him? I don't appreciate having credit for my assassinations given to random, inept hitmen. Honestly. How rude."
"Do you understand the assignment?" Connors asked in a clipped tone, not responding to Sin's comments.
"Yes. Although, you realize that it won't be complete for a few weeks. Not more than a month though," Sin replied as he flipped through the pages.
"That's fine. Just get it done and don't fuck up." The warning tone in Connors' voice made it clear what would happen if he did.
"I'll try not to, darling, I really will." Sin stood up and put all of the paperwork back into the envelope. "I'll need supplies and money."
Connors nodded, already going back to what he'd been doing. "Fill out a supply card and see Charles. You're given clearance for whatever you need for this assignment." Sin turned to leave but just as he began to open the door, Connors spoke again. "Are you fucking Vivienne's boy?"
Sin froze completely, even as his heart began to beat wildly. "Why would you ask me that?"
"It's a yes or no question, Agent Vega."
"No. I'm not."
Connors snorted softly. "Didn't think so. The moment I actually believed you were sexually functional, I'd have you neutered. Dismissed."
Sin grit his teeth, hand tightening around the doorknob as he fought the urge to turn around and give Connors exactly what he deserved. He stood there for a long moment before forcing himself to leave the office without giving into his sudden craving for violence. He didn't know why everyone thought he and Boyd were lovers and at the moment, he didn't even want to find out. Despite the fact that he hated Connors and had no respect for the man, he was very thankful for having an excuse to be gone for several weeks.
Boyd arrived early to the Agency, primarily because he had to be certain there would be space for Ryan and him at the training room. He could tell something was different from the very beginning; one of the guards looked at him sidelong and the other smirked to himself. He acted as though he did not notice and walked in, his hands in his pockets. Far more people seemed to notice his presence than usual. In his peripheral vision, he saw a few people glance at him while others whispered something quietly. There were still some who did not seem to care about him, which was good, but he was already anticipating this being an annoying day.
When he walked into the training room, he could feel tension in the air. It was half-full of men, and every single one of them turned to stare when he appeared. Keeping his posture very relaxed, he looked around the room idly for Ryan. He was not there yet, of course, so Boyd wandered toward the roster at the back where specific training events were scheduled. He pulled the clipboard off the wall and idly flipped through the pages; though the paper made soft scratching noises it was not enough to hide the whispers that seemed so loud in the room. Pretending not to pay attention, he stared expressionlessly at the clipboard and listened to what they were saying; he wanted to know exactly what rumors were going around.
"He showed up here fast," someone said softly. "I'm surprised he has the balls to show his face around here."
"Why?"
"Didn't you hear? He's a fucking cock sucking homo. People been talking about it for awhile now but some dude he works with supposedly heard about it first hand. I can't believe he came here of all places."
"What, you think he'll watch us?"
"Yeah, you dumbass. He's in a room filled with a bunch of half naked guys. Of course he's going to watch us. That's probably all he ever wanted to do. Don't be surprised if you see the little faggot jacking off in the bathroom after awhile, although I doubt he has much in his pants to jerk."
"Shit, you're right." A pause. "I always thought he was pretty fuckin' girly looking with that hair of his. And I always did think he was a little too friendly with Nakamura."
"God, that's disgusting. Fucking fag."
"Is it true he's fucking the Monster? I think I heard some shit about that."
"Maybe. That's what everyone was saying before anyway, that there was some video from the freak's surveillance where they were practically fucking against a wall or some shit. But supposedly that guy he works with said he screwed some French dude for information on his last mission so he's probably not anymore. The freak doesn't seem like the type to like sloppy seconds."
"The Monster should've learned to pick his toys better in the first place."
"Heh, maybe he was confused, the kid looks like a girl anyway. He could've tried to convince the freak it'd be the same thing."
A soft, muffled laugh. "Yeah, until he stripped and Vega found a distinct lack of pussy. I guess he wasn't that picky though. All that time in lock down must have left the fucker pretty hard up for it." A bout of laughter followed that.
"You know, there's been talk about this shit for a long time but I never listened to it especially since I didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to be get involved with the Monster. But I know one of the guys who was in the gym when Blondie flipped out over someone messing with Vega. He apparently threw some faggoty little hissy fit and everything."
"Harry?"
"Yeah, Harry. My friend said it was fuckin' lame. Blondie comes all storming in, pissed off just 'cause Harry's putting that freak in his place. Did you know he got Harry suspended for four weeks, no pay, 'cause of that? That guy's been here for years and Bulldog's little bitch comes in with his panties in a twist trying to act like that fucking freak monster is some innocent bystander and Harry's the one who gets fucked over."
"What the fuck! Seriously?"
"Yeah and now we hear Blondie goes around fucking people for intel. I'm surprised he didn't just offer to meet Harry out back for a little one-on-one doggy style to get it all figured out. I'm pretty sure he's not picky about whose cock is up his ass."
"Think he tried to fuck Nakamura to pass faster?"
"Fuckin' sick, man."
"Nahh, couldn't be. Nakamura's straight as an arrow. He's got a kid and everything."
"So? He could have tried it anyway. Maybe that's how he even got where he is now. Everyone always thought it was fucking strange how he suddenly became a level nine field op right off the bat. I thought it was because of his mother but now who the fuck knows."
Short silence. "Maybe he got it from his mother. I wouldn't be surprised if that's how that bitch got to where she is now. Not that I blame Connors if that's the case... I'd jump at the chance to get in that."
"That's true, man. She ain't shit but a glorified civilian any fucking way. She's never served, never been an agent; all she does is run her mouth all the fucking time. What does she even do here besides act like a bitch? I wonder how many times she had to suck Connors' cock before he gave her that job."
"Maybe both of them fuck anyone to get ahead."
"Nahh, just to get head."
Soft laughter, and from the corner of his eye Boyd saw movement as one man shoved another in the ribs in amusement.
"Seriously, though, what's he got going for him except his bitch of a mom? He's nothing. Remember when he started training? He fuckin' sucked but Nakamura trained him anyway."
"Of course he trained him, it was an order."
"Who's order?"
"Carhart's."
A pause. "So... what, you sayin' he fucked Carhart to get that job?"
Longer silence and a disgusted noise. "That's fuckin' sick. Sick. The General wouldn't do that shit, either."
"I dunno, man, Carhart's got a thing for the weird ones. He's been all obsessed and shit with the Monster for years..."
Boyd focused on the paper again and realized just how incredibly closed-off his expression had become. He assumed the rumors would be rampant, but they were already further along than he had hoped. Now, not only was he involved with Sin and he whored himself for information, apparently he also slept with anyone who would take him just so he could move up in the industry. It seemed like a lot to conclude, but whatever. If the general populace wished to view him that way, it was fine. He had nothing to argue his side with. It was true that he slept with Thierry for information and even if Sin was never his boyfriend, he supposed their friendship did finally break up due to the mission. He may have never slept with anyone to be promoted, but it was also true what was said about the interaction with Harry. Aside from the disgusting one-on-one comment, of course.
In the end, it didn't particularly matter what was believed of him. As long as he knew what to expect, it would be alright. He didn't like it, but there were few things he did like. This would make it more difficult to walk through the Agency unnoticed and he would have to listen to these whispers all day, but, well; it was to be expected. Although, given the commotion, one would imagine the people of the Agency had never heard of acquiring information in any way other than asking or beating it out of someone. And why was it alright to torture someone for intel, but not to spend a quiet night with them? Why was he suddenly the office slut just because he slept once with Thierry?
He sighed quietly to himself, more a movement of the shoulders than anything and slipped the clipboard back on the wall. The whispers fell silent immediately and he ignored the men as he walked along the walls and studied the weapons. He thought that would be safe to do while he waited for Ryan, but someone whispered that he was hovering near all the metal ones because he wanted to see their reflections in it, so he gave up trying to appease them in any way.
Nothing was scheduled for the room until far later in the day, so when Ryan arrived, he would just spar with him like he promised and leave afterwards. Perhaps they would grow tired of mocking him from the corners and would leave, or maybe Boyd just wouldn't be able to hear it over their sparring. It was unfortunate that they could not go elsewhere for training, but Boyd needed the equipment and the mats, and this was the closest room to the medical unit in case Ryan had an attack. He just wished that Ryan's first lesson would not be tainted by petty little men who would distract him the whole time and probably drag Ryan into the rumor mill as well. He considered calling Ryan to cancel the training, but there was no point. The men and rumors would remain and Ryan would just think he was no longer interested in being his friend. Ryan was probably sitting around buzzing with excitement for the lesson and Boyd would not take it away from him.
So, finally, he sat in the corner beneath one of the weapon walls, drew his knees up, rested his arms across them and calmly waited. He watched the floor so no one could say he was staring at the men, who had returned to their gossiping because they apparently lacked anything else to talk about. However, he hoped they would fall quiet by the time Ryan arrived so Ryan would not be upset. As for what Boyd thought, they could call him whatever they wanted. Let them breed their rumors and turn them loose on him. It didn't matter. He honestly at that point did not care much what people thought about him, especially since he thought the fact they cared at all was pretty ridiculous. Even so, the fact that they weren't stopping was going to be wearying, he could tell that much right away.
It was good practice for letting everything slide past him again, anyway. He had been showing too much emotion around Sin and Ryan. He needed to get back to the perfectly blank expression that had brought him through so much and had never once failed him. With his eyes slid closed, he waited for Ryan and listened intently to every slur whispered about him. He held those thoughts in his mind until and meditated on the words until they were part of him. It helped shut his expression down further, bit by bit, until it was as blank and neutral as it used to be. Staying remote with his emotions was his default response and the easiest way to handle being held at a distance by a place he had started to feel comfortable in.
Ryan appeared just under ten minutes later, wearing loose cotton pants, athletic sneakers and a t-shirt under his heavy down coat. He looked excited and anxious, a happy grin plastered across his deceptively young looking face as he sauntered into the training room. He stopped just inside the entrance and glanced around for a moment before his gaze finally fell on Boyd. The grin faded instantly and his eyebrows drew together, mouth turning down in a frown. There was obviously something wrong with Boyd, his face was completely expressionless and his eyes once again were emotionless, flat and dead. Ryan's good mood sank dramatically and it was then that he realized the group of guys near him were murmuring to each other and that Boyd's name was mentioned repeatedly.
"Yeah, man. I know the guy who monitors the freak's apartment, they were seriously about to get it on."
"You're lying."
"No man, I'm serious. I guess Vega has to release some of that energy somehow when he isn't ripping people's necks out and shit, right? They're a couple of fags."
Ryan's face reddened and he marched over to the guys with an outraged look on his face. "Shut the fuck up. Especially you, Kirby Daniels, after you ran around for your whole first three years here trying to get me to come to your room in the dorms for dinner." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the others. "Don't you have something better to do than stand around gossiping like a bunch of old women? Oh yeah, I forgot, they give the real work to Boyd and Hsin, not you bucketheads."
Kirby stared at Ryan in shock, mouth opening and closing silently. The others looked mildly chagrined, while the rest just looked annoyed that a scrawny computer nerd was telling them off. Someone started to say something but Ryan promptly flipped them off and stomped over to Boyd. "Hi!" He said brightly, once again adopting his big smile.
Boyd was looking up by the time Ryan arrived and some of the remoteness was gone from his expression. "Good morning, Ryan," he said calmly and pushed himself up. His gaze flicked over Ryan's outfit approvingly, then he tilted his head for Ryan to follow him and headed toward a rack filled with coats and discarded clothing. "We should set our coats to the side. Are you ready?"
"Ready as ready can be! Except um, I don't know how long I'll last. I've gotten a bad cough since last night," Ryan said apologetically. "It's the cold air, I think."
"That's completely understandable," Boyd said as he slipped his trench coat onto the rack. Generally, he just dropped it by the front of the room, but that would require walking by the group of men staring at them and he didn't feel like gaining more attention than necessary. It was kind of Ryan to stop them from speaking when he came in, but now he would just be involved in the rumors as well. Knowing the way these things worked, they would probably find some reason to link Ryan's illness to a disease Boyd gave him if they had enough time, even if they knew perfectly well that Ryan was sick long before Boyd ever arrived. Besides, even if they stopped now, they would start again the second Boyd was alone.
Heading toward a middle mat, Boyd decided to completely ignore the others watching. They would grow bored soon enough and today was about Ryan, not about them. He stopped and turned toward Ryan, making a note of the way he stood. He didn't want to tell him he was checking his posture because he would automatically straighten. Ryan's hands were shoved in his pockets and his shoulders were a little hunched. His head was forward and a little down, his feet placed fairly close to each other.
"First," Boyd said calmly, "I should tell you that although I'm going to spar with you, your true goal should be to avoid physical fights unless you are positive you can put all your strength into the blow and you are aiming to harm. Half-hearted attacks will likely only annoy the person you are attacking, and will do you more harm than good."
"In order to avoid confrontations, one very important thing to keep in mind is what your body language says." He nodded toward Ryan's posture. "Right now, you would be a good target, or would attract attention. You look timid, almost apologetic for your existence and that is easily preyed upon. You should stand with your back straight," and he demonstrated each point by following it with his own body, "and slide your feet apart about your shoulder length, one a little forward, one a little back. Imagine you are standing on a square with your feet at the diagonal corners. Keep your body loose, particularly your knees, elbows, and shoulders. Acknowledge the presence of those around you, but you needn't make eye contact for that; you can look at them about their mouth level and they will be certain you are aware of their presence even if you are not necessarily inviting interaction."
He paused, then tilted his head. "I apologize, I didn't ask. Is it alright if I give you this sort of overview first, or would you prefer to go straight to physical sparring?"
Ryan shook his head, trying to follow Boyd's directions and just managing to look awkward. "No, it's good! The last person I trained with was a total ogre and for some reason already expected me to know everything because I'm Connors' ward." Ryan frowned and tried to keep himself loose but just managed to look like he was intoxicated. His face screwed up in frustration. "I look like a wet ragdoll," He complained.
"You do not," Boyd said softly, "You are just thinking too much. This is also something you can easily practice any time, even in your room alone; just try to loosen your joints and strengthen your base. The basic concept is that standing like this," and he placed his feet next to each other, "puts me in a position that is reminiscent of an inverted triangle, if you look at my feet to my shoulders.
"However, if I put my feet apart and bend my knees a little," and he did so, "the base of my strength is in my lower body. Think of it like... gaining the power of the Earth behind your movements. Or else, try to mimic the standard position of many of your action figures. You'll note they also stand with their legs apart and knees bent." Boyd gestured to his legs and nodded at Ryan. "Try again. Take all the time you need and do not be so self-conscious. Mimic me, or imagine yourself as a superhero, though not," he added immediately before Ryan could even move, "one who is over-the-top or about to strike with a death ray. Just someone who is confident and strong."
Ryan nodded and did his best to mimic Boyd, trying to pretend the other people weren't in the room. "I never noticed that about my action figures but it's totally true," He murmured and adjusted his body, bending his knees and rolling his shoulders as he tried to get comfortable in the position. "How's this? Any better?"
"Excellent." Boyd inclined his head approvingly. "The next thing you should realize is that the majority of criminals and rebels as I have noticed so far have a scenario in their mind regarding what they are about to do. If someone intends to attack you, they will have at least one scenario, maybe a few, upon which they will be operating. If you do not follow that scenario, some people actually shut down or just give up, as they do not know what to do. I will explain that better later, or another time. It is a lesson in its own, truthfully, and it works best if I give you examples.
"For today, I will give you some pointers for physical attacks. What you want to keep in mind is that, regardless of your opponent or his size, he is still human. He may be stronger or quicker, but he has weaknesses as well. You must work with your strengths and aim them at his weaknesses. For instance..."
Standing up straight, Boyd pointed to his head. "No human can attack for long if he cannot breathe. If you are aiming at a person's head, think of the senses. Sight - attack into or near his eyes. Smell - strike into or up the nose. Hearing - by clapping both hands over the ears it is possible to break an eardrum or even cause a concussion. Taste - into the mouth or up the chin. Throat - strike with the inside or outside edge of your hand."
He pointed down to his chest. "Targets in the middle of the body are generally less serious and are more likely to disrupt your attacker's breathing rather than cause permanent injury. The solar plexus," he pointed to where his ribs came together in the center of his chest, "is a sensitive nerve area that you can aim for. You can also try the stomach, or, of course, the groin. It is generally more effective to knee upward into the groin rather than kicking into it.
"The lower body is best to aim for when you want to limit the mobility of your attacker. Of the targets, the knee is the most serious. You can knock a person completely off balance with a properly aimed strike at the side or back, or break their kneecaps if you go from the front. As for the shins and ankles, they are difficult bones to break but attacks there can be very painful. The top of the foot, or instep, is generally more sensitive and less protected than the toes. Bones there are small and breakable, and this makes it a prime target as well.
"I am telling you a lot of information at once and I don't expect you to remember it all. We will go over it again each time we spar, but as a recap: aim for above the shoulders for the most serious attacks and think in terms of the senses. For the middle of the body, think in terms of breathing and disrupting it in your attacker. For the lower part of the body, think in terms of mobility." Boyd tilted his head, his hair swinging to the side. "Does that make sense?"
Ryan nodded slowly, taking everything in. "Yeah it does, it's actually pretty easy to remember when you think of it in those terms." He looked Boyd over for a moment and focused on his chest. "So for someone like me, what would be the best to strike at first? The chest so that breathing is difficult or the lower body to temporarily immobilize?"
"It depends on the situation and the distance," Boyd said with a slight lift of one shoulder. "When you attack, you will need to keep in mind what weapons they may have and what your intentions are. If you are trying to get away, you likely will want to limit their mobility. But if, for instance, they have a gun, even if they cannot run they can still shoot you, so at that point you would want to get away however you possibly can and run for the nearest cover. You will want to consider two main questions: what do you have free and what targets are available? Your two arms and two legs are weapons in themselves, as is anything else you may have with you. Keys, a pen, anything can be a weapon if you want it to be."
He walked closer to Ryan, stopping within the usual speaking distance. "That being said, in my experience, I tend to go for the head or legs. For you, I cannot be certain until I see what would affect your lungs the most, but I feel as though short staccato attacks will be best. If you uncoil your limbs from beside your body and pivot your hips with the movement, you put more strength into the hit. By limiting yourself to quick bursts of energy, I think it may keep you from overexerting yourself. If that is the case, I would suggest going for the legs if it is a less serious situation, and the head if it is not. The reason I say this is that it takes more strength to affect a person seriously in the chest and if you want to disrupt breathing you can aim for the throat instead." Boyd tilted his head slightly. "I realize that sounds as though I did not answer your question, but the problem is that much of it is dependent on the situation."
"I guess the only way to know for sure is to experiment or whatever, right?" Ryan paused and smiled sheepishly. "Don't be too hard on me, okay? I'm kind of a wimp."
"No you aren't," Boyd said, but he came within reaching range. "Attack me first and I will see what your natural strengths and weaknesses are." Ryan looked a little uncertain, but Boyd just stared at him. "Be confident; even fear or anger can be used against you, or make you an easier target for your enemy. Your greatest asset is a solid base from which you can breathe and access the strength inherent in your body."
After a few moments, Ryan suddenly lunged. Boyd stepped to the side easily, caught Ryan as he passed and pulled his arm up behind his back with his other hand held at his neck. He was smooth and firm with his gestures, but he did not hurt Ryan at all. "If I had a knife, I could have killed you there," Boyd said calmly into Ryan's ear as he stood behind him. "It is not because you are weak or useless that I evaded; it is because I was able to easily anticipate your intentions from your body language. You have not had proper training, so you were a little clumsy and you put yourself off-balance almost immediately, which gave me easy access to doing what I wished. In the future, know exactly what you intend before you do anything and have several scenarios as contingencies in case I, as your attacker, anticipate your moves." Boyd released Ryan and walked in front of him, his expression calm and nonjudgmental. "Just now, I believe your sole goal was to simply attack, correct?"
Ryan looked a little embarrassed and nodded, seeming sheepish. "I told you I sucked," he said almost apologetically.
"Not at all," Boyd said firmly. "How are you to know what to do before you attempt it? That is why we are here. Stop belittling yourself, and instead believe. You are as human as I; you can overcome me if you work against my weaknesses and use your strengths. I have said that before, but it remains the case." He lifted a finger to his temple.
"For you and me, our minds are the quickest part of us and you are more intelligent than I. This can be worked to your advantage. You will better be able to visualize your moves and your creativity will allow you to have more options. Someone who relies only on brute strength or a weapon may have power in the sheer force or terror of the attack, but a weapon can be disarmed and brute strength can be evaded. What cannot be taken from you short of unconsciousness are your quick wits, ability to think, and improvisation. That is, I have found, my own greatest asset. If I did not improvise and catch people off-guard, I would be dead. Truthfully, many of my missions do not involve physical fights; I simply avoid any situation that I can because I am better at distracting and confusing than I am at overpowering."
Dropping his hands at his sides, Boyd moved back to the position he was before and nodded at Ryan. "Try again, but this time know exactly what you intend. Are you going to grab my arm? Do you plan to hit me in the throat? If I move from that, will you use the heel of your hand to hit my jaw upward? Do you intend to hit me in the nose? Incidentally, if done with enough force, that can temporarily blur a person's vision. Think this through, taking all the time you need, and then attack. I will be ready."
Ryan stared at Boyd for a long moment, doing his best to follow the instructions. His gaze flitted around, resting in certain areas on Boyd's body as he considered what he could do and how. Boyd watched him with a blank expression and this time when Ryan attacked, he got closer before Boyd evaded. He tried a few contingency plans, but Boyd was there each time, blocking the hand to his throat and pushing his arm away before he was able to elbow him. "Better," Boyd said as he stepped away after releasing Ryan from immobility again, "but your problem remains that you do not put your full strength into it."
Ryan was already breathing a little hard after even that brief exertion and he shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you..."
"That is a mistake," Boyd said calmly. "You must assume for the sake of this training that I am someone who will hurt you very badly if you do not hurt me first. This is why it is best to always avoid physical confrontations, because if you are incapable of attacking with the full intention of doing harm and if you are not using your entire strength in each blow, then you will likely be making the situation worse for yourself rather than better. Now," and he held a hand up, as if to forestall any protest Ryan may have, "in all fairness, you have not had enough proper training yet, and you see me as a friend rather than an enemy. So do not feel discouraged, I am taking that into account."
Holding his hands loosely to his sides, Boyd stepped in front of Ryan once more and nodded at him. "Try again."
Ryan watched him again and attacked. The training went on for quite some time. For the most part, Boyd was able to easily evade or withstand anything Ryan tried, but each time, Boyd stopped and explained to him why that was the case. He illustrated to Ryan in slow-motion what should be done next time to improve and asked him to do the same back to him. Any time Ryan did something incorrect even in slow-motion Boyd grabbed his hands and showed him how to do it and where to aim. Then he moved on to the next attack.
It did not take long before Ryan was visibly affected. A sheen of sweat appeared on his skin and he got winded very fast. He wheezed when out of breath and several times Boyd stepped back and talked about something that required a long explanation. Having an interim that did not require them physically interacting allowed Ryan to get his breath back without Boyd ever actually saying anything about how quickly he got tired.
Boyd pointed out the strengths and weaknesses of each type of weapon he had used, all of them displayed along the walls. Telling Ryan when to use it and why was often accompanied by stories of his own experience. He told him when he failed and the reasons he believed this was the case and the same for his successes. Everything was explained calmly and completely and if Ryan showed any sense of not understanding, Boyd asked enough questions until he understood what was confusing him and then addressed the issue.
After awhile, Ryan looked ready to fall over so Boyd sat down on the mat and waved for Ryan to do the same. "I am tired," Boyd said calmly when Ryan looked at him questioningly while he wheezed. Flopping onto the mat gratefully, Ryan tried desperately to catch his breath; he looked exhausted and a little sick and Boyd wondered if he inadvertently had pushed Ryan too hard even without trying to. Boyd waited to do anything until Ryan was a little calmer, when he could concentrate on Boyd and not on his inability to properly breathe. "This should be enough for the day," Boyd said finally. "There is a lot for you to think about. However, you are doing well, and I am not just saying that. Your greatest issue right now is your lack of confidence and your fear of your own body. I can understand that, so I do not say this to be cruel, but your body is not the main weakness; it is your lack of faith in it.
"While it is true that you tire more easily, I still believe with enough practice you will get better. I could barely go half an hour when I first started training with David and now my stamina has greatly increased. However, I do not want to take your condition lightly. You do need to monitor your health and know when it is best to retreat, but I equally do not want you to give up at a point that would be dangerous simply because you feel you cannot follow through."
Boyd pulled his legs in and crossed them, leaning forward with his arms idly placed on his knees. He tilted his head and looked at Ryan seriously. "Even without as many muscles as others, you are still a formidable opponent. Do not think yourself weak or useless; you have two arms and two legs and an incredibly sharp mind. There is a lot you can do with that.
"If anything, your appearance and condition could work to your advantage once you know what to do with them. You will be underestimated often, and though I'm sure there are those who would find that embarrassing, I have found it to be quite helpful for myself. I can walk straight into enemy territory many times simply because I blend in, or fumble awkwardly with things when people glance my way and in general just seem harmless. Even if someone stares at me, they seem to often think I look weak or, frankly, too effeminate and they dismiss me. That has given me a great advantage of surprise, and I feel we may want to work with something similar for you."
Ryan squinted at Boyd as he panted, reaching up to wipe sweat from his forehead and damp hair. "Is that really what you do a lot? I'd imagined that you just... I don't know, I figured all of you field guys just went in and messed everyone up since you're all bad ass like Hsin."
Boyd shook his head once, his eyes narrowing very slightly in emphasis. "No one is 'bad ass' like Sin; any time I have faced him he has easily overpowered me. I could not possibly compete that way, so I avoid where I can and fight dirtily when I cannot. I get hurt at least once every mission and often have to resort to hitting people on the head to get them out of my way once it becomes physical. I do not have near the strength I would need to fight the way you would assume. I have to use my environment and knowledge of the situation to my advantage and go from there."
Ryan frowned, looking curious. "So should my goal be to fight like you or get as good as him? Err-- not like you fight bad or anything. I meant, should I try to fight like him, or anyone else who fights like that? How would you even describe his style of fighting?"
"I think your goal should be closer to my style for now," Boyd said mildly, "at least until you know your style better. However, I do not wish to discourage you. Actually, if you continue training, I think David Nakamura would be a better teacher. He would be able to help you fight however you wished, be it like Sin, or me, or anyone else. As for Sin's style..." Boyd thought about it a moment, looking away almost pensively. "His is nearly impossible to achieve. He is incredibly fast and light on his feet, but he has the brute strength necessary to rip a person apart. There are so few people like him that I think he would be a poor goal even for the most skilled of martial artists. To be Sin, you would need extreme quickness, ridiculous strength, and, many times, a complete disregard for human life."
He paused, then turned back and spoke so softly that even Ryan could hardly hear; it was a precaution so others would not be able to understand what he said. "The time I told you about, before the first appearance at the debriefing? When we raided the bunker during that mission I did not harm anyone until I was discovered and even then I only incapacitated, but he killed over twenty men. Ask yourself if you wish to be someone who so easily snaps a neck and rips a limb off, or if you prefer to be someone else. I cannot make that choice for you, nor would I wish to. But I want you to understand that with his prowess also comes a price and blood spills easier with each of his attacks than it ever would for mine. It is not to say mine is better or that his is evil. It is just a difference in style that, nonetheless, is important to know."
Ryan paled considerably as he thought about it and he shook his head, eyes closing briefly. "You know... it's strange but, I know it sounds silly and all, but sometimes I forget that the people he kills are actual real people with real lives. Honestly, it's never really bothered me until I just tried to picture myself doing the same thing." He sat up and crossed his legs, gazing at Boyd for a moment. "Why do you think he kills when he could simply incapacitate? Wouldn't it be easier to not have to kill? Like... faster?"
Boyd did think about that for a moment, but then he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't know for certain. Honestly, it's probably faster for him to kill than incapacitate. He is simply that strong and quick. Beyond that, if a person is dead he would know for sure they will not be bothering him again. I have been revisited by people with grudges because I only knocked them unconscious, but on the other hand, he has created many enemies by slaying friends and family."
"I bet one day that will come back to bite him in the ass too," Ryan mumbled softly, not looking altogether pleased with the idea. "There are a lot of people, here even, who want to hurt Hsin simply because they assume he's a butcher without even knowing anything about stuff he's actually done. Imagine how people who've witnessed his actions must feel?" Ryan was quiet for a moment before he shook his head and smiled at Boyd. "I want to learn how you fight. It seems like it'd be the best for me."
"It's probably best," Boyd said with a nod. "I can continue to help you, but I think you should really consult David Nakamura as well. I can talk to him if you prefer. I didn't see his name on the roster for awhile, so I can only assume he is currently on vacation."
Ryan opened his mouth to reply but before he could, there was the distinct sound of high heels clicking across the floor. He looked over his shoulder and grimaced briefly before forcing himself to smile. "Hey Annie!" He shot Boyd an 'oh no, take cover while you can' look.
Ann stopped in front of him, staring down disapprovingly, slender hands placed on her hips. "What are you thinking? Are you on this again?"
Ryan frowned at her and got to his feet, breath still coming out in a wheeze. "I'm not trying to be a field agent anymore if that's what you're saying. I just want to learn and Boyd is helping me." He said the last part in a tone that could almost be described as bragging.
Ann's hazel eyes snapped to Boyd and she made a face. "What interest do you have in my brother?"
Boyd looked at her calmly, watching her a moment. Given the fact she called Ryan her brother, he had to assume she was Lydia Connor's twin. However, Boyd was fairly certain he knew her from somewhere else; she looked familiar even if he couldn't place it. "He is my friend," he said with a shrug. "And he asked for help with training. I understand your concern, but I am aware of his condition and I will not harm him."
"Be sure that you don't or you'll be sorry," She snapped and looked at Ryan again. "Did you take your medication?"
"Yes, Ann. God, I'm not retarded you know!" Ryan looked at Boyd, appearing mildly mortified.
"Then why are you wheezing? Where's your inhaler?"
"Ann!"
"What?" She snapped, flipping hair over her shoulder impatiently. "I already have one disabled sibling, I don't need another." She glared at Boyd again. "Why are you encouraging this stupidity?"
"It is not stupidity," Boyd said calmly, still trying to place where he knew her. It was mostly her voice he remembered, so it was taking him a moment. "He should not let an illness stop him from achieving goals he is very interested in. And being capable of defending himself is certainly not impossible, with or without his condition." He tilted his head, her expression suddenly registering in his mind. "Ah, I remember now. You were in the lobby of my mother's office a few years ago when I visited. Are you her assistant?"
Ann stared at Boyd for a moment before her pretty face twisted unpleasantly. "Yes, I am. I remember you now. You're that Boyd. Ha. No wonder I'd completely forgotten who you are; your mother barely speaks of you for some reason." She didn't say it in a particular malicious way but her eyes were glittering coldly. "I just saw your freak of a partner, you know. I cannot believe you willingly work with that man."
Ryan glared at her. "Ann--"
"Don't start this with me again, Ryan. Especially after what he did to Lydia, I cannot believe you continue to defend him."
Ryan fell silent but glared at the floor angrily, holding in his objections and reasoning.
Boyd looked completely unfazed by the concept of his mother not mentioning him. However, some part of him could not help wondering what Sin was doing since they last spoke. "Why did you see Sin?"
Ann crossed her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow at him. "He was on the Exec Floor, probably on his way to see my dear father." The words rolled off of her tongue with biting sarcasm. "He still works closely with that bastard from time to time."
If Sin was visiting Connors, that could only mean he had a solo mission. An assassination, then. Boyd looked away and nodded calmly, wondering who he was sent to kill and where he was this time. "I see."
"You didn't answer my question," She said impatiently. "How can you work with someone who butchers innocent women?"
"Oh, I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances to that particular event," Boyd said mildly, looking her in the eyes. "He may be a killer, but doesn't he often say it is in self-defense? I don't know what happened at that time, but I can presume. Besides, if you work for my mother, you must surely understand the concept of career above everything. No doubt she hired you solely for your ability to think about the job more than even things such as morals, or ethics, or love. Yet you are chastising me for working for the Agency while I do not bother contemplating the ethics or morals of the partner I happened to be assigned. Ahh, Ann," and Boyd's voice was cool with a glint of his mother in his eyes, "how shameful. My mother would not be proud."
"I can guarantee you, boy, your mother has a lot more pride in the work I do for her than the fact that you are her son," Ann said coldly. She smirked at him and shot Ryan an irritated look. "Remember we're having dinner tomorrow night. Don't leave me waiting. And next time you want to let this idiot teach you how to fight, bring your goddamn inhaler." She walked away without a second glance, heels clicking against the floor as she strode out of the training room, ignoring the eyes of the men who closely followed her attractive figure.
Boyd watched her walk away and shook his head to himself in vague bemusement. "She says that as if it is a completely alien concept to me," he said with little emotion, partially to himself, partially to Ryan. "I am well aware that my father's blood does not run thick enough in my veins. If my mother had the opportunity to sacrifice my life to resurrect my father's, I have absolutely no disillusions as to what choice she would make. And she would have no qualms with it either."
Ryan frowned at the idea. "No offense, but your mom is a bitch. But my... 'sister' is no better. What's with women being cold hearted assholes anyway?" He seemed genuinely angry and frustrated about the fact that he hadn't said anything in his friend's defense.
Looking over at Ryan, the first hint of a real emotion could be seen in his vaguely amused eyes. "I really have no idea, but as for my mother, she has been that way practically my entire life so it is nothing new. I take no offense. Ann, at least, seems concerned for your well-being, so I would not label her completely callous. She already has more humanity than my mother right there." He paused and tilted his head. "You did not tell me of your inhaler. You forgot it, or were hoping to work without it, or perhaps you knew Ann would come and berate me for my complete disregard for your life. Do you mind sharing what the mindset was with that?" The vague amusement made it into his tone, and he did not seem upset at all.
Ryan shrugged sheepishly. "I just wanted to see if I could go without it. I doubt I'll be able to rely on it in an actual fight... I guess that was dumb though." He peered at Boyd from under his bangs. "And she never used to act like that before Lydia turned into a vegetable. I know she means well but I really don't appreciate her treating me like a child just because she feels some idiotic guilt over not stopping her twin from behaving like a complete obsessive whore over Hsin. And it may seem assholeish to talk about Lydia like that, but she never gave a damn about me and was only concerned with that cess pool between her legs so whatever."
Boyd's amusement only increased and a small smile pulled at one side of his lips. "Very eloquent, Ryan," he said mildly. "I particularly enjoyed the placement of 'cess pool.'"
"Well!" Ryan smiled despite himself, appearing mildly shocked at his own language. "She pissed me off! She always does that crap. And she has no right to talk to you that way just because she can't handle being in Hsin's presence. I don't hate her, far from it, but she is really overbearing sometimes! At least she's not as bad as Lydia was though. Seriously, she was a smart girl but she got around this whole place more than once."
"Understandable that you feel that way," Boyd said as he inclined his head, and the small amount of amusement slipped away as quietly as it appeared. "However, it is good to know someone cares about you. Whatever Ann may think of me, at least I know you have someone to watch out for you."
"I guess," Ryan muttered and stretched, causing his t-shirt to ride up and reveal the hint of a pale, flat stomach. He looked at Boyd, head tilted to the side, a small smile playing on his face. "You're a really good friend, Boyd. I hope you never get tired of me." He continued to smile softly before rolling his eyes at himself and shaking his head. "Hey, my breathing is better. Wanna go again?"
Studying Ryan for a long moment, Boyd nodded and stood. "Alright, just awhile longer. This time, you attack me and I will show you what I would do."
Ryan nodded and his face grew serious as he studied his opponent. "Don't be easy on me, Boyd. I know I seem wimpy but I won't break that easy." He nodded once again, more to himself this time and when he moved his attack was a little less sloppy and a lot more focused.
The rest of the night passed fairly quickly. Although Boyd said it would only be a little while, it was almost dark by the time they stopped. Ryan had improved quite a bit, though he still made many mistakes and had a long way to go. Even so, Boyd told him he did very well and Ryan's beaming smile lit up his entire face.
Exhausted, Boyd barely took the time to properly bid Ryan goodbye and make sure his wheezing died away before he walked straight into the cold with his coat slung over one arm. The air seemed to freeze instantly on the thin long-sleeved shirt that was clinging to his skin with sweat, but it woke him up enough to be capable of driving home. Taking the quickest shower he had in quite some time, Boyd fell to the bed with his hair still wet and soaking the pillow.
In the realm between waking and dreams, he found his thoughts drifting to Sin again, wondering what he was doing now, how the mission was going. It was his last conscious thought before he fell asleep.
Continue to Ch 17 ~ Reflection