Rise of the Phoenix: Fire on Fire

Chapter 2

"Get your head in the game, half-pint!"

Damian's back hit the concrete wall with a smack, his head bouncing back and slightly cracking against it. He saw stars for a moment but did not let it stop him from lunging forward; throwing his fist towards what he hoped was Dick's head and not just the double vision he was struggling with. Dick ducked quickly but Damian was too quick and twisted his body, bringing his leg up and kicking him square in the chest.

"I'm almost as tall as you!" Damian barked as the older man fell backwards and let out a muffled gasp for air. "And as I see it, you're the one who's losing touch. Must be getting old." He smirked, throwing his hands on his narrow hips. Dick scrunched his face in pain and looked up at him for a moment before shakily getting to his feet.

"Must be..." he mumbled to himself, just loud enough for the brunette to hear him. They had been sparring for some time now and he was beginning to feel it. Sparring with Damian was never his favorite thing to do; he always went for weak spots and pressure points, things that you aren't really supposed to pull while sparring for practice. The point was to train, not to injure your opponent. Damian didn't get that.

"Had enough then?" Damian asked snidely, but stance himself anyway, balling his fists. He on the other hand thoroughly enjoyed sparring, with Dick especially. He was a skilled fighter and provided him a slight challenge, something the other Teen Titans never really did, unless they were to use their powers, which he hated. He preferred hand to hand combat in a fight, feeling your opponents flesh beneath your first when you struck, there was nothing better. Powers were a cheap cop out, only a real warrior could be successful without them.

Dick's lips twisted into a smile and he positioned himself as well. "No chance in hell!" With that he fell forward, reaching into his utility belt and pulling out his duel staffs. He brought them up quickly and struck Damian, knocking him backwards onto his. Damian began coughing as the wind flew from his lungs, the strap of his chest plate digging into his back, right between his shoulder blades.

"There," Dick chimed, pushing the staffs back into his belt and extending a hand to his younger brother. "Now I've had enough"

The brunette took a few deep breaths before grabbing the hand and being pulled to his feet, the sharp pain in his back continued to ping. "Lucky hit."

"It had to happen sometime. Showers then lunch?"

Damian nodded his head and unlatched his cape, letting it fall to the gym's floor. He hadn't realized it until it was brought up, but he was indeed hungry. He hoped that Alfred had something enticing planned for them, which he assumed would be the case. Tim and Stephanie were due back from the hospital and he could almost guarantee that the old man would want to do something special for their return, that was, if Stephanie could stomach solid food. Surgery of any kind usually resulted in the offsetting of heavy meals, so he could only assume that a cesarean would intensify that.

He and Dick stripped of their clothing as soon as they hit the shower room, the leather and fibers sticking to their sweaty skin. Without looking at each other and without saying another word they both went walked under their own tap, turning it on.

Damian had often wondered why the entirety of the manor looked modern and well kept, but the gym bathroom looked as though it belonged in a North Korean labor camp. Concrete walls and floor, dim, dingy lights that flickered when you turned on the water and a row of shower head that protruded from the wall without any barriers. It was a bit offsetting and unnecessary for a single hero and sidekick. Bruce would very easily be able to replace it with a newer, more private and less Saw death trap-esque, lavatory.

The lukewarm water rolled down Damian's olive skin as he lathered the soap over his scarred body. His hair which he usually kept gelled fell onto his forehead, the tips of his fringe just falling into his eyes. He needed a haircut desperately; perhaps he would request Alfred to do it tonight, if he didn't mind that was.