Bab 85: Chapter 85
"Well, I'm a football player," I quickly said again, feeling strangely uncomfortable. "So being associated with cheerleaders is pretty normal."
I could tell that my evasive response obviously didn't fully satisfy Diane, but for some reason, I felt quite reluctant to talk about Regina, it just didn't feel right... This is dumb.
"Actually, 'the cheerleader,' as House calls her, is Regina George" I quickly said ignoring my uncomfortable feeling about the topic. "She and I were in a relationship for a couple of weeks," with how nervous I felt I added it almost immediately.
It wasn't like it was a secret or anything, so my own reluctance to talk about it annoyed me.
"Oh," Diane murmured, now keeping her gaze forward as she walked beside me. "Were you 'going out' with her?" she asked a moment later, her voice losing volume as the question went on.
"Oh... yeah," I answered, letting out a faintly amused sigh.
After my words, neither of us said anything for several seconds, the silence growing awkward. "Why did it end?" Diane suddenly asked, breaking the quiet midway to our destination.
"What?" I asked, caught off guard by the sudden question, even though I knew exactly what she was referring to.
"Your relationship, why did it end?" Diane asked with genuine interest.
"It was because of a misunderstanding," I replied, doubting my own response. Regina's behavior that day was obviously a performance, but it didn't seem important enough to figure out why.
"A misunderstanding?" Diane asked, surprised. "Is it normal to end a relationship over a misunderstanding?" she inquired formally, narrowing her eyes as if analyzing the thought.
"Maybe?" I replied, scratching my head, unsure of my answer. "I think as long as there's good communication, a misunderstanding wouldn't be enough to break a relationship," thinking about the successful relationships I knew I continued, feeling slightly more confident.
"Didn't you have good communication with Regina George?" Diane asked, now looking at me with interest.
"Well, not really," I answered, recalling all those days in the cafeteria, shrugging my shoulders.
Nodding slowly, Diane went quiet for a moment. From the way her eyes narrowed, she was clearly lost in thought. "And what about you and me? Do you think we have good communication?" she finally asked.
"Yeah, definitely," I answered seriously, nodding calmly.
"Are you sure?" Diane asked, slightly worried, tilting her head. "I did some calculations, and based on the number of words I speak in each of our average conversations, I dominate about sixty to seventy percent of the talking time, approximately," Diane said quickly, frowning.
"It's that number, right?" I asked amusedly, not doubting Diane's capabilities but still surprised by the sudden percentage.
Hearing my question, Diane paused for a moment, tilting her head, probably recalculating. "Yeah, sixty-two percent and rising, approximately," she responded confidently a second later.
"Do you remember all our conversations?" I asked, amused.
"Every word. Don't you?" Diane asked, widening her eyes slightly with concern.
"Is that a joke?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Diane said, pressing her lips together as if trying not to smile.
"Really funny," I declared, genuinely amused. "I remember everything we talk about, but not word for word," I assured Diane with a calm smile.
"Yes, I know," Diane murmured, nodding with a visible smile. "But the percentage still proves we don't have 'good communication,'" Diane added, looking worried again.
"Diane," I said, stopping abruptly a few steps away from the skills lab and gently taking her hand. "I should've been much clearer. I don't think the important thing for good communication between two people is the comparative percentage of spoken words," I assured her with a faint smile. "I think what really matters is the content of the time shared."
"But—" Diane began nervously.
"But," I quickly interrupted her, "if the percentage is so important to you," I added, fairly certain it was, "then I'll just have to talk a lot more than I normally do," I said with a smile.
"So, your plan is to try to equal the amount of words per conversation?" Diane asked, smiling slightly and biting her lip.
"That's absolutely correct," I replied, relieved that Diane seemed more at ease. "For example, this is the skills lab, where we, the scientists working to heal others—also known as physicians or doctors—practice patching people up and applying stitches, among other things," I said quickly, pointing to the lab door. "Follow me, please," I added as I walked into the room.
"Do you know how to perform the inverted continuous suture?" Diane suddenly asked, interested, as we walked toward the door.
"Inverted continuous suture?" I asked, surprised and amused. "Where did you hear that?"
"One of the books I read in the diagnostic lounge mentioned it," Diane explained easily.
One of the books? She hadn't been alone there for long—how many books had she read?
"But that's not important," Diane quickly said, shaking her head. "I'm asking questions to give you the chance to talk more," she murmured excitedly, leaning slightly toward me, as if sharing a secret.
I was pretty sure that's how a conversation works.
Smiling at Diane, I said, "Excellent question!" Pretending to be some sort of tour guide, I exclaimed excitedly, letting go of Diane's cold hand. "The inverted continuous suture is an advanced technique primarily used in gastrointestinal surgery," I explained. "Specifically to close cavities in organs like the intestine or stomach," I continued, opening the lab door and allowing Diane to enter first. "And yes, I know how to perform it in its two variations: the Connell suture and the Cushing suture," I added, stopping next to Diane after entering the skills lab. Feeling strangely proud, I asked with a smile, imitating her tone, "How am I doing?"
Still biting her lip to avoid smiling widely, Diane gave me a thumbs-up, clearly enjoying the game.
"Excellent," I said, clapping my hands playfully. "Now, if we walk this way, the lab has all sorts of synthetic tissue: silicone, polyurethane, elastomers, gels, and even, by special request, pigskin," I said quickly, showing her each material—except the last one. "If you still have time miss, I can demonstrate both variations of the inverted continuous suture," I continued, opening my arms and gathering the necessary materials.
"Yes, I'm reasonably convinced that I still have enough time, and I find it particularly interesting to observe the suture in person," Diane said, biting her lip to hide her smile and clearly trying to keep up the game. "I really enjoy this social intercourse. It's funny," Diane murmured with a visible smile, leaning close to me again as if sharing a secret.
"Yeah, it is," I murmured back, amused, leaning closer as well.
Without realizing it, talking with Diane about whatever came to her mind, I completely lost track of time—and possibly some of my voice.
At some point, the skills lab door opened, surprising both Diane and me, who were sitting quite close to each other.
"I knew you were here. House is back from court," Chase said, grinning widely as he looked at us.
"Court?" I asked incredulously, standing up.
"Yeah, Dr. Hamilton was on his way here to disconnect the patient, so the hospital lawyers managed to get an emergency hearing with a judge to stop it," Chase explained.
"Okay," I murmured, surprised that house managed to avoid compiance with a DNR. "So, now what?" I asked, walking behind Chase—not without giving Diane a silent gesture to follow us.
"We didn't get the chance to obtain the MRI, so it's quite possible House is starting the patient on Cytoxan," Chase replied, shrugging.
"Based on what?" I asked, confused. "Did you find something with the biopsy?"
"Yeah, inflammation," Chase replied, nodding. "It's a leap of faith by House. We couldn't risk our careers like that."
"Yeah, and he already has to defend himself in court for ignoring the DNR," I added sarcastically, shrugging.
"That was his reasoning too," Chase replied, nodding as he pressed his lips together.
"All right, thanks for letting me know, Chase," I said, nodding to him.
"Oh, don't mention it. I'll leave you two alone—again," Chase declared, raising his eyebrows suggestively as he walked away from the room.
"I'm going to talk to House," I said to Diane, checking my watch and noticing that there was still plenty of time before we had to leave. "Sorry," I added with a smile, as I was interrupting our pleasant conversation.
"It's okay. You have responsibilities," Diane said with a faint smile, looking directly into my eyes. "Besides, I like being here."
"Yeah, me too," I replied, not really knowing what to say as I looked into Diane's eyes. "I mean, I like being here too," I added with exaggeratedly raised eyebrows, joking and making Diane chuckle softly, "hey, don't laugh at me," I said, feigning offense as I walked alongside Diane out of the room, making her laugh a little more freely as she hid her smile behind her hand.
Not long after, we arrived at the diagnostic lounge, where Diane once again took a seat in the corner of the room, picking up another book while I approached House's office.
Inside House's office, he was accompanied by another man, whose badge on his lapel clearly indicated he was a doctor from another hospital—possibly Dr. Hamilton.
"Oh hi," Dr. Hamilton said, raising his hand in surprise upon seeing me. "I'm Dr. Hamilton," he added, introducing himself.
"Nice to meet you, I'm—" I was saying, but House interrupted me.
"This is Mark Buffalo, the janitor," House quickly said. "Mark, remember you're only supposed to come for the trash during your scheduled hours," House added, tilting his head and speaking slowly, as if trying to make sure I remember every word.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, it seems I forgot again," I said, patting my head lightly and feigning embarrassment.
"Oh, don't worry, Marky Mark," House said with a smile, waving one hand dismissively. "Now, Marty, you were saying you were going to kill John Henry?" House asked maliciously, turning his attention back to the other doctor, Dr. Hamilton, startled by House's words, looked at me with concern.
"No, no, John Henry is going to die by his own choice. I mean, I'm going to disconnect him from his ventilator because he's very ill," Dr. Hamilton quickly began to explain, glancing nervously at me. "It's a standard procedure for someone who's signed a DNR," he added hastily, prompting House to smile even more.
"Dr. Hamilton, hey," Dr. Foreman said, greeting the man from the doorway of the office and stopping his awkward explanation. "How you doin'?" he asked as he walked over to the other doctor.
"Ah, Eric," Dr. Hamilton said, clearly relieved by the interruption. "Hey, how you doin'?" he asked in return, shaking Foreman's hand.
"I'm sorry" looking embarrassed Dr. Foreman said, "I should have never put your patient on IVIG," he slowly added.
"It's not your fault, Eric," Dr. Hamilton said with a kind smile, trying to reassure him.
"No, it's mine Eric," House chimed in sarcastically. Like me, he had been entirely ignored during the other two doctors' conversation.
"That's not what I said," Dr. Hamilton quickly denied.
"I sort of understood that," I said, exaggerating innocence to avoid smiling.
"Thanks, Mark," House said, grinning broadly and pointing at me.
"Mark?" Dr. Foreman murmured, confused.
"Everybody asks about you out in L.A.," Dr. Hamilton said with surprising ease, managing to move past the awkward moment with a smile directed at Foreman.
"How's the old place doing?" Foreman asked, apparently ignoring the playful banter between House and me, though he briefly gave me an odd look.
"Oh, this is wonderful," House rudely interrupted any response Dr. Hamilton was about to give. "But before you guys break out the oil, I should point out that you can't pull the plug," House quickly added. "I have a court order."
"You used to, but—" Dr. Hamilton started to say, but House interrupted him.
"I have the right to face my accuser," House declared, pretending to be excited. "Judge said so," he added, tilting his head as if he were a small child.
"Not if no one's accusing you," Dr. Hamilton calmly said, wiping the grin off House's face. "All the charges have been dropped," he added slowly, with what looked like pity on his face.
"He doesn't have to die," House finally said after a moment of silence, for the first time showing a hint of genuine emotion.
"It's not Wegener's," Dr. Foreman said, just as surprised as I was, calmly assuring House.
If it really wasn't Wegener's, then his lungs might be able to handle being taken off the ventilator.
A moment later, Dr. Hamilton said his goodbyes, awkwardly including me as he left the office with Dr. Foreman.
"Now what?" I asked House as I sat down in one of the free chairs in front of his desk.
"Now we do nothing," House said slowly, letting out a brief sigh.
"Hey, PJ," Dr. Wilson suddenly appearing at the office door with a kind smile said. "I heard they're going to do it—disconnect your patient," he added, focusing on House.
"Have you been eavesdropping?" House asked sarcastically, smiling.
"No, Cuddy said your charges were dropped," Wilson explained calmly, shaking his head.
"Oh, the lengths some people go to for a peaceful death," House remarked, shaking his head lightly in mock disbelief.
"Yeah, who'd have thought?" Dr. Wilson asked ironically.
"Well, let's go see someone who doesn't have to, you know, die," House said sarcastically as he walked out of his office. "Coming, kid?" he asked. "It might be an enlightening experience."
"Sure," I said, nodding slowly. I was familiar with the process of disconnecting someone from life support through books, but I'd never witnessed it before.
"Uh, Diane, I'll be back in a few minutes," I said with a smile as I left House's office with the two doctors.
"Oh, yeah, don't worry about it," Diane replied calmly with a smile.
"Oh my God, I didn't see you there," Dr. Wilson said, startled and apologetic upon noticing Diane.
"Oh, yeah, Ramanujan has this ability to stand incredibly still in one spot until she's practically invisible," House said sarcastically. "She's also like a human calculator—fun stuff; I can show you later," he quickly added as he walked out of the office.
"Ramanujan?" Dr. Wilson asked Diane, raising an eyebrow in confusion.
"My name is Diane Adler," Diane said, rolling her eyes with a hint of exasperation—something I hadn't seen from her before, quickly introducing herself.
"Oh, I'm Dr. James Wilson," Dr. Wilson said, still puzzled by Diane's presence, introducing himself hastily.
"Wilson, kid," House shouted from outside the lounge, urging us to follow him.
"Oh, sorry. It was nice to meet you," Wilson said to Diane with a smile.
"Likewise," Diane replied formally, nodding.
"See you in a minute," I said to Diane with a smile, walking out of the lounge with Dr. Wilson.
"So, is she your...?" Dr. Wilson asked as we walked behind House, leaning closer to me with a raised eyebrow.
"Friend, yes," I quickly answered to the unfinished question.
"Sure," Wilson murmured with a broad smile. "So, who's Ramanujan?" he asked curiously a moment later.
"I think he was an Indian mathematician who died in 1920," I replied, not entirely sure.
"Of course," Dr. Wilson muttered, running a hand along his forhead.
"If it's Wegener's, his lungs won't be able to handle it," House said a few minutes later as we stood outside the patient's room, watching the man surrounded by a priest, the woman who had been in his room while he was in a coma, and Drs. Foreman and Hamilton. "As soon as they pull that plug, he'll die," House added grimly.
"That's why they call it 'pulling the plug,'" Dr. Wilson said sarcastically, causing both House and me to look at him, surprised by his cold words.
Meanwhile, inside the room, the priest finished speaking to the patient, stepping aside to let the woman say her goodbyes. She nodded at Dr. Hamilton, signaling him to proceed with his duty.
Slowly, Dr. Hamilton removed the ventilator tube from the patient's throat and stepped back, leaving everyone to wait for the inevitable.
Immediately after the ventilator tube was removed, it felt as though time slowed down deliberately—one second passed, then the next one, and then another. Surprisingly, the patient seemed to be breathing.
"It's not Wegener's," I murmured, watching the patient breathe on his own. Both Dr. Wilson and House turned to look at me.
"He's breathing on his own," Dr. Wilson said, nodding in surprise.
"Wrong again," House murmured slowly, walking away from the room.
"I should follow him," I said nervously, watching House walk away.
"Oh, he's fine. It's just this thing he has about solving cases, you know?" Dr. Wilson said, smiling at me reassuringly.
"Oh, no, it's just that he's heading to the diagnostic lounge," I quickly explained.
"Oh, yeah, your 'friend' is still there," Dr. Wilson said, nodding knowingly.
"Yeah, my friend Diane is still there," I replied, choosing to ignore the double meaning in Wilson's words. A moment later, I nodded in farewell and walked after House, who wasn't moving particularly fast.
When I arrived behind House at the diagnostic lounge, I saw Diane, who had previously been sitting in one corner of the room, now seated next to Cameron at the main table. Cameron, who was leaning in close to Diane, clearly discussing something 'secret', immediately straightened up in her chair when she saw me enter.
"That doesn't look suspicious at all," I said jokingly, amused by Cameron's attempt to mask any emotion on her face.
"Oh, we were just talking about what you and I have been doing this week," Diane explained calmly with a smile, seemingly unaware of why the situation might appear suspicious.
"Diane!" Cameron exclaimed incredulously, as if Diane had broken some pact of silence.
"What?" Diane asked, confused, looking at Cameron.
"PJ isn't supposed to know," Cameron quickly explained to Diane in a murmur.
"Oh, I didn't know that," Diane said, surprised. "Sorry," she added, slightly embarrassed.
"Don't worry, we've got plenty of time to talk more, and I'll make sure to tell you when and when not PJ is supposed to find out," Cameron murmured amusedly, looking at me with one eyebrow raised.
"Oh, this is really cute—" House declared mockingly, only to be interrupted before he could continue.
"He's stable, but one of his arms is now paralyzed," Dr. Wilson said as he entered the lounge, followed by Dr. Foreman, cutting off any continuation of House's joke.
"The real question is, why is he still alive?" House asked, nodding at Wilson's words and understanding the seriousness of the matter.
"Do you think he's just being stubborn?" Dr. Wilson asked sarcastically as he walked over to the bar table in the room to make himself a coffee.
"He's alive because you were wrong," Dr. Foreman responded sharply, following Wilson to also make a coffee. "It's not Wegener's."
"Yeah, I seem to be doing that a lot lately," House declared with fake disappointment. "I'm so sorry, people keep living because of my mistakes," he added, raising his eyebrows in exaggerated humility, causing Dr. Foreman to shake his head in exasperation.
"The progression of the paralysis pretty much confirmed Hamilton was right," Cameron said slowly, looking at House with disappointment. "It's A.L.S."
"Assuming this is a progression of his paralysis," House replied casually, shrugging.
"He can't move his arm," Chase said, frowning with obviousness.
"Yes, his arm is paralyzed, and yes, his legs are paralyzed," House replied, nodding slowly with each affirmation. "Why is everyone so gung-ho to connect those two conditions?" A moment later, House asked, feigning frustration as he raised his hands dramatically.
"His arm paralysis could be the result of a stroke when he was intubated," I offered, trying to add to House's theory, causing Dr. Foreman to slowly shake his head in disappointment.
"Thanks," House said triumphantly, pointing at me with a smile. "You can think we're wrong, but that's no reason to stop thinking," he said pointing to both me and himself, addressing Dr. Foreman.
"How about this one?" Foreman asked confidently. "He's not our patient," he added decisively.
"Nope, not good enough," House replied smugly after pretending to think for a moment with his hand on his chin.
"I like the stroke theory," Cameron murmured, shrugging. "Blood clots are common in paralyzed patients," Cameron quickly explained seeing the betrayed look Dr. Foreman gave her, "The inactivity causes—"
"Not interested in why," House interrupted Cameron abruptly. "Let's get an M.R. angiogram, check for an embolic stroke."
"He doesn't want you treating him," Dr. Foreman said frustratedly, stopping House from saying anything further.
"They dropped the court order," House defended himself quickly, shrugging.
"Yeah, and they dropped the charges against Ted Kennedy," Dr. Wilson said jokingly. "Doesn't mean he should call the family and see if they're free to get a sundae," he added, causing everyone in the room to look at him strangely, not understanding his joke.
"Good point," House declared sarcastically. "But I can go within 50 feet of him now," he added, raising his free hand to his side as he walked out of the room.
"And that is our cue to go," I said, smiling at Diane as I checked my watch, prompting the rest of the doctors in the room to check their own watches.
House was right when he talked about my punctuality. If there were anything urgent left to do in the case, I obviously wouldn't leave. If I was correct and the patient had a clot, the operation to remove it wouldn't happen until the next day, likely in the morning. Otherwise—
"What, now?" Diane asked, surprised as she glanced at the wall clock in the room. "But you haven't finished the case," she added, strangely nervous.
"Oh, it's over," Dr. Foreman joked, sipping his coffee. A second later, still holding the cup to his lips, he frowned. "I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked, seemingly noticing Diane's presence for the first time.
"Diane Adler," Diane said, standing and smiling faintly at Cameron in farewell as she introduced herself.
"All right," Dr. Foreman muttered, still confused but dismissing the situation as unimportant.
"See you tomorrow?" Chase asked.
"Yeah, maybe early in the morning. Depends on what House finds," I replied easily, nodding.
Upon hearing my words, Dr. Foreman muttered to himself, shaking his head and exhaling in obvious frustration.
"Well, enjoy it while you don't have a contract," Dr. Wilson said sarcastically, sipping his coffee. "Meanwhile, the rest of us will keep working our shifts," he added with a sigh as I walked out of the lounge.
"Well, see you tomorrow, PJ," Cameron said, stretching her tired back and smiling faintly. "Diane, it was a real pleasure meeting you," she added, smiling at Diane. "We have to talk again," she said meaningfully, glancing at me as she continued speaking to my friend.
"Isn't it hard?" Diane asked as we walked down the hospital corridors toward the exit.
"What?" I asked, puzzled.
"Leaving patients and going home," Diane explained, glancing at me sideways.
"Yes," I said after a long moment, surprised by Diane's suddenly loaded question. I remembered every patient I had to leave behind at the hospital's doors over the years. "But eventually, you learn to cope, I think."
"I don't think I can simply go home," Diane murmured to herself.
"At first, I don't think anyone can," I said, smiling at Diane slowly. "Just leaving your responsibilities at the hospital and going home. But there comes a time when you realize there are other things more important outside the hospital—your family, friends, loved ones, yourself," I added calmly. "Well, obviously, if there's an emergency that requires all hands on deck, you won't leave when your shift ends. But in cases like this, where there's no imminent emergency, it's different."
"I think I understand," Diane said, nodding slowly and pouting slightly.
"Glad to hear it," I said, amused.
After saying goodbye to the nurses from afar—who seemed very interested, chatting and smiling as they glanced at Diane—we arrived at my car in the hospital's reception area.
"Do you want me to take you home?" I asked Diane as I checked my watch, worried because she seemed a bit tired. "I'm still heading to the gym. It's a noisy place full of guys who smell like sweat," I added with a faint smile, looking Diane in the eye. It would be quite amusing to compare calm Diane to everyone at the gym.
"I'd like to see your martial arts training if it's not a problem for you," Diane said slowly, opening her eyes wide and keeping her gaze fixed on mine.
"You might regret it," I replied jokingly after a couple of seconds of losing myself in Diane's large eyes and swallowing with some difficulty.
"Why?" Diane asked, confused.
"I sweat a lot, and the drive from the gym to the ranch is anything but short," I said, smiling mischievously at Diane.
"I don't think you're capable of smelling bad. Since I've known you, you always give off a pleasant scent," Diane declared, frowning and speaking as if stating simple facts. "Even when we went to the public pool."
"Well, thanks," I said, slightly embarrassed, sure Diane hadn't realized how bold her words were.
The drive to the gym was uneventful aside from Diane constantly picking which songs to play.
"Is this it?" Diane asked, puzzled, as we arrived at the parking lot of the small strip mall where the gym was located.
The place, sandwiched between a video rental store and a mini supermarket, had no sign advertising the business. Instead, it featured a large window allowing people to see those training inside.
"Yep, welcome to Case Walker's dojo," I declared theatrically, opening my arms as we walked toward the gym.
"PJ, my man!" when I opened the gym door, one of the clients closest to it, a man who had been training with us since the gym opened, said happily when he saw me.
"Mister Sanderson," I replied with a smile, matching his enthusiasm.
"Oh," the man said, briefly losing his smile as he looked behind me in surprise.
"Yeah, Mister Sanderson, this is Diane," I said, stepping aside and knowing exactly why the man was surprised as I introduced my friend.
"Ma'am," Mr. Sanderson said with a wide smile, bowing his head slightly.
Apart from the visit from my mom, Mrs. Cooper, or Meemaw on the gym's opening day, no other woman had set foot inside the place. Outside, however, many women who visited the other stores would stop for a few seconds in front of the wide window to see what was going on inside.
As Diane greeted with a small wave, I noticed, slightly amused, how she wrinkled her nose, clearly due to the smell of the gym.
Quickly, just like Mr. Sanderson, everyone else in the gym noticed Diane's presence beside me, causing the previously noisy room to fall completely silent.
"Come on people, the bell hasn't rung yet!" Tim, walking toward us and clapping loudly, broke the silence in the room, prompting everyone to get back to work. "So you must be Diane Adler. I've heard so much about you," he said with a broad smile, extending his hand.
"I suppose you're referring to things PJ has said and not that you've read any of my papers," Diane replied formally, taking his comically large hand compared to hers. "If that's the case, I've also heard a lot about you."
"Oh really?" Tim asked, smiling at me, apparently choosing to ignore the first part of Diane's response.
"Yes, PJ told me you were an impressively large man, making it quite difficult to beat you in a fight, but that he still manages to do so most of the time," Diane stated calmly and shamelessly, likely paraphrasing one of our many conversations, which, as I now knew, she had completely memorized.
Her words made me choke on my own saliva.
"Oh, 'most of the time,' huh?" Tim asked, smiling though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, as he tilted his head slightly at me.
"Well, that sounds like a direct challenge," Case declared with a cocky smile from nearby, raising one of his eyebrows. "Let's figure it out in the ring. Go warm up," he ordered, nodding toward the gym while walking closer to Diane. "Case Walker," he introduced himself kindly, extending his hand to my friend.
"Diane, when they're done, you can sit in that chair if you want," I said quickly, pointing to the tall chair behind the reception desk, trying not to interrupt Case or Diane.
"Go warm up," Case ordered me, not so kindly, waving his now-free hand toward me.
"Yes, sir," I said jokingly, giving the most pathetic imitation of a military salute, only because Case had his back to me, and walked into the gym seriously.
A little while later, both Tim and Case joined me. Tim was doing his own warm-up, while Case continued with his coaching.
"'Most of the time,'" Tim murmured with a huff while stretching on the floor, shaking his head.
"Come on, I didn't mean it like that," I said nervously, opening my hands, worried my friend might actually be upset.
Tim simply frowned at me, staring intently for a moment.
"I know, I'm just messing with you," he finally said after a couple of seconds, losing his frown and smiling broadly. "If I were trying to impress a girl, I'd do the same thing, but unlike you, I actually win most of our sparring matches."
Surprised by Tim's slightly arrogant words, I raised one of my eyebrows and remained silent for several seconds. "We'll see then," I muttered, narrowing my eyes while warming up one of my shoulders by pushing my elbow with my forearm.
"I guess we will," Tim said with a slow nod, bending down to touch his toes without bending his knees even slightly.
Now feeling competitive, I focused much more on warming up. For some reason, this sparring session felt far more crucial than any of the many others we'd had over time.
While warming up, I occasionally glanced at Diane, who sat several steps away in the reception area, seemingly reading the accounting book.
Not long after, dressed appropriately for what we were about to do—sports shorts and anti-slip shoes—Tim and I geared up with our gloves.
"You need to work on your footwork and takedowns. Keep your guard up at all times," Case said seriously as he checked that my gloves were on properly and helped me fit my mouthguard, having already done the same for Tim.
In this type of sparring, where we treated it like a real fight, Case would usually give advice to both fighters before starting. Since it would be unfair to receive help between rounds, others would act as the corners for the fighters, simply providing water and wiping sweat.
As we stepped into the ring, as always happened when Tim and I sparred, the rest of the gym excitedly cheered, standing just a few steps away from the action.
"You got this, Champ," my corner, Mr. Sanderson, said, clapping me on the back with a friendly but firm pat. "Just do that ground thing you do."
Like the vast majority of people in the gym, Mr. Sanderson, being a much more traditional Texan man, trained mostly in boxing under Case's guidance, considering the jiu-jitsu Case taught as nothing more than 'ground things'.
Grateful for his encouragement, I nodded and offered my fist, which Mr. Sanderson quickly bumped with a big smile.
"Okay, we're treating this like a real fight. That means no helmets. You know the rules of my house: no hits to the back of the head, no eye pokes, no low blows, listen to my instructions, and protect yourselves at all times," Case said seriously, holding Tim and me by the shoulders in the center of the ring. "Touch gloves."
In a small ritual Tim and I always performed before sparring, we exchanged an intricate fist bump and nodded before heading to our corners.
"Ready?" Case asked, pointing at me. I nodded. "Ready?" he repeated, this time pointing at Tim. "Go," Case ordered, stepping back against the ropes.
Quickly raising my guard, I walked to the center of the ring with my hand outstretched for a second fist bump.
Tim was definitely stronger and taller than me, giving him much more reach and power in his punches.
As we exchanged blows, I mostly tried to redirect or avoid direct hits. However, redirecting Tim's punches was much easier said than done.
"Come on, Champ, you're letting him press you," I miraculously heard Mr. Sanderson's voice over the cheers and shouts of encouragement. "Start hitting back."
Although Mr. Sanderson wasn't Case, and his advice wasn't always 100% accurate, he was right this time.
Feigning a low kick to Tim's leg, I managed to make him instinctively focus on absorbing the hit, giving me an opening to take a solid step and land a punch on the side of his face—my first clean hit since the fight started.
While Tim was slightly stunned by the hit, I took the opportunity to move quickly and gain his back.
"Good!" Mr. Sanderson shouted excitedly from my corner, though he probably didn't fully understand what was happening.
Without wasting a second, I used one of Tim's legs as a kind of ladder to position myself for an arm lock, trying to swing my leg over his shoulder and across his chest. Unfortunately, Tim, knowing what I was attempting, managed to free his arm and used his weight to take us down.
Knowing that I couldn't do much with Tim on top of me, I used forearm and elbow strikes to fend him off, shielding myself from his blows. Taking advantage of the fact that Tim wasn't focused on a ground submission, I quickly wriggled out, pushing off with my legs.
Once "free" of Tim's reach, I immediately rolled away on the ground, creating space between him and me.
"Not scared at all, Champ, not at all," Mr. Sanderson shouted again, clapping with a big grin.
Breathing slightly heavily and now covered in a sheen of sweat, I prepared once more for another round of strikes with Tim, who was also standing with his guard up, equally sweaty.
Punching people was definitely a great cardio workout.
Nodding at Tim, I slowly walked with him to the center of the ring. But before we could start exchanging blows, the bell rang, stopping us both abruptly.
Smiling at my friend, we bumped fists once more before walking back to our corners.
"A hell of a fight," people outside the ring shouted words of encouragement as I walked to my corner.
"You're doing incredibly good Champ, by the way, it looks like I have some help," Mr. Sanderson pointing with his head said with a smile as he handed me water from my bottle. At that moment, alongside Mr. Sanderson, Diane's incredibly delicate and cold hands, holding a towel, began to dry my face and head.
"You don't have to be here if you don't want to," I said between breaths, after letting Mr. Sanderson take my mouthguard, as I noticed the nervous expression on Diane's face.
"I'm fine here. Just please don't let yourself get hit too much," Diane said slowly, with what sounded like a lump in her throat, as she carefully dried the sides of my head.
"I'll do my best," I said seriously trying not to snort, noticing Diane's concern.
It was much easier said than done.
Before I could say anything else, I noticed Mr. Sanderson weakly nudging Diane's arm, as if encouraging her to do something. Nodding repeatedly and quickly, Diane seemed to gather her courage before, with her hands still on my face, leaning in to give me a quick and nervous kiss on the cheek.
"Good luck," Diane murmured, stepping back.
It was just sparring, really nothing to lose... but I was definitely going to win.
---
Author Thoughts:
As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, not a fighter, not Magnus Carlsen and not Michael Phelps.
Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:
RandomPasserby96
11332223
Victor_Venegas
With that said,
I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.
Thank you for reading! :D
PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.
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