It was starting to feel like the fight might never end. He felt like time had stopped and that him and Rodney would be punching each other's brains out until the universe itself ended. The bleeding from his nose was starting to slow down, but every time he moved, a fresh stream moved to replace it. Breathing was getting tricky. Then again, that had probably been the point.

Evan's ribs were bruised. He could tell. He could also tell that something, somewhere in his leg, wasn't quite aligned right. Rodney had gone for the cheap shots—nose, knees, bruising what was easy to bruise before he went for the hard stuff. He had been hoping to drag the energy out of Evan.

Evan was finding it pretty easy to find new, untapped sources of energy to draw on to beat the shit out of Rodney, though.

Grief. Hatred. Rage. Maybe a little lust. He wasn't sure. He'd heard it was possible to hate someone so much you loved them, but he wasn't sure if this was that kind of situation.

Rodney's muscles twitched, and Evan saw it, so that when Rodney went in for a tackle, Evan was ready. They met in a clash of muscle and adrenaline.

Rodney bit him.

Evan did not scream.

He did, however, knock that little prick to the ground. His shoulder was on fire, and in his adrenaline-fueled brain, Evan wondered how many diseases you could get from a human bite. Probably quite a lot. It was pretty certain that he was at least going to get some kind of herpes. Great.

Rodney was on top first, but Evan twisted, a death roll that ended when Evan managed to knee Rodney where it counted. Rodney turned red, but Evan gave him some credit. He didn't yell. Evan felt rushing fluids in his shoulder as he held Rodney down and started beating on him. He punched the soft parts of Rodney's arms, he punched his neck, his chest. He boxed him right in the ear, and that was when Rodney did shout, and found the strength to throw Evan.

When Evan hit the ground, he rolled, and instinct put him right back onto his feet. He felt that same instinct tugging him, urging him to look to his right. He fought it, but when he gave in, he saw the sweaty crowd part for a split second.

Isobel. She was there. Tanya was there too, but Evan only vaguely noticed her. Isobel was staring at him. Watching him. Watching him get beaten down. He had decided to stop imposing his thoughts on her, but he wondered what she saw when she looked at him now.

His focus did not break for long. Her eyes met his, in a hard stare that Evan was surprised Isobel could manage given those big soft eyes. She nodded once, affirmative, practical. He nodded once back.

The moment lasted just a second before Rodney was back on his feet. While he wasn't limping, he wasn't doing great either. The way he was tender of his ear told Evan that Rodney could no longer hear out of that side. Given how loud the crowd was roaring around them now, how much cash was flowing to KC, it was pretty likely that Rodney could no longer hear Evan, period.

All around them, everyone screamed bloody murder. Mob mentality had taken over. A delicate edge was being walked, and if anything went wrong, Evan knew that those men, in their after-work clothes and button-downs, were more dangerous than the blond man in front of him.

Too much. It was too much.

Rodney was breathing hard. He wondered if his ribs were hurt too. His nose was bleeding a little, but not because Evan had hit it.

Evan turned and called, "Water!"

A groan went up, but suddenly the spell was broken. The crowd paused, broke up. People looked around and shook themselves out of their blood lust. A few people went to sit down, a few others just sat where they were.

KC handed Evan a bottle of water, and Evan drank. As soon as the water hit his mouth, he realized just how thirsty he was. As he came down a little, he felt a chill rolled over him. He was sweating rivers. He was hot. And then he was cold. He was both, flashing down his body like waves. He was reaching his limits.

Rodney turned to his spotter. He took a drink of water himself, and then Evan heard, vaguely, out of the distance, a sniff.

It was an innocuous enough sound. Rodney was in fact bleeding from his nose.

But Evan was sure it wasn't innocuous after all.

He looked at KC.

KC looked pretty alarmed. He must've heard what Evan did too.

"We can't end it," he said.

"No, we can't," agreed Evan.

"I think I saw your little girlfriend."

"Yeah, I did too. Where'd she go?"

"I don't think she could stand to see you all bloodied up."

Evan toweled his face off, taking care around his nose. It was properly broken. His whole face hurt because of it. Breathing was still hard, and the longer he spent without fighting, the worse the swelling would get. He was probably going to have to go to the hospital.

Rodney was screaming.

Evan turned, and saw that the crowd was coming back together. That there was a huge crying out, that everyone was getting pumped again. Rodney was whipping them up, stirring them up.

"You aren't done! You wanna get your money's worth! Right? RIGHT?! Hey, Lockwood! Let's get back at it! Let's give these people their show!"

Evan glanced at KC. KC had gone a little green. "Evan, you end this fast," he said. He'd never called him by his name before. That scared Evan. His heart stopped recovering and went right back into overdrive.

Evan knew he was right.

Rodney was tripping out. Evan was going to get his ass kicked. This was going to hurt. Running in, Evan knew that one way, or another, this was going to be his last fight.

Rodney went for him. Evan struggled, but suddenly it was all over. When Evan hit the ground, Rodney was already punching him. A huge scream went up from the crowd, but it wasn't anger or blood lust, it was fear.

Evan struggled against Rodney, but it was over almost as soon as it started. Evan started to black out. The last thing he heard was someone shouting, "FREEZE! EVERYBODY'S HANDS UP!"

* * *

Evan came back to the world slowly, in fits and starts. Pain was a four-letter word right on the tip of his tongue. His face was killing him. He opened his eyes slowly. Hovering over him was a man with a buzz cut and an ear piece. He was wearing a bright yellow safety jacket and a smile on his face. Evan briefly wondered if he was some kind of shitty angel, the best angel that his poor imagination could come up with.

"Hey! You're gonna be alright, buddy, we'll get you fixed up and sorted out."

There was a brace on Evan's neck and his face hurt—the whole face. He couldn't turn his head because of the brace, but he looked over to see Rodney not too far away being shoved into a police car. Evan narrowed his eyes. What the hell had happened?

The paramedic was talking to him again. "Hey buddy, how's it going? What's your name?"

"Ev—Evan Lockwood."

"Alright Evan, I'm Jim. I'm gonna fix you up, alright? What's your date of birth?"

"April tenth. What happened?"

"You were in a fight, do you remember anything? You got pretty roughed up, but don't worry buddy, we're gonna take care of you."

It all came flying back to him—the fight in fast, flashing detail. He remembered Rodney taking him down, remembered getting his face pounded a couple times before the blinking lights filled the club and the room erupted in terrified shouting. He remembered seeing Isobel take shelter from the running crowd.

His own pulse was unbearably loud in his ears.

"Where's Isobel?"

"Who's Isobel?"

"My . . . My girlfriend," he said for brevity. It was easier to explain it that way.

"Well, if she was here there's a pretty good chance she either left or got arrested. I'm sure she's safe though, I don't think we have any Isobel's," the paramedic said, looking up and around. "We don't have any Isobel's, right Neil?"

"No Isobel's. I have an Isabella?"

"No, definitely Isobel."

"We'll look for her, buddy, but for right now let's focus on you. Hey Cookie! He's ready."

A female paramedic in a baseball cap ran up. She helped Jim move Evan from the ground onto a stretcher. "Where are you taking me?"

"The hospital, man. You're in bad shape."

They transferred him from the makeshift ring to an ambulance outside. The inside of the ambulance was smaller than he would have thought. The stretcher locked into place inside, and the doors closed. Suddenly, Evan felt as if he was locked away from prying eyes, and his chest became tight.

"Hey," he croaked, and he looked at the paramedic. "Could you maybe knock me out?"

"Sorry man, no can do. We don't stock meds in the box."

"The box?"

The paramedic gestured with a finger all around them. He must've meant the back of the ambulance.

"Why, you alright?"

Evan stared straight forward. He couldn't speak, because if he did, his guts would spill out. "Yeah. I'm fine."

The paramedic said, "You don't look alright. It's gonna be okay, man, we all get our asses kicked every once in a while. And that other guy is on his way to county jail, probably prison if you press charges."

"I can't press charges," Evan said, even as his vision got blurry. "I was fighting too. He'd be able to press charges too."

"His case isn't as strong as yours. You don't pound someone's face to mincemeat in self-defense, you know?" Jim said, with just a little chuckle in his voice. Evan looked at him again. Jim looked like the happiest guy in the world. Maybe in his mid-forties, with a big happy smile and just a bit of a gut.

"Is my face really mincemeat?"

"You're probably gonna have a few more scars."

"Like, bad ones?"

"Like, probably one on your nose."

"Will it look cool?"

"Oh, definitely."

Evan did not want to think about his scars. He did not want to think about how badly he hurt. He wanted to think about nothing. But he wasn't going to be able to. His mind was still reeling, anxious thoughts peeling out, burning rubber before they could even become full ideas. He looked at the paramedic.

"Tell me about your job," Evan said.

Jim smiled, and he said, "Well, I help people."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's pretty fun. Pretty sad too. But always satisfying. You know, there's always a sense at the end of the day that at least you tried your best and you maybe helped somebody on the worst day of their life."

Evan was quiet.

"How do you do something like this?"

"You gotta go to school for it."

"I went to school for architecture."

"No kidding?"

"No."

Jim made a face. "The money's that good, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

The ambulance pulled into the hospital parking lot and up to the emergency room entrance. The night outside was cold, and snow was gently falling. The world was cushioned, and quiet, and Evan was quickly taken inside before the chill could really set in. He was taken to a room and a doctor rushed in and started poking and prodding him. X-rays were ordered, taken, analyzed. No one would tell Evan anything. He didn't really want to know. No one would let him see what he looked like. He really didn't want to know. At least they took the stupid brace off.

He had been left alone for a while when there was a knock at the door, and the curtain was drawn aside.

The nurse came in, and said, "Mr. Lockwood, you have a visitor. Would you like to see her?"

He opened his eyes. He looked up.

"Yes, please," he said, knowing his heart would be broken, but he couldn't stop himself from hoping that it was her.

The curtain was drawn aside. Isobel stood there. She had food.

"Hey," she said, slipping into the room. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. The roads were super icy. But I brought food."

Once the nurse excused herself, Evan teared up. He couldn't help it. He took deep breaths. He didn't cry. But tears fell down his face anyway. He felt everything all at once.

Isobel appeared, her coat shed, and she wrapped her arms around him. She shushed him. She kissed the parts of him she could reach. And she said, "It's okay, I'm here. I'm here."

"Things are going to be different now, Isobel."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think I'm gonna be a paramedic."

She laughed, and reached up to wipe the tears away. She kissed him.

And everything was different.