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The Annex wasn’t a finite space, something which had stressed Lysa out from the beginning. Vikram had tried to explain that the Annex simply moved and grew to fit the needs of those within, with limits, of course, but every explanation was met with Lysa giving long lectures on modern physics and science. Interesting stuff, but it paled in comparison to the glory of the Library.
Despite the hesitance or fanatical curiosity of his new wards, they all took to the annex like ducks to water. Lysa had a whole workshop with computers and work spaces and lots of weird equipment, and Connor had claimed a room as a private study, so he could write in peace. Charlie, as guardian, had gotten a small training room, an addition to the annex Vikram hadn’t had the chance to look at yet, considering how busy Gregor’s schemes of world domination kept them.
Vikram let himself in without knocking, since Charlie, as he correctly guessed, was training. The majority of the room was taken up by a sparring mat, probably for practice and warmups. A device Vikram could not name loomed in the corner, alongside assorted weights, a punching bag, a pull up bar, and a bar like the one in the ballet studio. The most impressive sight in the room, however, was the sight of Charlie whaling on the punching bag.
Charlie was wearing different clothes than he’d usually see her in. Apparently, showing midriff was no longer considered indecent, since she was in a garment that served only to cover her chest. Her shorts were made of a black material that had a sort of shine to it, stopping right above her knee. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swished and moved as she did. As always, she fought bare-knuckled. His eyes stayed locked on Charlie’s movements. She noticed him as he did, but that didn't break her concentration.
She flowed like the Nile, ferocious and relentless. Her blows never shook the bag, but Vikram could’ve sworn she was hitting it so hard the fabric was splitting. He could see the muscles of her back flex like steel cables. It wasn’t just her raw strength that was impressive, it was the way she could string her blows together, like a prima ballerina on the stage. Hell, the more he watched her, the more he could see her incorporating ballet moves into her practice. Spinning, kicking, body carving long, languid lines that turned into brutal hits, sweat glinting on her flushed skin.
All that brutality and grace… Vikram couldn’t help but think back to when he was under the influence of Cupid's arrow, frantically grabbing and gnashing and screaming at Charlie like he was a rabid dog. Not his proudest moment. As Charlie struck the bag with her elbow, so hard he feared she’d split the bag, a terrible truth dawned upon Vikram: Charlie had been holding back, hadn’t she?
When they were on the grave, the most she’d done was kick him and grab the collar of his jacket like a dog. She hadn’t even tried to punch him! She had most certainly held back against him.
How embarrassing.
What the hell did she take him for?
He lifted his cane, and marched over to Charlie. Her hair was pulled back, and he could see the bright blue of her ear buds.
She stepped back from the bag to catch her breath. Vikram took that chance to pluck an earbud from Charlie’s ear. Then she resumed fighting as if nothing had happened. He pressed the plastic bud into his ear. Heavy vocals and slamming electric guitar crashed into him, booming around his skull. But he could find the rhythm in the snare and brutal lyrics— he could see it too, in Charlie’s rapid punches and footwork.
“This is System of a Down, correct?” He asked, familiar with the band. His wards had made him a spot-iffy playlist with all their favorite songs. Charlie’s musical offerings were either fight music, or songs best suited to an odd pleasure of the modern world; sobbing while eating straight from a carton of ice cream.
Her smile answered his question before she did.
“ “Yup! Shame is the name of the song. It’s a collab with Wu-Tang clan.”
An odd name for a band, but Vikram found quite a bit about the modern word odd. Most of the artists Charlie listened to had very weird names, like My Chemical Romance, Limp Bizkit, Korn, Evanescence, and Rage Against The Machine. Perhaps they were supposed to sound weird, because their cacophonous noise was… incredibly hard to get used to. Especially Limp Bizkit. They weren’t as bad as the podcasts Connor made him listen to (the point of listening to a conversation he couldn’t add to escaped him), or Lysa’s bizarre taste (what was a Gec and why were there 100 of them?) but they were still difficult to adjust to.
The song in his ear pounded into the chorus, and Vikram’s brows pinched together in confusion.
“I thought Mr. System of a Down was white?” He asked. Charlie frowned.
“…he is?”
“Connor told me Caucasians weren’t supposed to say—“
Charlies strike glanced the bag, making it swing.
“They’re absolutely not,” she panted, “but Wu-Tang made him.”
Vikram nodded.
“That’s fair— Icertainly wouldn’t want to confront the Clan of Wu-Tang.”
Charlie guffawed, and as the song ended, kicked high and slammed!! her heel into the bag, stopping it dead.
“I certainly wouldn’t want to confront you either,” Vikram murmurs. That makes her smile even bigger. The next song comes on, and Vikram perks up at the sound of the percussion alone.
“DESTROYA by My Chemical Romance! Right?”
Charlie clapped politely.
“Ding ding ding!”
Charlie walked to the… bizarre device in the corner, and stood on its oil black carapace. She poked some buttons on the machine's head, and it blinked to life. The strip of rubber at the bottom started to rotate slowly. Like a conveyor belt.
“What is that?” Vikram asked. Charlie stepped on the rubber, and began to poke buttons at the top. Each time she poked it, the number on the screen went up. As it did, Charlie’s walking pace turned from a casual stride to a shockingly quick run. Vikram had to wonder what the fuck kind of trials the Guardians had to succeed nowadays if Charlie had failed. Sprinting like a gazelle— no, like a lioness— chasing down its prey with a cold ferocity.
Yet the question of what exactly she was running on more than escaped him.
“This is a treadmill,” Charlie panted, since she always seemed to know when he wanted to ask a question, “the ground moves instead of you. It’s how I can run without leaving the castle, just in case.”
“You don’t always have to be on call, you know.” The I can take care of myself hung silent between them.
“As long as danger doesn’t take a day off, I won’t either.”
“Not even if Lysa asked you to brunch?”
Charlie glared at him, but her cheeks were much redder than they were before— or maybe that’s just because she was running.
“…that’s not your business,” she griped. She’d probably have a more colorful response if she weren’t on a treadmill. A lull of quiet encompassed them, besides the sound of Charlie’s footfalls. Once again, he thought of Paris. She hadn’t run that fast to get away from him, had she? Was she underestimating him that severely? He hadn’t been on active duty for a hundred and seventy eight years, but he still had fight in him. Maybe that’s why Charlie had been so worried. Why she asked him to train with her after they dealt with the vampire hunters.
She thought he wasn’t strong enough to handle himself.
“Say,” Vikram asked, casually, “what school of martial art were you trained in?”
“I’m trained in several different martial arts,” Charlie said casually, like she wasn’t running as though the devil was on her heels, “boxing, karate, judo, MMA. I also have experience with wrestling, fencing, and b- some other stuff.”
Vikram blinked. He didn’t recognize some of the words she said, but he quickly filed them away in his mind to “Google” later.
So she was trained to be a deadly weapon. So what? He still was the Librarian. That, and she was lithe, meaning that he could use his weight and wit to his advantage against her. He’d been a Librarian for much longer than she’d been a guardian. This would be a piece of cake.
“Hmm. It’s settled then!” He proclaimed, “I challenge you to a sparring match!”
Charlie responded by falling off the treadmill.
Vikram yelped, rushing over to her shuddering body curled on the floor. Pained grunts rose from where she laid. No, not grunts, laughter. She was laughing at him, at his challenge to spar!
“I’m being serious!” He moped. She sat up, shaking her head. Her bangs were tousled, and he crossed his arms behind his back to keep from straightening the strands.
“That caught me off guard, sir, sorry.”
His cheeks flushed red for a reason he couldn’t quite figure out.
“You held back in Paris, I know you did,” Vikram spat.
Charlie looked away, suddenly quiet.
“I knew you were under Cupid’s spell, but I just… I couldn’t hurt you. Not after I swore to the Library and you that I would do everything to keep you safe.”
Vikram set his hand on her shoulder. Her skin was warm and damp with sweat. She met his eyes, looking like a kicked puppy.
“Charlie, this isn’t about your duty. This is… this is about my pride.” He sighed, wishing that words were any easier to say “I’ve been out of commission for so long, and the world has changed so, so much, I guess I just feel like… maybe I’ve lost whatever touch I had.”
“That’s not true,” she said sternly, setting her hand on his shoulder, “the three of us would be lost without you.”
He smiled warmly.
“Thank you, Charlie.”
They share a long glance. Charlie smiled fondly.
Vikram spoke. “I still want to spar.”
Charlie rolled her eyes.
“Sir…”
“It would be good practice! I would get a chance to spruce up my fighting, and you would get to fight against a skilled combatant!”
She looked him up and down as he shucked off his long coat and cast it aside, threw his cane away as well, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt with a smug smile.
“I am ready whenever you are,” he exclaimed, putting his fists up. Charlie nodded, but she still had an uneasy look about her.
“You’re sure you want me to go all out?”
He nodded, eyes maniacal.
“Yes! Pretend I’m anyone but myself.”
She pursed her lips into an uncomfortable grimace, but didn’t back down.
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“I’m ready!” He cried, already excited for the chance to spar.
Charlie slowly circled him. Her hands hung loose at her sides. Not even in a stance or anything. With a hop-step he’d closed the space between them. His first punch connected with her chest, the second glancing off her shoulder. She swung, he weaved and ducked the punch. But he shouldn’t have been able to. Her movements were slow. Sloppy. Nothing like the figure he saw punching the bag. Another lackluster punch whizzed by his ears.
“Come on Charlie, fight!”
Frustrated, he stomped on her foot as hard as he could, eliciting a grunt and a hard, reflexive punch to the gut. He staggered back, a smile rising to his face even as he struggled to straighten up. So what he was a little rusty, he would not be beaten!
“Sir?” Charlie asked. Her hands returned to her sides, limp. He wheezed, smiling bright.
“Why’d you stop? We were just getting started!”
He leaned back into a hard Sparta kick, which she dodged effortlessly. His next punch hit, though, knuckles banging hard against her ribs. She snarled at the strike, and shouldered him in the chest so hard he stumbled back. Panting, Vikram studied her posture. Still frustratingly lax, fists balled against her thighs, biceps and triceps flexed.
With his focus on her lax arms, he didn’t notice her heel hook behind his leg until he began to stumble.
Charlie pounced.
His back crashed against the ground, knocking the wind out of him with a pained wheeze. He tried to sit up, but a flash of black filled his vision, and Charlie’s entire weight slammed against his chest, her thighs bracketing him. She leaned over him completely, an arm wrestling his shoulder off the mat. He thrashed, trying to get her off of him, but she stayed on like a bull rider.
Her legs squoze around his ribs, so tight he almost felt claustrophobic. Like he couldn't breathe. All the struggling in the world couldn’t shake her off. Vikram grunted with frustration.
Desperately, he looked up at Charlie for any hint of hesitance, anything he could take advantage of.
Charlie’s eyes were cold. Sharp.
Something about her harsh gaze made him want to bare his neck, like a rabbit hoping for a swift end from a dog.
Instead, he tried to twist his torso. He got his shoulder back on the mat, yet that victory did not last very long. She yanked him back where she wanted him to be, then slid her leg under him. The grip she had with her legs tightened, heel driving into his spine, thigh under his shoulder, as she grabbed his arm, swung her legs over him, and laid flat.
He yelped, trying to yank his arm out of whatever grip she had him in as his joints screamed in protest. No luck. He kicked against the mat, thrashed and wriggled. Her legs did not loosen. Oh god, he was stuck. Completely helpless under her. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, but panic had seized him just as Charlie had, heart pounding so loudly he could feel it in his ears. Weakly, he thrashed. His arm stayed trapped, joints burning from how she had his arm flexed. With the position he was in, it would only take a second for her to snap his arm like a toothpick. He pounded on her legs, but she didn’t even flinch. That same frigid expression was on her face, and a chill went through Vikram.
“Surrender, Vikram,” she snarled. His eyes widened, trying to pull his arm away from her. He was stuck. Firmly. He couldn’t get out of her grip, could hardly think straight. All he could think about was how quickly she’d taken him down. How she held him in place despite how hard he struggled and kicked and fought.
She could kill him.
It wouldn’t even be hard.
No wonder she held back in Paris. He kicked and wriggled, snapped his teeth, anything just to get free.
Her nails dug into the pale skin of his arm.
She could kill him.
And that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
He whimpered, trying to wrestle himself free. She responded by tightening her grip, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make him hurt hurt //hurt—//
“I surrender!” He gasped.
The vice around his body came loose, and Charlie kneeled beside his arm. She cradled it in her violent hands, concern on the face that had made Vikram want to give up and bare his throat only moments before.
“I didn’t break anything, right?”
Words wouldn’t come. It was as if he was trying to draw water from a dry well, except all he could think to say was “I surrender” again and again and again. He swallowed, unsure of his emotions, and shook his head.
“I suh— uh, uhm, nothing, my- my arm is okay,” he panted. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, and guided him through bending his elbow joint. He hissed softly, still sore, but it didn’t click or pop or make other concerning noises.
“Good, I was scared I was a bit too rough with you,” she murmured, running her thumb over the inside of his elbow. He shuddered, ticklish. Part of him wanted to stand up and ask for a second bout, a chance to see what “too rough” would really look like.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t, uh.” Vikram swallowed his own spit. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had. If you’d broken my arm, I mean.”
Charlie laughed like she thought he was kidding, setting his arm on his chest with a pat.
“You did a really good job,” she said smoothly. Something about her words made him feel like he was back under her. He decided to write it off as just some side effect from the adrenaline, and sat up with a groan.
“Really? You put me on my back rather quickly,” he grunted. That made her flush, for some reason.
“You were distracted— that much was obvious.”
“Distracted?” He crowed, “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”
She looked away from him.
“Yes, but you weren’t focusing on the right things, sir,” she explained, “you let your guard down too easily.”
“Damn. Maybe I am rusty.”
“We should do this more often, then,” Charlie blurted. Vikram blinked.
“Are you sure? I don’t seem to quite be on your level. What if I can’t keep up?”
“You will.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because, you’re the Librarian.”
Charlie smiled, her eyes glancing off of Vikram’s face and down into the pale skin of his arm. Her graceful fingers run over his arm once more, making sure he was unharmed. No matter how great of a fighter she was, her strongest muscle would always be her heart. She squeezed his hand in her own, then gently set it down on his leg. He stared at her hand. Her strong, protective hands that held him firm like pins through a butterfly. For some reason, his heart’s rhythm became quicker, more blood rushing into his cheeks. The exhilaration from their sparring must have been getting to him.
Vikram popped up from the ground, smiling down at his guardian.
“Then let us begin at once! Round two!”
Charlie stood, and gently grabbed his wrists. Without any complaint, Vikram let himself be guided to the punching bag.
“How about we start with this instead?”
Vikram gave her an affronted look. Damn, he was hoping she would put him in that arm bar again.
…just to see if he could escape, of course.
“Fine. If you think I’ll help…”
“It will.” Charlie circled around the bag. “Now go on, sir, show me what you got.”
Vikram balled his hands into fists, and did exactly as she said.