Commissioned Story: Fang, Ch. 3 (Patreon)

Shuffle steps, quick and light.  Balance on the backfoot, anchor for stability, duck and weave while shifting weight.  Uppercut counter to a presumed straight left, follow up with rapid three-punch combo to the center of mass.

The dull thuds of Sam's wrapped and gloved punches echoed dully around the otherwise thundering noise of the gym.  The sandbag swayed lightly from the impacts, more so than they had when he first started.  The chain's jostling rhythm was almost a cadence in and of itself, something to listen and watch for to help with timing and pacing.  He didn't let up, bobbing back into the square off before prowling forward, sneaker-clad feet circling the bag less than expertly but not quite as drunken-baby deer steps.  He really was showing improvement.

"Time," Nemea growled out, clicking off the tiny stopwatch in one of her massive paws.  "Walk and water," she commanded.

Dutifully, the Human did as he was bid, however he did not yet drop his guard.  His hips maintained the square to the bag as he took three measured steps back and away from it before he finally lowered his arms.  The mindset was honestly his best area of improvement, and his most rapid; it had only taken her two times of swinging the sandbag at him and knocking him onto his ass for lowering his defenses before he was out of range for him to understand the lesson.

He crossed to the bench containing his duffel bag and retrieved his bottle of water, spraying it into his mouth with almost perfect aim.  Droplets of moisture clung to his lips and she eyed the curve of them.  When he turned back to beam up at her however, she had already averted her eyes from his mouth.

Making sure she wasn't caught staring, she cast a look around the gym, accounting for equipment use and memorizing faces.  Just outside the bay doors, she again saw a specific small group of men, mostly Humans, hanging around just across the street.  They were new, but they were all presumably just talking and smoking cigarettes; she put them out of her mind, rough as they appeared.

She put the loiterers out of her mind, finally looking back to her trainee.  His ocean-blue orbs sparkled as he continued to pace from side to side, not letting his energy just fall off; there was another lesson she pounded into him and he had taken in stride.  She'd never had a protégé or student take to her instructions so quickly.

"So how am I doing?" he asked, voice eager for feedback.

Nemea resisted the urge to clap him down, if only slightly.  Not that he didn't take it well, but she had found it wasn't as much fun bullying him as it was for the Anthros she also took time out of her day to train.  "Less shitty," she allowed herself to playfully growl.  "You still Prowl like a cub with a limp."

Sam's eyes twinkled even more.  "But I am Prowling," he retorted with wit.

The fur on the back of Nemea's neck stood up a bit more and she growled down at him for being cheeky.  "Well, let no one say that miracles don't still happen," she snapped, showing a bit more of her fangs.

The Human laughed, showing his teeth right back in a bright, teasing smile.  "I think you forgot to leave out the insult with that one," his teasing voice grated at her.  "Careful, Ms. Spartos.  Someone might think you're starting to lose the edge off those saber-teeth."

Eyes narrowing into dangerous, amber slits, the massive Anthro rumbled down at him, crossing her burly arms over her sports bra clad chest.  His eyes noticed how the motion made them jostle, even as tightly bound as they were, and his freckled cheeks darkened a bit for a second.  "You talk a lot of shit for someone in yeeting distance," she growled right back at him.  Even as he raised his hands in mock surrender, she couldn't keep her bob tail from doing a small dancing wave; thankfully there was no way for him to see that.  "Square up again and get your hands up higher this time," instead was her harsh, authoritative bark.

Dropping the playful, if still shy edge to his gaze, Sam plopped the water bottle back down and lowered himself again into a fighting stance.  His hips were perfectly on point, aiming himself right at his target as he stalked forward with measured, quick-timed steps that left no excess energy wasted.

"Jab," she commanded and he did so, throwing out rapid, light taps from his left fist and setting up the rhythm once more as he paced back and forth.  "Alternate!"  With perfect, practiced ease, Sam then swiveled his hips to the opposite footing, switching up from right to left and continuing the rapid onslaught.  "Close in, get inside their reach."

Sliding forward on his dominant foot, Sam used the Prowl to get barely a foot away from the bag.  Now his punches, shortened as they were forced to become, became even more rapid and furious as he worked the 'body' of his imagined target over.  She gripped the bag in her paws, swaying it from side to side as if trying to get around the smaller fighter but he stayed in close and intimate, shuffling his feet to keep up.

Then came the real test.  A single bark of "Shoulder-check!" preceded her lunging with part of her weight against the bag, simulating the defender trying to shove Sam backward.  The first few times she had done this, he had been knocked off his guard immediately, more than once thrown to the padded floor on his ass.  Her chastisements of him following were of how larger opponents like he would probably face, while bulkier , also still had the factor of their weight to use.  Heavier mass meant that lighter combatants, even for all their speed and ways to manipulate this, also had to think fast to avoid being shoved around.

Sam, this time, did not fall for the ploy.  His gloves instead latched onto the bag and while he was slid backwards by her powerful, if half-strength push, he was not knocked out of his stance.  Instead, even as her forward momentum ended, he stayed with the bag, keeping hold with one hand while the other threw furious forearm and elbow bashes into his opponent's ribcage.

His face was drawn into a furious snarl, teeth bared as he kept hammering, letting go only when the bag had swung back, still jostling loudly from his assault.  She prepared to swing it at him again and this time he flowed around the motion, balancing his weight perfectly on the balls of his feet and gliding to the left.  The maneuver would put him squarely in the bag's flank, a softened area where kidneys, liver, and hip shots were easy to land.  It would have been perfect; a flawless attack plan especially for such a Novice.

Fiery red hair and Human skull abruptly collided with her furry, hardened stomach and all at once he jerked in alarm, as if having hit a wall of solid stone.  Immediately the fight went out of him and he turned quickly to look up at her, taking a hurried step back only for his back to again hit another wall, this time being the punching bag.  Now trapped between her and it, Sam blinked hard up at her, still panting for breath.

For her part, Nemea too had been surprised by the sudden collision, so absorbed in her training of him and observing his incredible rate of improvement over barely a week.  She had known professional athletes and combat-trained soldiers who had not taken to her training so quickly or adeptly; attitude was everything after all.  His move just then had actually shocked her, the spike of Aggression it caused making her eager to see how he would continue the takedown.  Now she gazed down at the tiny-appearing Human; his big, wide, ocean-blue eyes stared up the vast difference in height between them.

Her scarred arms were still raised, holding onto the bag above his head, effectively hemming him in between her and it.  Even one of them was almost bigger around than his hips.  She realized, now, just really how small he was compared to her, since they rarely ever stood so close; she never stood this close to anyone really.  Her gaze wandered over his exotic freckled skin, completely hairless save for the lightest smattering of stubble on his cheeks.  His eyebrows were sharp above those big, contact-tinted eyes, and his hair hung down past his ears, the color always striking her for how vivid it was.

She smelled him then, their close proximity making her entirely aware of the flowery scent of whatever deodorant he used.  Her nostrils flared as it tickled her senses, mixing beautifully with his sweat.  There wasn't any of smell in the world like it; she wasn't afraid to admit that she rather enjoyed it.  That, mixing with another scent coming from him much stronger now than usual, only made it that much more...noticeable how close they were.

He opened his mouth to speak, lips parting around his small, blunt, white teeth.  Most likely he was about to apologize but the words seemed to fail him.  He was left to just mildly gape up at her, towering over him and effectively blocking all view of him from everyone and everything else around.  It was as if they had just stepped into their own little world for the fraction of a second.  His eyes flicked up and across her savage face, tracing the lines of her scars there and then lower across her burly body.

How daring, to so openly gaze at a woman like this, she found herself dwelling upon.  No one really ever looked at her like that anymore.  'I don't hate it', she realized, paws sliding slowly lower to grip the bag now at the same level as his skull.  How easy it would have been to reach out and touch that soft-looking hair; her paws itched, about to do just that, onlookers be damned.

Then, like the klaxon of an air-raid siren, the gym clock rang out shrilly overhead.  5 o clock.  Closing time.  Both of them jumped back slightly, or at least he did, jostling the sandbag again while her fur went on edge for a second before resuming its usual state.  When their eyes met again, the confidence and allure had faded and she lowered her paws to instead just plant her fists squarely on her hips.

"That's a wrap," she growled firmly.  He looked a tad crestfallen at first before she got his attention with a heavy, amused chuff.  "Good move there at the end.  Getting right in where they wouldn't expect you.  Element of surprise is essential wherever you can manage to find it."  She winked one golden eye, closer to a twitch but on her stoic face he seemed to register it for what it was.  "Next time, just don't get distracted."

"Yes ma'am..." he let out weakly, then amended himself when her notched eyebrow rose, pseudo-dangerously.  "Yes, Ms. Spartos."  Then it was his turn to grin.  "Next time, I'll just go for it."

That made her ruff stand up on end again, once more thankful he couldn't see the small wag of her short bob tail.  Somehow, Sam was able to play the exact same game she had, it felt like.  She was used to intimidating people so easily, still playing up the flirt while also taking advantage of her size, bulk, and serious demeanor to put others on edge.  Instead, this Human, barely over half her size, played it right back at her.

Without meaning to, Nemea grinned, showing more of her teeth again.  "Confidence.  I like it.  Come back tomorrow and we will see how you handle something more hands-on than a punching bag."  Her Aggression turned on just a bit from the back and forth and, for the first time in a long time, she found herself enjoying it.

Now Sam actually blanched a bit, natural instincts present even in a Human apparently to sense even a hint of her Predator attitude.  Somehow, that was nice too.  "I'll...see what I can do," he gulped then took a deep breath, chuckling.  Around them, various other gym goers and employees were trailing out.

Nemea nodded at a couple of her trainers before fixing her gaze firmly back onto the Human.  Her keen hearing picked up what a few of the locals were saying even without paying them much attention.  "You hear about that fire down on Matthews Avenue?" asked one.

"Yeah, real sudden," answered another.  "Whole shop just caught."

"Foul play?"

"Maybe.  Police around here are about as useless as can be.  It'll be labeled an accident, just like all the others."

Nemea categorized this conversation away as it faded out of the doors, giving the passing Kilboros a nod as they left again through the side door, rather than out the main bay doors like everyone else, before she returned her gaze to the Human.  He seemed as distracted as she was, looking back after the crowd with a faraway, troubled look in his eye.  She wanted to ask but it didn't seem proper.

"You should probably get something to eat after all that," she growled, grabbing his attention once again.

Sam balked and glanced up at her again, eyes not even trailing her at all this time.  She wasn't sure why but she knew that wasn't normal, although it was true that his was a gaze that she always noticed when it lingered, and actually found herself not minding so much when it did.

"I...uhh...You know any good places?" he asked, still sounding slightly not all there in the conversation.

Nemea shrugged one burly shoulder.  "I order most of my stuff through a delivery app.  I don't get out much."

The Human wilted a bit then shrugged back at her.  "Fair enough.  I may do the same thing."

"Make sure you load up on protein," she chuckled, winking down at him again but this time he didn't really respond.  Oh well.  Maybe he had a limit for how much bad flirting he could deal with after a strenuous day.  Not that she was any good at even that.

"Will do."  He turned and collected his stuff, shouldering his duffle bag once he had hung up his gloves and turning at last to give her one final, friendly if distracted wave.  "Hopefully see you tomorrow, Ms. Spartos."  There, again, was the faintest glimmer of that overly familiar gleam in his eyes, breaking through the stormy contemplation that was always following him around whenever they weren't together.  He turned to leave.

"Nemea," she grunted.  She started even as he paused, turning back to face her and barely giving her any time to fix her expression back into its cocky, big-fanged, casual grin.  His eyebrows had raised up into the bangs of his thick head of hair in surprise.  "You can just call me Nemea," she repeated.  "It's less formal and I hate formalities."

There was a long pause and then Sam's face broke in the widest, brightest smile she'd yet seen from him.  Her tail twitched like crazy.  "I'll keep that in mind," he chuckled.  He touched three fingers to his throat in an Anthro sign of respect although his eyes had finally regained their usual twinkle.  "But if it's all the same to you, my daddy taught me a long time ago to always show your superiors respect with proper labels and titles.  I'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Nemea Killer-smile Spartos."

Somehow, hearing him say her name made her stomach flutter just the tiniest bit.  She managed to hide it with a growl.  "Whatever you say, Sam Pain-in-my-ass Raife."  Her eyes tracked him as he left, always throwing her that same smile back over his shoulder before his sneakers cleared and rounded the bay doors, taking him out of sight.

With the gym fully empty now, Nemea relaxed herself if only slightly, the way she never did whenever around anyone else.  It was just her now.  Even the smokers from across the street had moved on, and the gym, normally so loud, was once again returned to its normal, serene quiet.  She stalked around, resetting the odd pair of weights, cleaning mats and seats, and taking note of the various signatures.  She ordered food as she did her accounting, and settled into her over-sized mattress in the back-office, pondering the events of the day.

For the first time in many years, she found herself daring to be eager for the next.

The following day came and went by with annoying, frustrating slowness.  Sam didn't come in.  Somehow, that terribly irked her.  She tried to keep herself busy and focused but after the events of the day prior, she was uncharacteristically snappish and gruff, even for her.  Still, she had that sort of reputation and everyone was wise to mostly stay out of her way.  The clock chimed out closing time both far too soon and taking way too long.

Up in her office as she usually was at the end of the day, Nemea was answering emails when a heavy knock at the door made her pause.  She growled, her signal to enter, and for one brief second, she smelled something familiar.  To her distracted mind, somehow that registered to her as Sam.  When she looked up, though, she saw only the stern, emotionless visage of Kilboros sliding into the room.  She grunted and turned back to what she was doing, ear turned though to her employee.

"Hey boss," they grunted in their usual, monosyllabic fashion.  "Slow day today."  She didn't respond, not seeing the need to or feeling up to conversation.  If anything, Nemea felt stupid for allowing Sam's no show to bother her so much.  "About that order you needed checked on."  The Alpha glanced up at Kilboros.  "I ain't going to be able to make it tonight, got another engagement I have to look in on.  My other job."

Raising a scarred eyebrow, Nemea turned her full attention onto the Hybrid.  "Wasn't aware you had another one," she growled softly, not intending to but feeding into the statement a bit heavily with Aggression from her mood.

Kilboros seemed not to notice, or more rather they did but they didn't show an ounce of caring.  They never did.  "Not entirely by choice," they explained.  "But obligations like this go a ways back and I can't get out of it."

Wanting to argue, Nemea instead just rubbed at her temples.  The appointment for her order still needed to be done in person, but if Kilboros couldn't go, that was that.  No point in getting hostile.  "Copy that," she sighed, the fight and fluff going out of her at once.  "I'll handle it myself."  She finished typing up the email she had been working on and clicked off her computer.  To her surprise, Kilboros was still standing there.  "Something else?" she asked.

"You seem off today, Boss," they noted.  Sharp eyes gleamed at her.  "Ordinarily you'd have bitten my head off for canceling last minute."

"Things come up," she grunted in return at them.  "Hard to get angry at that."  In a way, she wasn't really talking about them when she said that, more for herself if anything.  She covered this up with, "I ask you to do a lot for me around here anyway.  Bout time I got up off my well-cushioned ass and did my own leg work."

Kilboros remained staring at her flatly, expression never wavering.  Their long, tufted eartips twitched once or twice and then, to her utter surprise, they folded their paws over their broad chest, glancing away from her.  If she didn't know them better, she would have thought they looked...troubled.  "Still.  Doesn't sit right not living up to your standards," they growled.

"My standards are only important when I'm training someone, or for me," Nemea retorted.  "You take my shit without complaint or backtalk, have for years.  I think that earns you a night off every now and then."  Then she actually cracked a smile.  "How was that date of yours?"

The Lynx-Leopard shrugged.  "Fine.  Was supposed to meet them tonight after your appointment, but then work called.  Pissed me off."

"Pissed you off?" Nemea couldn't help but tease.  "What is that, a millimeter lower for those eyebrows of yours?"

"1.2 millimeters," they shot back.  One eye twitched a bit, their muzzle crinkling ever so slightly at the corner.  Then they sighed.  Visibly sighed.  "Boss, you put me up when I was in a bad way," they announced suddenly.  Nemea didn't answer, too surprised to interrupt them when they were being so uncharacteristically chatty.  "I was out of prison, contacts all gone, and you gave me a place to work.  I ain't going to forget that.  I hate flaking on my promises to the people who deserve them.  It won't happen again."

Despite herself and everything, Nemea chuckled.  It made her fur ripple and she crossed her arms tighter over her chest, mirroring their stance.  "It's an appointment to get new wall-mats," she consoled them.  "I think the world and I can continue to spin on with you missing out on that."

"Our word is all we have," they muttered softly.  "Debts have to be paid."

Sighing deeply, Nemea rubbed at her nose with a big paw and then checked the time.  If she was going to do the appointment herself, she had to get going.  She reached over and tugged on a spare shirt from a shelf where she had hung it over her usual, sports-bra attire, and then over that went her heavy, armored leather jacket.  It was more for her own sake of comfort rather than feeling a need for the protection it would offer her: like wearing a bulletproof vest to go grocery shopping because one liked the weight.

"Then how about we say you owe me one, and we call it square," she growled.

Kilboros perked up at that, ears twitching and they nodded.  "Square, boss," they retorted.  They stepped back out of the office without another word, heavy paws making the stairs echo around the now otherwise empty gym.

Nemea put the strange interaction out of her mind as she too descended the stairs, locked up the office and then closing the bay doors behind her, and then setting off into the late afternoon, onset-evening streets.  The factory where she had to go was farther up-town from her gym, away from the abandoned warehouse district, and the meeting itself took all but thirty minutes to meet with the manager about the order, sign for it, and then head back the way she had come.

On the way, once having crossed the signature railroad tracks that separated the majority of the city from the Projects, and seeing as it was only 6:30, she decided to do something she hadn't done in years: take a walk.  Few people were out and about in the admittedly sketchy area, and certainly none of whom would bother her given what she looked like and her well-known reputation.  In fact, she even spotted quite a few of her trainees, most of whom waved.

She passed a burned out building, looking much like maybe a diner or bistro.  The yellow police tape was still draped across the blackened entrances and broken windows, but it was obvious the place wasn't any kind of priority to look into.  The area they were in meant that most people kept to themselves and sorted out whatever trouble they ran into by hand.  Still, low income meant a lot of crime, and while her gym had never been hit, she knew it was a rough neighborhood.  Even someone her size would be smart not to linger around too long.

As she finally made up her mind that the walk had taken her far enough out of her usual beaten trail, although truth be told she knew she was barely a few blocks from the gym, she spotted something that made her pull up short.  A slightly broken neon-sign rested above a red-roofed building on a stretch of otherwise mostly vacant lots and abandoned housing.  It read, simply, "Raife Comics."

Raife.

Nemea blinked in surprise and slowed her long-legged stalking trot to a standstill.  The windows were covered up with hanging wracks of comic books and graphic novels, from what she could see, and there were lights still on in the back.  The open sign was still blazing, although like the sign above it was dim and needed repair.  Such could be said of a lot of places here, but she was honestly surprised that a store like this was even around.

She pondered it for several seconds, torn between wanting to just go home, get her own workout for the evening in, and turn down for the night, but the events of the day and the one prior kept replaying in her mind.  It wouldn't hurt to stop in and check, just to see.  So, setting her broad shoulders, Nemea ducked down, having to squeeze her way inside the cramped, mostly Human-sized door, and stepped inside of the otherwise completely empty store.  Above her head, a small bell gave off a tiny ding to announce her arrival.

Looking around, Nemea was at least pleasantly surprised at the furnishings.  It wasn't extravagant but from what she knew of comic books and the like, the assortment of genres, franchises, and even gaming memorabilia was more than decent.  Any lover of stuff like this would have been happy enough at the variety.

She even spotted a comic book she used to love reading as a teenager, Primal-Saw, featuring the main character Saw, the Saber-tooth Anthro antihero, on the cover.  Her only complaint was that she was much too tall, ears scraping the ceiling and forcing her to hunch her shoulders as she made her way gingerly around the shelves, careful not to knock anything over.

Once she reached the front desk, a set of plexiglass shelves displaying numerous painted miniatures for some kind of tactical wargame, she looked around once more.  The walls were festooned with yet more comics, posters, and signed pictures of characters played on movies and TV shows by the actors who portrayed them.  Still, no one had showed up yet.

That was when she noticed a handwritten placard on the desk set right on the corner.  Atop of it was a hand-bell, heavily scuffed and the bronze top having turned green.  The placard read "Ring for prompt service."  For some reason, the word 'prompt' was written oddly as well as underlined, as if the writer had been trying to make a point about it.  She shrugged and, using one huge padded finger, pressed the dinger.

Immediately there was a scuffling sound from the back office, through a door from which light poured out underneath.  She heard footsteps, frantic and uneven, and waited patiently, glancing around and trying not to bang her nose on one of the ceiling lights.  In for a penny, she supposed.  The sound of his gait was especially odd to her, but maybe he had been carrying something.

The door behind the counter flew open, followed by a rough snarling voice.  "What the hell do you want n-?!" it started to say, then abruptly cut off.  Even so, she recognized the voice and turned immediately towards it.

"Well hello the fuck to you to-" she started to say as well, voice lifted in a humorous growling chuckle, intending to rib him on his customer service.  Her voice too trailed away and her golden eyes went wide as she and Sam stared at one another in shocked silence on both their parts.  The cold, analytical part of her brain kicked into overdrive.

Face swollen on one side, one eye closed completely and black all the way around.  Bottom lip split, heavy red line of crusted blood stretching across it.  Hair a mess, untamed, uncombed, tattered.  Stance: uneven, favoring one leg which he barely was attempting to put any weight on at all.  One hand on his ribs, obviously injured.

She took all of this in within the space of a second.  The scent of his blood was heavy in her nose as she stood there, silent, fur slowly bunching up over her tightening muscles.  There was a grating sound like stone on stone, loud in her ears, proceeding an avalanche of loud pops that came from her clenched knuckles and her paw pads stung where the tips of her retractable claws had poked into them.

For his part, Sam continued to stand there as if frozen into a statue, staring at the expression on her face.  Eventually he shifted.  Rather than laugh it off, smile, or even look offended by how her gaze was fixed upon him, he instead averted his eyes and adjusted his stance, leaning more heavily on the wall behind the counter to take some weight off of his leg.

"Sorry," he muttered in barely above a whisper.  "I did want to come by today, I just..."

"Who?"

Sam flinched at the rasping yet soft snarl of her voice, like steel drawn over stone.  "Nobody," he muttered, still not meeting her gaze.  "It was an...accident."

"Don't lie to me," Nemea snapped, voice still quiet and hushed.

At that, the Human bristled a bit more, seeming to regain his composure if only slightly.  He glanced once across her but not meeting her eyes, face setting into a scowl.  "It was an accident," he repeated, more firm but no more convincingly than the last.  "Nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" she echoed.  "I run a damn gym.  I know an ass-kicking when I see one."

"It's...none of your business," Sam blurted out, shoulders going stiff and jaw clenching.  He tried to adjust his stance but winced, holding his injured side hard.  Then she saw it.  Previously hidden from her, she saw the knuckles of his hand: red, slightly torn, bloody, swollen like his face.  Burns too, on the inside of his wrist.  The lingering scent of cigarettes drifted across the room as she inhaled deeply.

Then, she knew.

Turning, Nemea crossed the door in two ponderous, hunched over steps and flipped off the On sign on the door, then engaged the lock.  Sam barely had time to react beyond a flustered intake of breath before she was back in front of him, across the counter and looming over him.  He tried to look indignant, confident, confrontational; it all faded once he saw the look on her face.

For an instant, the injured Human looked about to object once again, but then his shoulders slumped and intense trembles wracked him as he sagged a bit more in place.  She beckoned him and he unlocked the desk door beside him with a numb, shaking hand, through which she reached and plucked him from his footing as easily as hefting one of the lighter sandbags at the gym.  He weighed as nothing in her grasp as she delicately carried him away from the front of the store to the small sitting area in the back.

Sam hissed as she deposited him on one of the couches there, helping him stretch out his leg as much as he could and propping it up on a crate without straining it.  She loomed over him as she crouched down as low as she could, huge paws and cold eyes inspecting him, starting with his battle-scarred hands.  From there she traversed up his arms to his face, turning his cheek gently with the pressure of one paw-pad from side to side.  His expression was torn between agony and shame as she did.  Much of the damage was brutal if sloppily delivered, a true beatdown rather than from a real fight.

Then she moved on, paws peeling his shirt up from his belly as delicately as possible.  He had to help her roll it up above his abdomen, but there she received another shocking view: bandages.  Small spots of blood discolored the tightly bound wrappings, professionally done from the look of it.  Still, she had to inspect him fully and so, going as carefully as possible, she undid them.  Her eyes slit into harsh lines as she saw the worst of the damage.

At least three fractured ribs, gained from someone brutally kicking him, dark bruising all across one side discoloring his otherwise pale and slender chest.  She didn't even dare try and tend to those; her touch was far too rough to do anything but exacerbate the injuries.  Still, she suspected that it would have been far worse if not for the first aid already administered to him.  Even so, the depravities done to him made her Aggression spike higher than it had been in years, barely contained before she focused on the job at hand: all the rage in the world wouldn't help him more right then.

Her eyes met his, piercing through him.  "Who?" she asked again, quieter this time.

Sam's head hung.  "Local thugs," he explained.  "They must have...followed me home from the gym.  Caught me right as I was unlocking the doors.  Their gang runs the neighborhood around, demanding protection money from the Human residents because they know they can out-muscle folks like me."

Nemea listened patiently, disappearing only once to acquire a first-aid kit from the drastically tiny bathroom in the back once told about it, and returning to try and touch up what she could.  She had practice in treating battlefield injuries, although these were of a sort that she wasn't as experienced with: knife wounds, claws, bites, bullets, broken limbs, those were easy to mentally handle.  This, however, the damage done to Sam, and the method it was delivered, set a rage inside of her like she had not known in years.

"Police?" she questioned once as he paused in between hissing breaths and her gentle touches.  He shivered away as she tried to wipe away some dried blood from his stomach and she kept him in place with one giant paw behind his back.  "Focus," she reminded him.  "Stay still for me; I'll make it up to you after I'm done."

"Make it up...to me?" he panted, arching one mussed eyebrow at her but trying his best to remain still.

"Focus," she grunted again.  "My questions first.  Police?"

"Useless," Sam explained, turning his face into her fur as she, delicately, applied some disinfectant to his side.  His rattling groan was heavily muffled, breath hot against her and he trembled in her grasp.  He felt so much smaller than he ever had before to her right then.  "Holy...crap...that hurts..." he grimaced as he finally leaned back up, glancing down once to see her handiwork, then away again.  "But yeah.  Police won't do shit.  And no one dares call them anyway."

"Why?" she demanded, moving onto the next spot in need of urgent care.

"Because the last time cops started poking around the neighborhood, the thugs came back after they left and burned down a family diner."  He met her eyes meaningfully and she understood immediately which one he meant.  "If I made a call, who knows who else they might hurt."

Nemea turned her gaze away from her trainee now turned patient, eyes hardening as she thought back.  Her instincts about the lingering smokers the day before had seemed off.  If only she had known.  She might have been able to do something.  Maybe she could have offered to walk him back?  But no, they weren't that familiar.

"It isn't your fault," he stated suddenly, jerking her out of her inner thoughts.  Meeting his gaze again, the Alpha was shocked to see a small gleaming of humor in his one unswollen orb.  "I know that look," he explained without her needing to express it.

"Why target you?" she asked then, returning to cleaning him up.  His shirt had to be taken off completely so she could assess the extent of how badly he was hurt, but thankfully the wounds didn't go up much farther than his ribs.  The view of his chest was otherwise unmarred and even despite the situation, rather pleasant.

Sam laughed then, surprising her even more.  "Because I've been causing them problems in not paying my protection fees.  This isn't the first time they've come snooping around causing issues for people, and I was sick of it."  Then he shrank a bit before her, looking abruptly ashamed.  "They jumped me before I could get into a proper square.  Waited until I was completely focused on opening the door.  Lot of good all that combat training was, huh?"

Nemea listened as he spoke then, forestalling his spiral of depression and seeming failure, plucked up one of his hands and laid it out flat atop the pad of her paw.  The size difference between the two was almost comical, but also endearing.  The tip of one furry finger traced the torn knuckles before her eyes met his curious, worried gaze again.  "These aren't from dancing," she growled out.  A surge of pride welled up inside of her.

Blinking his one good eye in shock, he wilted again but this time with a half-formed dopey smile on his flushing face.  "I...may have gotten a few good punches in...before they, you know..."  He gestured at his side and her smile dropped off.  "I half-blacked out when they were going at it; honestly I'm surprised they didn't just...kill me there."  Nemea was too.  "If someone hadn't been walking by, apparently, and probably chased them off, I'd be dead for sure.  I remember hearing the guys racing off right in the worst of it as they were kicking me, then somebody was picking me up and carried me inside the store.  When I woke up though, I was alone."

Shaking her head, the Saber sighed and glanced at his chest, just having finished rewrapping it in fresh gauze, doing the same for his knuckles.  It was the most she could do at the moment.  She stood, still hunching her shoulders as she threw away the old wrappings and his stained shirt, but just before she did, out of his sight, she inhaled deeply at the cloth.  It was faint but, there, she caught a secondary scent, distinctly different from his sweat, blood, and the acrid stench of the cigarettes soaked into his clothes and used to burn him.  With everything, however, and her nerves as tight as they were, she couldn't place it.

Nemea returned to his side once more, pausing for a second at the view of him, shirtless on the couch as he inspected her handiwork.  He met her gaze then as she stared and her fur fluffed up slightly to be caught.  He smiled despite himself, smile distorted by his fat lip but bright nonetheless.  She shook herself and reached into the pocket of her jacket for her phone.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Calling you an ambulance," she grunted.

He shifted in his seat immediately as if trying to sit up then hissed in pain.  "N-no," he choked out, drawing her attention once more just as her thumb pad hovered over the call button.  "They would be just as bad.  They'll be watching the neighborhood for any sign of emergency response or law enforcement."

"You could have broken bones!"

"I've had broken bones in the past; trust me, even as much as I'm hurting I know what those feel like.  This isn't my first ass-kicking."  He winked and she glared at his ability to joke even now.  "And besides, if the ambulance picks me up and takes me to the hospital, they're going to want a statement.  I can't lie about these injuries, as you clearly established, and I don't want them assuming you were somehow involved."

"I can easily be involved," she reminded him.  "If these thugs are so new to my ears, then they've gone out of their way to avoid me and my gym."

"Trust me...they have."  That made her start in surprise.  "They found out where I was somehow but they knew they couldn't make a move while I was there.  I don't remember last night perfectly but they definitely mentioned some badass in the area they had to be careful that this didn't get back to."  He winked at her, although with only one eye to use, it wasn't that comforting a gesture.  Then his face grew somber again.  "And call me stupid, or stubborn...but if you get involved now..."

"What?" she growled.  "It'll make it worse?"  He nodded wordlessly.  "You're right: that is stupid and stubborn.  I'm not some Human maiden to be spared the harshness of the world.  I'm an Alpha, and these mewling cubs have tried to lay claim to my territory.  To someone I..." she paused, biting off her words mid-stride and intentionally looking away from him.  "They've attacked one of my trainees," she continued lamely before regaining her fire.  "If you don't want the authorities involved, that's your choice, but I'm not going to sit idly by with scavengers prowling around."

Sam met her eyes for several long moments before he looked down and away from her, hiding his swollen face in his thick, red hair.  "Well...thanks..." he muttered softly.  "I...guess I just got used to...no one being willing or brave enough to help.  To not being able to ask for it.  I thought that if I learned to fight for myself then...maybe..."

She stopped him there, big paw raised and chucking him under the chin as softly as possible.  He looked up at her again as she leaned down toward him.  "I get it," she grunted, softer now.  "Even if it's dumb, macho, stubborn, and thickheaded."  He wilted, looking annoyed at her reprimanding of him but she muffled his retort with the same finger across his soft lips.  "Now, I believe I said I'd make it up to you for being a good patient."

His eye went a bit wider and his freckled face, even as bruised as it was, somehow managed to look as if he were blushing again.  "H-how are you going to do that?" he muttered past her muffling, fluffy digit.

"Dinner," she responded curtly and plucked up her phone once again.  Compared to him, the device might have been used more as a tablet as she tapped on the logo for the delivery app she used.  Loading up the screen, she perused options.  Most were closed at this time of night, but eventually she found a favorite that delivered late.  "You like Chinese?"  He nodded wordlessly.  In rapid succession she took down what he wanted to eat, as well as several items for  herself, and as the order processed, she waited by the door, checking through the blinds to make sure no one was watching the store.

A few minutes later, a delivery bike jingled up to the doors and she unlocked them, paid the driver his tip, and hurried back inside, relocking it behind her.  She brought the steaming bags over to him, still laid out on the couch, and divvied them up appropriately.  She sat on the floor as they ate, still taller than him on the ground than he was right then.  They ate in relative silence, trading occasional bites from their containers and her asking him the occasional question about various comics.  Sam really knew his franchises, she noticed, and she found it easy to keep him distracted and cheerful by focusing him on his work.

Eventually, halfway through their meal, the Human swallowed his mouthful of Sesame chicken and rice and lowered his chopsticks, looking thoughful, smiling softly.  She rumbled, getting his attention and he chuckled, now looking sheepish.  "It's...just nice.  Having dinner with a beautiful, if terrifying woman.  If I knew this was what it took to have what anyone else might dare to call a date, I'd have gotten my ass kicked a lot sooner."

Nemea scowled over at him from her steaming bowl of Mongolian beef and vegetables, making her whiskers curl slightly as she hid her smile.  "Make your jokes now, Sam Raife," she growled softly, eyes glinting.  "We have a lot to talk about once you've eaten and gotten your rest."  He nodded, focusing again on his food but she grabbed his attention once more.  "And for the record."

He met her eyes, looking deeply and intimately into their depths with his brilliant, sapphire orb.  It hurt her so much to not be able to see both of them.  Even so, despite all the pain and the injuries, the bruising and small hints of blood, he was so unfairly handsome.  She found herself caring about him in ways she had not cared for anyone in years.

"For the record?" he repeated.

"Dare."

He stared at her, uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then his eye went wide.  Even his swollen shut one tried to crack open, showing a sliver of white as his eyebrows climbed up into his thick bangs.  His face broke in a huge, dopey grin, not hindered at all despite the split lip or swollen jaw.  She nodded at his food and he returned to chewing on a thick mouthful, trying to the chewing to hide that same smile.  She growled deep in her chest and leaned her weight just a bit more against the couch he rest upon, making it groan.  He returned the gesture lightly, his shoulder brushing against hers in return.

For tonight, he was safe.  She would make sure of it.