Cal smirks, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “You know what I mean,” he mutters. Too quickly, he goes from studying his own sleeves and zipper to me, again, to what is probably too obvious—that I look terrible, that I'm disappearing, that there is nothing he can do and I wish he would stop acting or pretending like it's worth caring.
But he doesn't say anything. Just walks to the weapons. Picks out an epee. French grip. Finds his mask. He lifts them both.
“You wanna?”
It'd be strange to say no, I guess. I'm not sure I have the stamina to win a touch, let alone a bout, but…
“Sure,” I say. I retrieve the mask I'd left on the bench. Slip it over my head.
Cal does the same, testing out the weapon in his hand, adjusting his glove, choking down so that he's gripping it barely by the pommel. Bastard. With his wingspan and the two extra inches he gets from that, he can basically stand there and extend his arm and win every point.
Suddenly my mind flashes back to months ago. A year and change, really. The two of us here in the salle.
“Take this one,” I told him. “It'll be better.”
Cal frowned and took the weapon from my hand. “Why? What's the difference?”
“The grip,” I said. “You're what, like six-four?”
“Six-five,” he murmured.
“Yeah, so, and you're all arms. I mean, look at you.” And I did look at him, maybe a little bit too long. Then forced my eyes to the handle of the weapon. “Hold it here.” I demonstrated, wrapping my thumb and forefinger around the pommel so that the metal knob of it was just barely nestled under the base of my thumb. “It'll give you crazy reach. The muscles worked are different, and you won't have as much point control, but if you get to the other guy first…”
“Yeah, sure.” Cal nodded. His broad fingers slipped between my palm and the handle. No gloves on, just skin. And probably lingered a little too long there, too.
“Lanz?” Cal is saying. He lunges forward, flicking a toe touch against the front of my shoe to get my attention. “You ready? Or what?”
“Um, yeah.” I go on guard. “I’m good.”
It's lazy, slow. No,I'mlazy. Or slow. I can't get my feet to move, can't make my arms move except a half second too slowly. Cal easily goes for my shoulder, bypassing my loop-the-loop of a parry eight, which is sloppy and the wrong move besides.What am I doing?
Easily, we reset. Go again. I advance first this time, close the distance, but it's like I'm not paying attention, distracted, and all he does is extend his arm.
Touch. The blade point drills itself in right over my heart.
“You okay?” Cal says. It's a good thing I can't really see his eyes through the masks.
“Fine,” I all but spit.
We reset, on guard. Then Cal slackens. He points at my back leg with the tip of his blade. “Angle out more,” he says. “Your foot. You want your center of gravity?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, but I do as he says.He'sgood, I think. Not just a good fencer, but a good strategist. A good coach, even. I guess I could say he learned from the best, but that'd be taking too much credit. He could probably train someone better than I could at this point. If they needed a new alternate?—
Whenthey need a new alternate.
The push of metal against my hip. Touch.
I lower my blade, shake my head. “Sorry,” I say. “I'm just not really…” I don't know how to finish the sentence. In the mood? Any good anymore? At my physical peak?
“Yeah, no,” comes Cal's voice, oddly light. “It's fine.” He shrugs. “Just wanted to, you know, give the kit a spin. I think it'll work.”
“You look good,” I say. Not sure exactly how I mean the compliment. Form-wise, I guess. That's all I can bear to think about, I think.
“Yeah?” Cal asks, shucking off his mask. He's not really sweating, but his cheeks are flushed.
I nod. I don't take off my own mask, for some reason. Just pretend to adjust the bib. Flatten the tongue a little against my head, even though it fits perfectly fine. “You ever think about coaching?” I ask, now pretending to mess with my glove, which fits like…well, a glove. But I don't really want to look Cal in the eye.
“What?” Cal says. “Oh, sure, I guess. I mean, eventually? I don't really know. I sort of figured…” He looks around the salle, one hand on his hip, the other holding his weapon. “I figured this was it forever.”
