Grudge Match

“I swear to whatever universal entity is actually out there,
I’m going to challenge Blake to a duel and I’m going to blast his stupid jaw
clean off his stupid face.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

“He deserves it. It’d be justice.”

“It’d be pointless!”

“You’re suggesting inaction!”

“I’m suggesting *temperance*,
and *not* making a stupid decision
based on a knee-jerk reaction!”

Will sat in on the sofa as he watched Aaron and Plue duke it
out in the living room. Not “duke it out” in a weaponary-based sense, but in
some ways, he would have preferred to see the two have a physical fight. It may
have ultimately been more productive.

“He is going.” Aaron paused vehemently in the middle of his
sentence to bring his arms down in front of him for emphasis. “To get us all
killed.”

“Duke’s going through the official channels, as I have
already told you at least three times.” Plue snapped. “Blake isn’t going to
keep his command for much longer – not with the evidence you and the rest of your
outfit provided.”

“So, what, we’re supposed to just sit on our asses and wait
while you and sir get him arrested? Watch and wait and continue to answer to
him as though he *isn’t* the reason
half of our unit got killed?” Aaron furiously paced around the room. The energy
that he normally projected only seemed to amplify itself whenever he was upset –
his body refused to sit still. As well as the pacing, he was constantly clenching
and unclenching his fingers, and twitching his head back and forth.

“Because you’re planning on quite literally *killing him back*.” Plue had her arms
folded, and was staring Aaron down as he continued to pace – the immovable
object to match his unstoppable force. “*Worse*:
he might actually win. You’d get yourself killed trying to prove a stupid
point, and you wouldn’t do anything productive. Isn’t that what you’re *normally* so obsessed with?”

Aaron dragged his fingers through his hair, but didn’t say
anything. Will could only hope, for the sake of his ears (which were feeling worse
for wear due to all of the shouting they’d had to endure), that it was a sign
that he was registering what Plue what’s saying.

“Let me rephrase.” Plue said, still obviously icily furious.
“How much of this is because you really want to make a difference? And how much
of this is just a petty desire for revenge?”

Aaron wheeled around and stormed up to her. “One hundred and
thirty!” He bellowed. “One hundred and thirty soldiers are dead because that
waste of oxygen floundered and scraped and countermanded Moore at every turn! She
had to give *me* command! Me!” He
thumbed at his own chest like he was trying to tear something away from it. “She
*hates* me!”

Plue inhaled deeply – an attempt to keep her own cool. But
Aaron wasn’t done.

“Any of those people may be alive today if he’d paid more
attention to actual fucking battlefield strategy than to guides on how to slag
people off.” He eyed her. “I’ve heard the stuff he’s said about sir, as well.”

“Aaron-” Plue tried. Aaron kept talking anyway.

“You look me in the eyes and tell me that any sort of vengeance
for one hundred and thirty people would be *petty*.”
He snarled. “Tell me.”

Plue didn’t tell him, Will observed. Honestly, the whole
argument frustrated him – both of them were, in essence, on the same side. It was
a case where their methodologies were causing conflicts.

“It would be pointless.” She said, instead. “We’re already
closing in on him.”

“He’s not going to get what he deserves-”

“Aaron.” Plue interrupted. “If you say one more word about
how you plan to challenge commander Blake to a *duel*, of all things – a duel that is not only technically against
all codes of codes of conduct, but would be pointlessly endangering of your own
person – I’m going to pull rank on you.”

Aaron blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

Plue’s gaze remained icy. “I would.” She said. “Just- don’t.
Please.”

Whether it was Plue’s ultimatum, or the p-word, Aaron
suddenly looked unsure of himself for the first time. His gaze flickered to
Will, who realised uncomfortably that he was actually physically present after
all.

Still – it wasn’t like he was impartial.

“I was there too.” He said, simply. “My friends Jamie and
Casey died there.” He turned to Plue. “Ever had someone die in your arms
before?”

Plue mutely shook her head.

“Wouldn’t recommend it.” He deadpanned, the memory sending
his hands into what felt like another minor fit. Shaking. He blinked. That was
over now, that was gone. And so were they.

Hissing, Aaron turned to Plue. “Plue-!” He said. “I *have* to.”

This obviously fell under the established “one more word
about how [he planned] to challenge commander Blake to a duel”, because Plue
(who, Will noticed, had a very pained expression on her face), held out a hand.

“Colour Sergeant Wilder.” She ordered. Her voice sounded
sterner, but also more robotic, like she was trying to separate herself from
what she was saying. “If it comes back to me that you have engaged in a duel
with Commander Blake over the events of the second battle of the plains, in
addition to the customary pay cut and two-week prison sentence that is
punishment for duelling, your rank will be stripped from you and your place in
the force will be forfeit.”

Aaron actually *growled*
at that, but didn’t do anything else. Plue lowered her hand. Suddenly, she
looked so un-angry. So tired.

“I’m sorry.” She said again, before turning back around and
walking out of the room (heading for the stairs) before either of the men could
say anything to her.

 There was a moment’s
silence. Then-

“Fuck.” Aaron said, quietly. Then, louder: “Fuck!” He kicked
the sofa Will was still sitting on, ignoring the disdainful look Will shot him.

“She’s right, you know.” Will told him, after several moments
of letting Aaron stew and calm down a bit. Aaron clenched the back of his neck.

“I know!” He all but yelled. “But still-!”

“You want pay him back for what he’s been saying, you want
to make sure he can’t escape justice, you want to do something yourself, you
want to make this justice as explicit and public as possible, and you want
revenge.” Will filled him in. “And before you ask, I know that because I’m on
the exact same wavelength as you.” He stood up and began to pace himself. It was
a difference between him and Aaron, he’d observed. Aaron was an angry pacer,
who moved to get rid of the energy that his body produced in excess. Will paced
to flex his physical muscles, get them working in tandem with his brain.

“She said if you “planned to duel him over the events of the
second battle of the plains”.” He reminded him. “So the duel can be about the
smack talk he’s been doing about Duke Exeter, instead.”

It wasn’t as though Blake’s disdain of Exeter was common
knowledge. As Will recalled, he’d actually been talking from on top of a box in
Nexus Tower a week or so prior, about how Exeter was prematurely senile from
years of blows to the head, and how the intricacies of his military and
governing policies alike were non-existent – and some less savoury things as
well. (When Aaron had first heard what Blake had said about how Exeter’s niece was
“probably just as stupid as her uncle, and far less imposing anyway”, he’d had
to physically hold him back.

They were beyond that now, though.)

“Yeah, but she forbade me from duelling him at all,
remember?” Aaron tried to get Will to harken back to what had literally just
happened. “She was, like, super specific. If I, Sergeant Wilder, try to duel
Blake, I’m toast in the NF, basically.”

“So, I’ll do it.” Will said, without missing a beat. Was that
not what Aaron had figured would happen? Interesting.

“What?” Aaron confirmed this by looking up at Will with the expression
of a person who’d just been slapped right in the face. He was almost flattered.

“I’ll challenge him.” He said, remaining casual. “Anyways, those
were some strong words from him last week. Tut-tut. Even if I’m not in Exeter’s
faction, *someone* ought to hold him to
it.”

“Will, Will-” Aaron stumbled towards him. “You…”

“What, I can’t?” Will put his hands on his hip. “You’re not
the only one with a grudge, Aaron. Like I said, I was there too. And I
logically know it’s a stupid decision, but you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m not running on logic right now.”

o0O0o

“We both know what this is about.” Blake sneered.

“I can’t imagine what you mean.” Was Will’s response.

The pair were standing on an almost underwhelmingly plain
stretch of barren rock – some little sector of Crux Prime that’s far enough
away from Nexus Tower that everyone was comfortable enough about breaking the
rules, but not so far away that they risk an attack from maelstrom. As per one
of the however many informal rules surrounding duelling there were (it was,
Will knew, seen as a sort of sporting event, even though it was mostly just two
people solving their issues by trying to kill one another), Will – the
challenger – was meeting with Blake – the challenged – to see if the issue
could be resolved. A lot of the time, when faced with the prospect of the duel,
people backed out or otherwise became more willing to negotiate.

Will had no idea if Blake wanted to back down or not, but he
wasn’t going to let him either way.

““My words in regards to Duke Exeter’s leadership of the
Nexus Force”?” Blake quoted Will’s cited reason for the challenge back at him.
“You must think I’m stupid. You’re not even in Exeter’s faction!”

“He is still the overall leader.” Will pointed out. Blake,
like just about everyone else Will seemed to have talked to as of late, didn’t
seem to care for semantics.

“This has nothing to do with it.” He insisted, before eying
Aaron, who was standing some distances away. (He was also present, acting as
Will’s second and representative. Because of course he was.) “And everything to
do with *him*.”

“Who, my second?” Will feigned surprise. Blake spat on the
ground.

“Damn fool’s been at my heels ever since I took charge of
his squadron.” He said, still scowling in Aaron’s direction. “His mewling’s
only grown louder since a large number of said squadron were killed in an
encounter. He blames me.” He finally turned to look back at Will (granting him,
at the very least, *some* courtesy).

“Oh, how dare he.” Will droned, with a hint of sarcasm.
Blake took the hint, if his reaction – bulging eyes and clenched jaw – was anything
to go by.

“You think I’m going to go *easy* on you?” He roared, suddenly, though Will had given no
indication of such an idea. “You think you don’t have to take this seriously?”
He shook his fist. “I’m not going to go *easy*
on you. You’d best back down, before you get hurt.”

“I think you’re too full of yourself, *sir*.” Will was sure to place special emphasis on the word “sir”, for
irony’s sake (because he didn’t consider this person much of a “sir” at all). “I
may not be the one getting “hurt” at the end of all this.”

Blake snarled. Will forced himself to keep his composure.

“I’ll tell you this, *sir*.”
He said. “My second isn’t the only one who was there that day.” He forced
himself to stare Blake right in the eyes. They were green, he noted, dully. Pond-scum
green. “And my second isn’t the only one who holds a grudge.”

“Pistols!” Roared Blake, suddenly. “I know what you’re
trying to do – you’re trying to piss me off, unbalance me so you’ll win in a
fight. Well, we’ll use pistols. Count down, and whoever strikes first wins.
What do you say to that?”

Sounded perfect.

“Sounds perfect.”

Snarling *again*,
Blake turned on his heel and stormed off without another word. Part of Will,
even now, was disappointed that talking the scenario out was virtually
impossible. The rest of him was anxious to get started. He stalked back to
Aaron, trying to ignore this racing heart. Aaron was waiting for him.

“What’d he say? We doing this?” He asked.

Will nodded. “Pistols.” He said.

“Oh, shoot!” Aaron said. A moment’s silence. Then: “Literally!”

“Do you have one on you?” Will asked. It was customary, in
duels, for seconds to come equipped with any weapon the main dueller could
want. Since Will and Blake hadn’t decided on anything before hand (*type* of duel being another thing that
could be decided between combatants), Will had relied on Aaron to gather
together a selection.

“I’m pretty sure.” Was Aaron’s response as he dug around in
the pack he’d brought. Will winced as a couple of grenades rolled out of the
pack and by his feet.

“Be more careful.” He muttered, though it went unheeded.
Eventually, Aaron pulled out a gun. “Okay, here we go!” He tossed Will the
pistol, and Will was forced to fumble ungainly with it to make sure it wasn’t dropped.
He checked it – the safety was off. He hastily flicked it on before there were
any accidents.

“Do you have even a single brain cell dedicated to
self-preservation?” He snapped. Aaron shrugged. He sighed. “Whatever.”

He caught sight of Blake walking back towards them.

“Oh, here we go.” He muttered.

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “I thought the seconds were
supposed to go in and talk as well?”

Will pointed at Blake with a thumb. “You wanna go tell him
that?”

Aaron balked, fury in his eyes.

“…Nah, I’m good.” He said, in a deceivingly casual voice.
Will nodded, and then walked back over to Blake. He could feel the rocky ground
digging into the soles of his feet – were his shoes that thin, now? When had
that happened? He would have to go and buy some new pairs. When he left.

If he left.

There was nothing quite like getting hit with your own
mortality, really. He almost stumbled as he walked, casting everything he’d done
that had led up to this moment into doubt. Was it worth it? Vengeance? Was it
reason enough to die?

He thought back to the battle. He thought back to the friend
that had become a body in his arms. And suddenly, he figured, *yes*. And *no*. It was not reason enough to die.

But it was reason enough to kill.

Suddenly, he was standing in front of Blake, and the man was
saying something, and Aaron was there whispering into his ear like a trainer
counselling a boxer right before a knockout round. Something about aiming for
the chest. Dully, he looked down at the gun still held in his hand. Aaron
reached over and flicked the safety off.

Aim for the chest.

He could manage that.

“Okay, second’s talk happened. And broke down.” Aaron
informed him, pulling him out of the ocean he’d just been drowning in. “We’re
ready.”

Blake spat on the ground by Aaron’s feet. “Fine.” He said. His
second still didn’t say anything. Will wondered what had happened with him and
Aaron.

Hopefully he’d get to ask.

“Okay, gentlemen, you know the drill.” Aaron stumbled a
little over the word “gentlemen”. “Get your gun, take ten steps away from each
other-”

“I’ll count.” Offered Blake’s second. Aaron nodded, to Will’s
surprise.

“Take ten steps away from each other, and when you reach
ten, turn and fire. Y’all got that?”

“Yes, I’ve “got that”.” Said Blake, surly.

“Yeah.” Will managed to force out.

“Okay.” Aaron said. “Let’s do this.”

“One!” Called out Blake’s second. Will took one step forward.
The gun in his grip suddenly felt extremely heavy.

“Two!”

The sun hadn’t risen yet. He hoped he’d get to see it again.

“Three!”

He almost tripped on a rock. That would have been embarrassing.

“Four!”

How to shoot? No, wait, he knew how to literally do that. But
what were the semantics again?

“Five!”

Use both hands, hold the gun steady. Aim for the chest. Only
fire one shot. Right.

“Six!”

How many people actually died in these things? The details
evaded him.

“Seven!”

Plue was going to be so annoyed either way – at him and Aaron
both. Hopefully they could talk her out of a double homicide.

“Eight!”

Anna. If he died, would she be okay? She’d have Plue and
Aaron, either way, but still. Will’d known her from the time she was a baby. He
hoped he’d get to say hi again.

“Nine!”

His parents-!

He’d see them again.

He *had* to.

“Ten!”

The rest was a blur.

o0O0o

Will didn’t go to the funeral. He wondered if that made him
a better person, or a worse one?

Officially, lieutenant-general Blake Fisher had been killed
in a training exercise. A tragic accident. Will thought back to the duel. In all
good conscience, he couldn’t call it tragic – and, as he remembered his finger
clenching down on the trigger in a wave of certainty, he knew he couldn’t call
it an accident either.

Unofficially, everyone knew he’d been taken to the duelling
ground for his failure to respect the troops under his command. That his
flippancy at the situation, and that their deaths, had been paid for in blood. The
identity of the challenger had not been made public.

Plue had insisted.

She’d been unhappy, of course, with how it had all turned
out. But Will figured there was a part of her that considered it justice, too.
Will? He wasn’t sure. Ever since then, life had felt so much more vivid and
also so much duller. He’d almost cried, embracing his mother later that day. Hit
with the realisation that he’d been willing to kill to see her again. It had
been… something to take in.

And Aaron had… well, Aaron had been acting strangely. It had
taken Will a while to get him to talk about it, but when he had?

“I… I don’t know if I’d have been able to do that.” He’d
said. Like he hadn’t been planning on challenging him himself.

“What do you mean?” Will had said. Aaron had evaded eye
contact.

“I mean, I probably would have just… gone for his kneecaps or
something. I dunno. Cheap catharsis.” Aaron had explained.

“Aaron.” Will had said. “All things considered, do you think
this is something I need to hear?”

And Aaron had said “No.”

And Will had said “Okay then.”

And that had been that.

The question was: did Will regret it?

Will thought back to the immediate release he’d felt after
the deed had been done. How Aaron had yelled in exhilaration. How Blake’s
second hadn’t looked upset. How Plue, after shouting at them, for ten minutes,
had sighed and he’d seen the weight roll off her shoulders. How that same
weight had left the remainder of his regiment – he could see it in their eyes, like
the world was a little less scary, and a little safer.

And he thought that no. He didn’t regret it.

But he wouldn’t do it again.