Worth Fighting For

Chapters

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Chapter 1

Worth Fighting For

The light was blinding. He squinted and tried to shield his face, but he couldn't seem to lift his legs. He blinked a few times and tried to rise, but to no avail. His mind swam in a fog; what was he doing on the floor...? He tried to remember where he was, what he was doing, but the thoughts eluded his grasp like the fleeting remnants of a dream. Something, or somepony, was calling to him, as if from a distance. With aching strain, he managed to turn his face towards it as consciousness slowly started to return to him.

"Hey! Hey, Pacer..?" the muted voice spoke, sounding as if it came from another room. He could only mumble something incoherently in response.

"Hey, c'mon now kid, cain't have ya lyin' down too long after that! Up 'n at 'em, now!", it spoke, building now to near full volume in his ringing ears.

Finally he managed to string together enough memory to spit out his mouthguard and form a few words.

"Ugggh... What happened?" he managed to say, raising himself up a bit.

The face that started to appear clearer in his vision spoke back matter-of-factly "Ya got knocked on yer flank, kid. C'mon, lemme help ya up."

Pacer started to become aware of his surroundings now as the older stallion helped the young wheat-hued unicorn to his feet.. Now it started to rush back to him backwards in sequence; the hushed murmurs of laughter began to make sense. The flash of blows rushing towards him, the surge of adrenaline as the sparring began, the exchange of hasty words, stitched together now. He stood in the middle of the ring in the Half-Sun Gym; a bit shaky on his legs and still smarting. Across from him stood a smirking mare, leaning cocksure against the opposite turnbuckle. Her dark gold coat was framed by an unkempt sun-blond mane. He noted with dissatisfaction that it seemed she'd barely broken a sweat...

"C'mere, let's get ya in t'da trainin' room so I can put some ice on dat eye, eh?", the mottled gray-and-white elder interrupted in his calm Fillydelphian accent.

Pacer stood dazed for a moment yet as the words began to process. He nodded sheepishly when he understood; "Ah... Yeah, alright Pinto... Let's go." As he was lead out and down from the ring, he did his best to seem unfazed by the smug looks and quiet snickers of the gathered crowd, though it stung more than the pounding in his head to walk to the other side of the gym and into the trainer's room with their eyes all upon him.

When they got inside Pinto quietly closed the door. Pacer wordless heaved himself onto the training table and sighed heavily, pulling back the dark chocolate hair sticking to the sweat on his face. As the old pony retrieved an icepack he started the inevitable lecture Pacer expected.

"Look, kid... I know ya came here to prove yerself but ya gotta back off and cool that hot head a'yers! Yer doin' so good in yer bouts, no losses, and ya got a real chance to contend! Why'd ya have to go an' pick a fight with that mean cuss' of an earth pony Bright Strike anyways? I tried ta tell ya it ain't werth it! An' ya can't expect to have half-a-chance if yer gonna fight her on earthpony terms, wit' no magic an' all."

Pacer was silent for a moment as the rebuke fell over him. Pinto placed the icepack on his already swelling eye. He finally responded as the sting started to die down.

"You know how she is, Pinto. She just gets my goat, is all. Always goin' on about how unicorn's are the weakest division, 'bout how even our champion couldn't last one round with her if they'd mix the classes... It just really burns me up!", Pacer's voice got louder as he spoke, but Pinto interrupted, looking him straight in his amber eyes.

"I know, I know kid - calm down and relax a bit, ya just got conked pretty good. An' I mean... she's got a point, ya know. Ain't no tougher class than us earthpony fighters," he stated with self-assurance, tugging off the gloves from Pacer's hooves. "Sure them hummingbirds-I mean er, pegasusi, are fast 'n agile, an' you unicorns got lots'a skill and ya got that magic, but everypony knows ain't no tougher foe than an earthpony," Pinto said with little room for negotiation. He was trying to be comforting in his own way, to justify or excuse his up-and-coming fighter for the flank-kicking he'd just received; but it had the opposite effect. Pacer was in no mood to hear it.

"You don't think I can beat her...do you? Even if I'd used magic? You don't think a unicorn could beat an earthpony-"

"Hey hey, kid, you know I ain't tha discriminatery type - when you first came through that door I said I'd train ya, even though dis is an earthpony gym an' I ain't never trained a unicorn fighter before. I still don' know why you wanted ta' train here so bad, but I seen tha potential in ya."

Pacer calmed a bit and answered. "I came here 'cause this is the best gym in Fillydelphia - she... she's right about one thing; my division is weak. We just don't have the as many fighters or good trainers. Maybe it's just 'cause it's not as popular as it is with earthponies and pegasi. But I need to know, Pinto - do you really believe I can't hold my own with 'em?"

Pinto didn't respond for a long moment. He sighed and looked away. "Ah'm just sayin'... There's a reason we got divisions. That's all, kid."

That was all Pacer could take for the moment. He didn't fault the old fighter for his honest opinion. Maybe it was just the way the older generation was. But he didn't feel like arguing the point any more. The casual bias ingrained in so many centuries of differences, not all of them resolved, wasn't something he even fully grasped himself. He started to get up abruptly.

"Hey, where ya' goin' kid?" the old stallion asked.

"I just... I'm just gonna get home for now and rest up. I'll see you tomorrow," he replied as he walked out the door.

The walk home was a gray and glum affair. Mid-afternoon, and all the streets were fairly bare; Fillydelphia was a simple blue-collar city, and it's brick-and-steel uncolored skyline matched its reputation and demeanor. It was a far cry from the small-town suburbia of Whinnypeg he'd left behind with its big backyards and sprawling fields; but somehow he still felt at home here. It was where he belonged - it was where the fighting was. It was the destination for anypony who wanted to test their mettle in the ring. Such... uncouth activities were too barbaric for the cosmopolitan Manehattan; far too low-brow for the upper-crust in Canterlot. But even though it fit Fillydelphia's rough-and-tumble history, it still wasn't fully accepted among many. It was, after all, a dangerous and violent display. There were some who viewed it as nothing more than blood sport, something to be put in the past in the peaceful society of Equestria.

But its supporters and fans held a different view; and its promoters and athletes had worked hard for years to claw the league up to a modicum of respectability. From the days of yore, of disorganized one-on-one brawls held in tiny crowded gyms and smoky rented rooms to a fully-fledged business enterprise, with codified rules and a clear champion, matches held in the many arenas and medium sized stadiums of the sports-crazy Fillydelphia.

They did their best to change its reputation from those years ago. It wasn't easy; without regulation, the bouts of years ago had all-too-often ended grimly. Pacer thought back to the horror stories Pinto and other elder statesponies of the Equestrian fight leagues would tell. Everypony knew the dangers inherent, but sometimes you didn't grasp it unless you'd see it for yourself. A pegasi fight could be a dazzling event with their dexterity and speed; but the same powers of flight and nimble movement that made them such a sight to behold was also a deadly drawback. Those light bodies and hollow bones like birds, that let them get enough lift to soar, coupled with the sheer velocity they could generate, had made for some gruesome injuries. Rules were slowly implemented to limit how far apart they could attack each other from, how high they could swoop down from and so on, to limit the danger of fateful impacts. The same was true of the other federations that had become the divisions of the league. Rounds in earthpony bouts were shortened, lest their sheer strength and endurance lead to long-term and debilitating damage to the fighters over time. Certain maneuvers disallowed for risk of too severe an injury. Unicorn matches required padded covering on the horns, much like the gloves worn on hooves during bouts, to prevent ghastly cuts and wounds, and spells like teleportation outlawed. These and other changes had led to vastly increased safety and acceptance, but there was still a long way to go before many in civilized ponydom welcomed it into the mainstream.

And it was in this critical time for the sport that Pacer found himself, foalishly bucking the plan and getting himself tangled up in a futile grudge with a fighter from another division. He didn't mean to, of course. But he'd worked too hard to get looked down on by that... that flankhole Bright Strike. He remembered the spiteful look in her eye when he walked through the Half-Halt door. Like she owned the place. He'd had his preconceptions about the other classes, too... but he hadn't expected to find this kind of keep-to-your-own-kind separatism in a modern Equestrian city.

But as good as 'tradition' is at preserving the positive aspects of history, it can likewise preserve certain negative things as well. As he neared his apartment he tried to shake himself out of the gloomy reverie; he didn't like to have so much on his mind, perhaps anomalously so for a unicorn. He preferred to do, not obsess over. Maybe there was something he could do about all of this...

With this potential optimism clearing his head from the mess of thoughts and brainfog of the day's flankkicking, he rounded the corner to the door of his apartment complex. Standing before it, with a pouty kind of concern on her face, was a pastel rose-colored pegasus, a disheveled bag of quills and notepads slung around her shoulders. She blew a whisp of lavender hair from her face and knocked on the door.

"That usually works better if there's somepony on the other side, Velvet," he chided playfully as he strode up beside her.

"You! See, now you can never laugh at me for being late anymo-oh my gosh, your eye!", she'd started to laughingly reply before catching sight of his swollen brow. She was used to seeing him with bumps and bruises and the occasional limp since she'd met him that day in the park... But he never had a big ol' melon like that except after a match.

"Ah-I... Just a hard day of training, it's fine, c’mon in, I'll change and we'll head out to the par-" he began as he unlocked the door and started inside.

"No way, mister!" she insisted as she followed him in, "Pinto always tells me to make sure you rest after a fight."

"It's fine, really... wasn't even much of a fight," he began to protest, noting with some sour reflection that he wasn't even really lying - it wasn't much of a fight. "Besides, I promised I'd be there for your reading in the park."

Velvet Sonnet smirked back as she led him to the couch. "Oh, please. You and I both know it's always just you listening to me ramble my poems. Nopony's got much time for that around here..." She stated with some disappointment as she blew another wisp of disheveled hair from her eyes.

He dutifully plopped down on the cushions, not entirely disagreeing anymore with the idea of a bit of rest. "It's still important, though - it's good practice, doin' it in public, and besides, ponies hear you as they go by," he noted, not so much to argue further, but to encourage; "...it's my favorite part of the week you know."

Velvet smiled enthusiastically, "Mine too... Even if nopony else hears them yet, and everypony reads the boring reports I have to write for the newspaper. You just relax and I'mma get you an aspirin."

She dropped her bag on the table nearby and shuffled over to the washroom; "Someday they will, Velvet. They'll hear you..." he replied with conviction. After a moment's reflection he added softly, to himself; "...And someday they'll be more tolerant of the fights. Someday they'll see it's worth it." He couldn't quite make himself believe it as much as his first statement, but he forced himself to think positive for the moment. Maybe someday they'll even see that fighting doesn't have to be disharmony... it can bring us together, he added in his thoughts.

She returned with a glass and set it before him. "I know, Pacer. Thanks; you're always keepin' me positive about my writing..." she said softly as she sat down beside him.

"Well, I couldn't do any less for my best friend. You do even more for me; I dunno what I did to be so lucky to find the best friend Fillydelphia had to offer."

Velvet blushed just slightly and haltingly replied; "Well... it isn't luck... So, c'mon, tell me what happened today. Why the unscheduled lump?"

He knew she'd ask, but it wasn't something he wanted to get into. He'd have preferred to leave all of that at the gym; but she was always worried about him, and she knew of his difficulty transitioning to the city and it's invisible separations. And he wouldn't be able to lie; even if he could stand to hide it from her, she'd have seen through it.

He described the truth matter-of-factly; "I got into a tousle with Bright Strike. She caught me off guard. I got knocked around pretty good..." He trailed off towards the end.

Velvet looked on concerned, but didn't want to show her anxiousness over his tensions with the other fighters. "I see... You let her get to you again then...?" she added, but already chided herself mentally. She felt like she shouldn't have worded it that way, 'let' her get to him - to place the blame on him - even if it was his own fault. She wanted to tell him that he always had a choice, but she didn't have the nerve to be so assertive. It just wasn't in her nature.

For his part, Pacer couldn't deny it, as much as it further riled him to think. "Yeah. She got to me." And though it had never come to blows before, it certainly wasn't the first time. "She just caught me off guard is all - I'll be ready next time. I'll show 'em," he quickly tacked on.

Velvet's heart sank. If only she could tell him how much she didn't want there to be a next time. "Well.... Just be careful... okay?" was all she could think to say.

He nodded firmly, but wanted badly to get off this topic. He switched gears and gestured towards her bag. "So, what about you - aren't you gonna read what you were gonna read in the park? I'd hate to miss the best part of the week."

She was just as happy to move on as well. She smiled broadly and agreed. "Of course. I wouldn't want to disappoint my adoring fans... Er, fan."

She rustled through the mess of the bag and dug out a beaten notebook. Ruffling through the pages, she stood and cleared her throat.

"Ahem..." she began, her eyes narrowing on the page, voice shifting smoothly from from casual to stern and serious.

"I breathed, and in the midnight clear,

I felt the stir of tethered words.

These words I wished to never hear,

Had brought me down to earth.

Unlike where sky and sea collide at shore,

Where two parts become something more;

Where two sums of one can become whole -

What I wanted, I could not control.

I reached, up towards the heav'ns grace

Yet could not touch it's hallowed face

My star, it pitied me for being so small -

It came to earth; it heard my call

It gifted me with light unknown,

It whispered, you are not alone..."

She ended gently, words trailing off as she lowered the notebook and looked in anticipation towards her listener. He beamed brightly back at her, clapping softly and approvingly.

"You'll be the star soon enough with that kind of message," Pacer noted sincerely.

She blushed a bit and sat back down. "Ah... thanks. I'm glad to know somepony appreciates it, at least."

"Everypony else will too, wait and see. Just 'cause we don't live in a high class metropolis doesn't mean ponies here won't learn to appreciate beautiful words. That bundle of parchments on your cutie mark isn't for working at some dusty old newspaper, you know..." he added encouragingly.

She thought at first maybe he was just laying it on a bit thick to make her feel better, but there was no guile in his voice. "It's... it's what I've always wanted, to make people feel what I feel through writing," she began, looking over at him with renewed optimism; "someday we'll -both- reach our dream."

It was precisely the solace he needed at the moment. "Thanks, Velvet. You're really the best friend I could ever ask for... I'd better turn in early, I want to get a good start on things tomorrow. How about I walk you to work in the morning?"

She agreed in earnest. "I'd like that. I'll see you tomorrow, Pacer." After she'd gathered her bag, she delicately embraced him, smiling shyly as she left.

It would all work out, he told himself. How could it not?

_________________

END CHAPTER ONE

Anonthony

Chapter 2

Worth Fighting For

-CHAPTER TWO-

The gentle rapping at the door the next morning roused him groggily from bed. A glance at the alarm clock on the bed-stand elicited a groan of disappointment.

"Ugh, darn it..." he mumbled to himself, then called towards the door. "Just a sec, I'm up!"

He ambled up and over to the door, pleased to see her smiling face awaiting him despite a bit of lingering throbbing in his head.

"Overlept, huh? You're gettin' more like me every day, Pacer. Hope you're not catching my bad habits," she chided playfully.

"Ha, me too - one of us has to be organized one. And I sure as hay can't be the nice one," he added with a smirk.

She nodded in feigned seriousness. "Certainly not. So, you ready to go?"

Pacer hastily grabbed a scarf from the closet and gestured towards the door. "Ready when you are, Nice One."

They began to walk in tandem in the chilly morning air. Though it had a bit of bite to it, the emptiness of the streets this early made it a quiet and pleasant stroll. They walked in silence for awhile; he mostly through lack of concentration, she from lack of something to say. She'd half expected him to be the one to knock at her door with how early he usually got up, not the other way around. She tried to brush it off as a fluke, but wanted to assure herself he was alright.

"So... ya didn't sleep well, huh?" she questioned softly.

Pacer grimaced inwardly; he didn't want her to worry, but he also couldn't lie to her. "Not exactly. I mean, I'm fine, of course... Just had a lot on my mind."

She accepted his answer for now, her concern sufficiently sated to change the subject... "Aren't you a little cold with just a scarf? Sure you shouldn't have brought a hat and a coat?”

He hadn't even considered until she'd just now mentioned it. Now that he thought about it, he noticed she had all three on. He shook his head absently and shrugged. "Not really. Guess I'm just used to it. Winter's here are pretty mild compared to what I'm used to I suppose."

"Really? I mean, I heard it's pretty snowy up there, but you never really talk about home. Or anything before you moved here..." She added with diminishing volume.

"Ah, yeah... Sorry about that. I'm just not usually much for going over the past,” he replied apologetically. “Gotta keep moving forward, you know? I've always been that way, but if there's anything you wanna know, just ask."

"Oh, that's alright Pacer," she accepted quickly. There was something she'd always wondered. "Did you always know you wanted to be a fighter?"

He was quite for a moment after she'd asked. Not because he wasn't sure of the answer, but because it just something he didn't think about very often. "No. Took me awhile to figure out what it was I wanted to do. I'd always loved playing sports and stuff, but fighting? It never crossed my mind, until..." he trailed off for a few seconds.

She urged him on quietly. "...Until what?"

"Well, see, there's not a lot of unicorns back home. At least there weren't when I was growing up. Just don't like the weather, I suppose. And while I always loved to play games and do physical stuff, I wasn't ever the among the fastest or strongest. And you might have noticed, I'm pretty competitive, right? So I played hard and tried everything I could to keep up. It helped, though - taught me push myself, even as a young colt. One day there was a new filly in class. Another unicorn. After school everypony gathered to play a game. I was kinda bein' stupid, I wanted to impress her, you know, show her I was cool so she'd want to be friends..."

Velvet couldn't help but chuckle lovingly. "I'm sorry, really. You had a little school crush, huh? I can just see it in my head."

Pacer smiled, embarrassed just a little. "Well... yeah. It's silly, I know. But it made perfect sense to me at the time. So I played really hard that day. Maybe they weren't taking it as seriously as I was, but somehow I managed to wrestle the ball away from this big earthpony colt, and outran a pegasi to the goal. I was pretty darn proud of myself, but they weren't as happy about it. They said I cheated, had a few choice... words for me. And you know... I can kinda have a bit of a temper, too..."

"You got in a fight with them, didn't you?" she answered expectantly.

"You know it," he confirmed readily. "I was so mad they were trying to make me look bad, and I was so upset about how I looked to everypony else, it didn't take long for us to start scrapping. I suppose I was taking the fight more seriously than them too, just like the game, and after a few good licks they scrambled off with their tails between their legs..."

He fell quiet again for a time; he'd meant to recall the story for her with the pride of youth it would have seemed to reflect, but the last words hung on the air with a trace of regret tinged with the chill of the air. They'd neared their destination now, and he felt relieved he could end the tale for now.

"And that's when I got this," he continued finally, gesturing to the mark on his backside.

Velvet had listened in silence, and looked on the mark as he mentioned. She'd never quite understood the connection, but had been wary of asking directly. Some ponies were sensitive about their cutie marks, after all, being such an important part of their identities. And the balanced scale pictured on his had always puzzled her. He anticipated her thoughts and answered without being asked.

"I wasn't sure myself, at first. My dad thought he was. Was absolutely certain it meant I'd follow his in hoofsteps as a police officer. But I knew it wasn't that, at least. I thought maybe I'd be a guard or something... I just loved the way that fight had made me feel. I felt in control, as if while it was going on, everything else stopped, it was just me and the goal. Everything was so clear-cut and simple. I finally just decided that fighting was what I wanted to do, and how it connected was something I'd figure out later."

Velvet nodded but wasn't quite sure she understood. But it hardly seemed important at the time. "Well, if you're doing what you love, and it's something you're good at, that's what matters I guess."

He agreed completely; "Exactly!" he added enthusiastically as they neared the door. The scattered activity across the gym floor began to dwindle almost as soon as they'd crossed the threshold. Punching bags started to cease their metronomic beat and those grappling let each other up. They were both keenly aware of the lingering glances as the room failed miserably in trying to hide its attention on him. Pacer turned to Velvet and tried to his best to maintain an indifference towards it, but inwardly chastised himself for forgetting this was bound to happen.

I should have walked with her to work instead...

"Thanks, Velvet. Why don't I come by the paper after I'm d-" he started, cut-off mid sentence by a resonating voice from across the room, reverberating on the bare concrete walls.

"Hey, filly!" a loud mare exclaimed from the back. The rest of the room, still milling about, fell completely silent. Pacer knew who it was, and knew she was talking to him. He reluctantly turned back and cast his eyes to the ring. Standing cocksure and leaning on the ropes, Bright Strike called out again. "No no, not you. The hummingbird," she continued, a pleased grin on her face.

Pacer was confused for a second, then glanced back at Velvet, puzzled herself.

"Yeah, you. You ever think about puttin' on gloves? I could use a challenge... You're the toughest lookin' thing to walk through the door lately..." she smugly added.

The murmured hush of the room turned to taut silence. Pacer could feel the heat rise in his face as he flushed with simmering anger. He turned back and responded with thinly veiled ire, trying to sound icily serious and match the slangy bravado prevalent in the city.

"So you're gonna challenge a hummingbird now. Classy, Bright." He glared up towards her across the room, which had turned its full attention now on the tense exchange between the two. Already caught up in the unresolved conflict that had built unabated from the day he first arrived, he'd left open a glimpse of his own bias; either inborn from the traditional perceptions of the divisions that fueled such views, or grown out of the unwelcome he'd felt from day one, or both.

The haughty grin faded from Bright Strike's face; her eyes narrowed and barked back sharply, "It's not like I got much of one from you, after all."

Pacer instinctively took a step forward. Velvet nudged at his side, trying to turn him back.
"We were just supposed to be sparring then. In a real fight, all out, I could take you!"

The terse exchange and sudden change of atmosphere drew Pinto from the training room. The old stallion's appearance shifted attention to him as he moved to stand between the two, concern evident on his face.

"Woah now, hold on jus' a minute. Bright, you got trainin' to get to, why don' you just get to it? And Pacer, c'mon now, you don' need to let 'er get ya riled, not after yesterday..."

Pacer was about to object, but Bright spoke up first.

"Oh yes, of course - we wouldn't want a repeat of yesterday now would we...?" she said dismissively.

Pacer grit his teeth in frustration at Pinto's intervention to protect him; he didn't -need- protecting, he thought. But the old trainer wouldn't have it. He spoke in a more hushed tone, privately. "She's right, ya know... You don' need to risk gettin' hurt, ya got yer next fight to think about. Don't do nothin' foolish, now."

But in the quiet attention of the open room, it carried to everypony listening. Bright laughed heartily, setting Pacer's last bit of patience aflame.

"That's right, kid - listen to the ol' mule. I don't wanna hurt you... If I don't have to."

Velvet could sense that he was fuming now; she stepped closer. "C'mon Pacer. Just let it go, it's just one mean pony," she said demurely.

But to him, it wasn't just one pony's disrespect. It was a room full of watchful eyes, judging stares looking down; it was wounded pride and biased perceptions. His ego stung and he brushed off his friend's words, taking another step forward.

"You're the one who'd get hurt, you old plowhorse! You wouldn't last in my division, on my terms!"

A smattering of 'oohs' scattered across the room at his insult. Bright flushed at the term, her haughty grin replaced with a scowl upon hearing the remark. Pinto was about to intercede but she sharply barked back before he could speak.

"I ain't ever gonna be scared of no unicorn. All ya got are tricks, but I don't need to get sidelined from no trick before my next match, you horned filly!"

His ears pinned back against his head, his teeth on edge; she'd beat him once, then put him down, belittled him as a fighter - and now dismissed him, rejecting his challenge and second chance. Velvet shrank back as she saw his eyes narrow with an ire she'd never seen in him before.

"If you're so worried about magic... I'll take you on without it again - only this time we won't be sparring, and you won't catch me off-guard!"

Silence. It had been an interesting bit of drama for the gawkers, but now became deadly serious. Their prior clash in training wouldn't compare; a well-timed hook cleaning his clock in a practice round was one thing, a challenge issued in earnest for an all-out fight held the prospect of something else entirely. It took a moment to register for her, and indeed, for everypony else. She realized it's implications, and she was all-too eager to oblige his new terms.

"Ha! In that case, I'm ready right now! Let's get this over with, I could use the warmup!"

The elder trainer once again couldn't get a word in edge-wise before he was cut off. Pacer's stare turned towards him and he spoke cooly.

"Get my gloves, I'm ready to go."

Pinto shook his head vigorously. "Uh-uh, no way, I ain't gonna let ya do this. You gotta trust me on this - not in your state, not on her terms!"

In Pacer's mind however, it was far too late. Terms had been given, the challenge issued and taken up. It would be a disgrace beyond reason to even entertain the thought of backing out, and he wouldn't consider it. He turned away immediately upon hearing the response and began to step intently towards the equipment table on his own, Velvet finally shaking herself from her trepidation and following behind.

"Y-you really should listen to him, Pacer! Please, I don't know anything about this, but if he doesn't think it's a good id-"

He turned back sharply; seeing her questioning gaze softened him for a moment. She stopped mid-word as his stare met hers. He was too far into his instinct to fight, neck-high and awash in combative feeling. "You don't think I can do it, can you? You don't believe in me." he demanded, rhetorical in tone.

She asked herself the same question. But she found no answer. What could she say, after all. There was no right answer to give; anything would sound wrong, or just make it worse. Her silence jabbed at his heart. There was a scratching doubt at the back of his mind, a quiet voice pleading to be listened to, to quiet the roaring pride-fueled anger. In a way he knew of his irrational haste, his break from reason, but chose, on some unconscious level, to give in to the tugging force of instinct and the pulling tide of the thick tension saturating the room. Other options wouldn't penetrate the ego's needful demands, its walls too thick now to overcome. He turned back away wordlessly, pulling on his gloves as the onlooking fighters and trainers started to gather around the ring.

"...I won't watch this. I can't..." she finally answered.

Pacer tightened his gloves and started towards the ring, averting her gaze. "Then don't."

Velvet shook her head softly.

I don't get it, she thought.

She doesn't get it, he thought.

He clambered up the steps to the ring, slipping between the ropes. Standing face to face now with the eagerly grinning Bright. Pinto ambled over to the side of the ropes, chastising the two foes.

"Listen now, tha both a' you!” Pinto interjected, “this ain't the time or place, ya both got more important things than this here grudge to think about!"

Neither adversary would pay him heed. Bright called over to the crowd, to nopony in particular, ignoring him completely.

"Hey, somepony keep time. Not that it should take long, of course..."

A voice called out their acknowledgement from the gathered group of onlookers. The tension that had built shifting into a kind of buzz of lurid interest; the sweat and heat and drama creating an impassioned sense of excitement. As they crowded the ring and jabbered amongst themselves about what was about to happen, some taking sides or making petty wagers, Velvet backed away in dismay. Her reluctance to leave was overcome by her inability to bear witness. She took off at a sprint for the door. He vaguely noticed just as she disappeared from sight, mind afog with the surge of adrenaline coursing through him, standing across from the enemy, leering eyes impatiently awaiting the promised action. The voice called out as they stared each other down, barely audible now amidst the droning fervor.

"Ready? FIGHT!"

_________________

END CHAPTER TWO

Anonthony

Chapter 3

Worth Fighting For

-CHAPTER THREE-

"....Fight!"

The word rang in his ears, as muffled as it was from the blood pounding in his ears, the echo only in his mind. For a moment Pacer stood stiff and tense across from his eager rival, but there was no time for reflection now; he jarred himself from hesitation, eyes narrowing on the task at hand.

They started off towards each other, a bee-line that veered as they neared one another, starting the unconscious and instinctual circling of a foe, stares fixed as they ambled laterally across from one another.

Bright's jeering smile started to fade as the anticipation grew. She'd waited for this chance from the moment he walked through Half-Halt's doors.

"Looks like I finally get the chance to show you why you don't belong here, ya punk," she sneeringly taunted.

He had nothing to say in reponse. Her spite was no great secret, and whatever speculation he had about her reasons for resenting his presence seemed to fade to unimportance at the moment. The unspoken code, the unconcious creed he had grown to accept and embrace demanded his retaliation to these slights she flung at him - or at least that was the overwhelming feeling that drove them towards this seemingly inevitable confrontation.

No more waiting, he told himself. Perhaps he could catch her unready or thinking of something to say to provoke him. He timed his opening action to her motion, just as she crossed her step he lashed out with a swift off-hoof jab, catching her quite square on the snout, followed up with a straight right that grazed it as she reacted to pull away from the first.

She steadied herself as she moved back and away shaking off the impact. He watched intently, not following immediately, feeling out his opponent's response. She raised her head back up and looked back towards him, beaming almost antagonistically as she spat out a small volume of light-pink saliva mixed with blood to the side. For a moment his heart fell. He knew it already, of course, that endurance and toughness that were hallmarks of the earth pony fighters, their indefatigable tolerance for punishment. But how unfazed the one-two had her was still just as disheartening. The gathered onlookers ooh-ing in response did nothing to help this feeling...

She had nothing more to say either, the shots were almost a welcome feeling. Now she was fully into the flow of impassioned, adrenaline-fueled energy, the lingering tingle of pain a kind of strange pleasure the uninitiated to the Sweet Science would never understand. Her head bowed slightly, ears pinned back as she rushed towards him. The earnest crowd of fellow fighters and trainers were in full thrall now; blows had been struck, the fight was truly on. Pinto shook his head from the side of the ring, only able now to hope and wait and watch.

Pacer planted his legs firmly, teeth on edge as he waited her attack. He'd have to head-to-head with her eventually, he thought, he might as well test it right from the start. She reached him quickly, far faster than he thought for a bigger opponent; with a wide arcing left hook she swung, wild and hard. He ducked low and to his left, letting it fly over him, brushing the tip of his mane as it went. He rose up as she withdrew it, about to pull back for a follow-up right, and interjected a rising left uppercut.

Her veteran instincts, if not her conscious anticipation, sensed his reaction and she aborted the second strike - instead holding off, letting his counter rise harmlessly several inches from contact. Even as he pulled the leg back to reload, she was prepping the second wave. She turned, twisting quickly to the side and planting her front legs squarely on the mat. Shifting her herself and pivoting, she bucked out with a hind leg, a spinning kick that advanced with the weight of her whole body.

With barely the time to have withdrawn his own strike and start to put forth a second, he had to cut it short and put up a defense instead, knowing on every level there was no way to evade it instead. Without milliseconds to spare he got his forelegs up in front of his chest and face to take the impact. Even if he'd been allowed, he might not have been able to quickly enough raise a magical defense or otherwise buffer against the blow with mystic kinetic energy. It landed fully and hard against his forelegs and rocked him. He stumbled back, catching himself after a step and trying to reset his stance as fast as possible; she was on a mission now. She rushed again, giving him no time to plot a next move.

She reached him just as he got set, but before he could resolve on a course of action. A sharp left upper she swung nearly connected as he barely swayed back enough to avoid it. It was a feint, though from its vicious arc one could hardly tell she'd held anything back. Following up in rapid succession was a right body blow he could not avoid: it impacted bluntly on his left side, a pounding pain in his ribs that stunned him.

Dang is she fast...

With an ill sense of things to come he lashed out with a strong straight right just as she raised up to recoil from the body blow. He caught her full on the snout once more. He'd hoped, at least, without a terrible lot of conscious thought, to work one spot in hopes of breaking through her well-known tolerance for pain. But without the ability to reinforce these strikes with kinetic energy, she once again shook off the blow quickly. She didn't give him time or opening to follow up, able to fire out a left jab in response just as he did the same. The both landed squarely, in synch. Without being able to raise a defense or brush it away magically, he felt it far more potently than she.

How the hay am I supposed to damage her...

Wincing through watering eyes, he caught the briefest glimpse of her wild-eyed expression. He could almost see her pushing through the sting of the punch as she recovered quickly, zealous and single-minded, while he reeled again, another step back and into the ropes now. She pressed the advantage; he reared on hind legs and covered his face in defense.

She seemed to take it as an affront; she rose likewise on hind legs and struck out with a one-two combination hard into his defense. He kept it up, given an afterthough of hope to withstand the deluge for long enough to catch up, to counteract, to formulate a new plan...

She had other plans. Bright's face went wilder still, holding nothing back and irritated at his pitious tactic. Sidling parallel she kicked out hard, racking him firmly in a hind knee as he was distracted with covering face and body. Pacer groaned audibly, the leg collapsing beneath him and he fell to three legs now. Defenses dropped, she seized the moment. She whipped around as before, with far wickeder intent.

Mind a haze with a burning mix of pain, adrenaline and the maddening grip of fight-or-flight response, he only barely recognized the spinning whirl of dark gold hair as her mane spun round with her. He didn't recognize it quick enough. The crowd's droning buzz slowed in his mind, the lights a blurred mess in his eyes; for a confused and desperate moment he lost himself. In the aching, broken pieces of a second it took to recollect some semblance of focus, the startling realization that he was already too far behind fell over him.

Nearly turned completely to him now, Bright Strike bucked out with both legs, long trained and well learned muscles snapping out both hooves with veteran precision. It was already over, though knowing this didn't make the sickening feeling in his gut any easier to accept. In unconscious response he started to raise his legs to cover his face and turn away, but even in the slowed and drawn out moment, it was an empty gesture. He could only watch as if detached as the unavoidable raced towards him.

His eyes closed instinctively, just as they two bucking hooves reached his face, but unable to squeeze out the lights and sound - or the inevitable. The time came, though the feeling didn't seem to register. All his thoughts scattered as if broken by the impact, shattered into shards of random recollection, time warping back to normal speed as the world around him went far blacker than his closed eyes could achieve.

The lights... the sound... the thoughts... feeling and sensation... severed in long and frozen instant. Distantly, vaguely, there was a fleeting sense of falling, as if in fevered dream, as he crashed limp onto the mat.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The metronomic rhythm of the clock sounded out the march of seconds, solitary on otherwise bare white walls. Pacer heard each beat clearly, so quiet it seemed around him. He couldn't quite recall waking up; or even whether he was really awake. He kept his eyes shut tight against the harsh fluorescent light. He knew there was pain, a throbbing pressure in his head, but he was'nt quite lucid enough to really feel it. -Maybe-, he told himself, if he kept them shut he wouldn't -have- to feel it.

And if wishes were bits, the saying came to mind. Laboriously slow, awareness dawned fuller on him. The steady breathing of someone near, a lingering antiseptic smell hanging in the air, the feel of worn but fresh linen beneath him, subtle clues pulled together in his restless thoughts. He shifted uncomfortably, not so much from the rising tremor in his head, but from the realizations coming together at last. A creaking of springs beneath him twanged in his ears. They rang, his hearing harsh and more vivid than he would have liked.

From the side of him the old stallion stepped hesitantly forwards, clearing his throat softly and rousing him as gently as possible.

"Hey... you, you awake kid...?"

Pacer sighed heavily. There was no more denying reality. He opened his eyes and looked up at Pinto. He said nothing in response; didn't nod or acknowledge him, but sat up slowly, with strain, groaning slightly.

"...There ya go. Yeah... you'll be alright, kid," Pinto stated with as much assurance as he could muster.

After a long moment of letting the throbbing from the sound dissipate, he finally spoke, his tone low and even.

"How long was I out?"

Pinto absently thought for a moment, glancing back at the clock and once more to Pacer.

"Eh, few hours maybe...? Don't worry about it, seen much worse ya'know."

For the briefest second a question came to mind, and it nearly overtook him long enough to form the words. He pushed it back down, knowing the answer full well already by the emptiness around him. Pinto knew it too; he moved quickly to change the unspoken subject.

"If, ah, the doc says it ain't too bad, I'll just have 'em push back yer next scheduled fight from the next event. I got some pull with the commish, ya won't hav' to forfeit. Might set back yer chance at bein' number one contender, but you'll get right back, ah'm sure."

It was meant to serve as consolation, but it was small comfort in the end; it was hardly the foremost on his mind, and only brought up one more thing to worry about. He couldn't decide what he wanted to be more upset with himself over. He had his pick of varying failures. He settled on selfish embarrasment over crushing defeat. A long moment went by, with Pinto waiting for response, before Pacer acknowledged his statement.

"...Thanks..."

Pinto nodded quietly. The absent, stoic look on his fighter's face disconcerted him, but he couldn't find the words. It was more than just a loss, more than just one fight among many before and many to come. Long experience had shown him numerous fighters come and go, rise and fall, potential fulfilled or fallen short of through critical moments in their paths. Even the strongest or most hopeful could, and had, been shellshocked by a singular failing, and never recovered. There was never an easy answer to snap them out of it. The uneasy silence compelled him to say something, anything.

"I, uh... Bright'll probably get a suspension, too. Double back kick's were outlawed fer a reason. That hot head ah' hers was gonna get'er in trouble eventually. I’ll ‘ave a talk with the comissh about it tomorrah."

Pacer nodded quickly this time. He didn't want to hear it. It didn't help. It couldn't. Great, he thought. Didn't just humiliate myself, I dragged her down with me.

The litany of things he'd wrought with this one loss started to list themselves in his head. The sound defeat. The risk to his career. The respect of his trainer, his fellow fighters... his friend. His stomach turned at the thought. Before he had time to dwell on it, the creaking sound of the door opening in the otherwise hushed room turned both their heads towards a white-coated earth pony.

"I see you're awake," he said, his worn and pale gray face looking down at the chart at he carried, his voice void of inflection. He strode over straightaway to the side of the bed, finally looking away from the chart and down at his patient. "I'm Dr. Pulse, and you've suffered a rather severe concussion. How do you feel?"

Pinto interjected immediately to the doctor's toneless inquiry. "Oh, he's jus' fine, I seen way worse before."

The doctor did not look over to him, his attention, such as it was, on Pacer. "...How do you feel?" he reiterated, his voice softening ever slightly.

Pacer blinked, looking over at his trainer for a moment for what he ought to say. Pinto simply nodded, accepting that a seasoned doctor would see through any evasiveness. "I, uh... Feel a bit foggy. And nauseous I guess."

The doctor nodded acknowledgment and made a note on the chart. "That's very normal; not to worry." He took a step back to look at them both, speaking more firmly now. "You're also very lucky, son. It could have been much worse. And repeated cases like this, there's no telling what kind of damage is done."

The old trainer stepped forward, between the doctor and patient. "Now, he's a strong kid, this is nothin', I took my licks for years and I'm just fine," he insisted.

Unimpressed, the doctor continued. "Yes, I'm sure," he added dismissively, "But how many others aren't? How many old fighters aren't just fine? Fact is we don't know what kind of long-term effects one might end up with. Sure, he's fine now. Ten years from now after a hundred more fights? Twenty, retired and broken?"

Pinto took a deep and indignant breath, about to refute the doctor's opinionated stance. Pacer interrupted knowingly, the last thing he wanted to listen to was an argument. "...When will I be released," he said to neither in particular.

They both turned and looked over, concern on their faces with his absent stare. Doctor Pulse responded after a moment of consulting his chart.

"You're fine for now as far as I can tell. You could leave today, but I'd really prefer to keep you overnight for observa-"

Pacer interrupted again quickly, hearing the answer he wanted to. His eyes focused a bit more now, and he looked up at the tired doctor insistently. "Thank you, Dr. Pulse. I'll be going then."

Pinto nodded approvingly, not hesitating to gather his coat from the chair on the other side of the bed. The doctor, cut off mid-sentence, tried to rebut.

"I'd feel better if you stayed," he said strongly.

"...No, thank you. I'd really rather get some rest at home..." Pacer evenly responded.

Pinto followed up quickly with another question. "When can he get back to work, doc?"

Seeing he was not going to sway them he sighed with mild exasperation. "He should be fine to return to physical activity in a few days, I suppose," he said, looking at the weathered trainer. Bringing his attention back to Pacer, he continued. "And fine; I'll go get you something for the headache you'll be having in the morning."

He turned sharply and headed towards the door. As he reached it, he paused mid stride. Turning back momentarily, he looked at Pacer and tacked on a request to his statement. "Think about what I said, alright? Is this really worth it, son?"

Pinto looked expectantly over at his fighter, waiting for him to reject the notion out of hand. After a long moment, Pacer answered.

"Yeah. Sure."

The doctor seemed relieved to at least have that, and went back on his way out the door. Pinto appeared clearly distressed by it; either the doctor feeling it necessary to ask or Pacer acquiescing. But he chalked it up for the moment to the kid just being conciliatory. Pacer started to rouse from the bed, gingerly stepping down. The elder stallion wrapped a jacket around him.

"You, uh... You're gonna rest up and be back in a few days, right?" he asked fervently.

"Yeah... yeah, of course," Pacer said; but the old trainer's inquisitive stare told him he hadn't been very convincing.

"I'll come by tomorra' and check on ya, alright? Gotta make sure ya get back on yer feet as good as possible. Rest is good, but ya don' wanna get too far behind," Pinto said assuredly.

It took another long pause for him to reply; too many disconnected thoughts and projections vying for attention in his head. He just wanted to get home, alone, and sort things out...

"Yeah. Sure."

_________________

END CHAPTER THREE

Chapter 4

Worth Fighting For

-CHAPTER FOUR-

The walk home in the chilly air was a laborious task. Physically, at least. He kept his eyes on the randomly drifting snow falling gently around him, concentrated on nowhere in particular but enough to occupy his mind. Still though, each step seemed as plodding through thick muck, an empty thudding behind his eyes.

Tuning out the evening crowds shuffling home from work and school, Pacer avoided looking at any in particular. It wasn't hard to keep from eye contact. Despite the obvious and discolored welt marring his face, everypony seemed as mentally occupied as he. He was silently thankful as he rounded the corner and slipped inside the apartment building and up towards his door.

The silence and warmth felt at first like relief. Wearied, he lay down and rubbed his temples softly. Slow and sure the room darkened around him as time lazily passed. The silence that had comforted began to find its way to work against him. He'd wanted to be by himself... And now, as the clock on the wall ticked out just as the one in the hospital had, there was nothing to do but think. And wait. And think.

He wanted to sleep, but it was evident by his buzzing thoughts it wasn't going to happen soon. That would have made it much easier to pass the time, and it seemed appropriate punishment that he wasn't going to be that fortunate. At least he had his pick of any number of thoughts to choose from, even if none of them seemed particularly pleasant. He certainly didn't want to think about tomorrow, or what he'd do to pass the time -then-, or the day after that, or going back to the gym and facing the embarrasment. He dismissed those for now; he'd deal with it later. For a brief moment he considered thinking about what to say to Velvet, how to apologize, but that as well held too many implications for the moment.

He settled on the easiest thing to digest for the time being; the fight, in every agonizing detail he could piece together. Blow by blow, movement by movement it ran over and over in his mind's eye. Every mistake and possibility he'd missed he hypothesized about what to do different, what he should have done, what he could have done differently. And even then, stringing together the likely outcomes, he couldn't come up with a way that ended much better. He turned over restlessly in bed, mentally torturing himself over how far short he fell of his own expectations. He just wasn't good enough to beat her at her own game. He ran through the fight once more; every move leaving him further and further behind; he wasn't fast enough. Every attack, landed or taken, not enough or too much; he wasn't strong enough. Every approach turned aside instinctively; he wasn't experienced enough.

And every step of the way, the eyes bored into his head. Bright Strike's, fierce and intolerant; the crowd's, his fellow fighters and their trainers, morbidly eager to see his comeuppance; and Velvet's, conspicuous in their absence, and Pinto's, disappointed and concerned. Like a bad dream you try to change in the semi-wakeful state when it's over, no action seemed to satiate them all, no alternatives satisfied the restlessness covering him like a shroud.

Finally, mercifcully, as the seconds lingerlingly turned to minutes and hours, he fell into fitfull, dreamless sleep.

In the stillness of the pre-dawn morning, Velvet roused herself from bed uneasily. She hadn't slept well and it showed as she passed the mirror in the washroom to ready herself for the day. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and brushed her frazzled hair, dismissing the thought of breakfast.

Ever since Pinto had come by while Pacer had been out cold, she'd felt disquited and anxious; even now, the next day she couldn't shake it. She'd wanted to be there, she really did; but to see him like that, still upset over his accusation about her faith in him...

Ever since Pinto had come by while Pacer had been out cold, she'd felt disquieted and anxious, and even now the next day she couldn't shake it. She'd wanted to be there, she really did; but to see him like that, still upset over his accusation about her faith in him... But hesitation over the knot in her stomach, indecision, overruled it.

And now, the reticence was replaced with regret. What might have been done differently, what might have been said that could have changed things or helped. Absently putting her things into her bag and getting ready to head out for work, she tried to come up with some way to fix it now, but what could be done? It -was- his fault, after all; wasn't it?

Throwing the bag over her shoulders and wrapping a scarf around her neck, Velvet headed for the door. There was a moment's pause as she reached for the handle.

Maybe I should check on him. Just to see if he's home yet.

From in the dead of sleep, abruptly, piercing light invaded Pacer's eyelids as it seeped through the cracks in the windowblinds. He shifted to move his face away from its rude awakening, but having been roused, there was no going back. The ambient light was already too bright to ignore. He groaned at the intrusion to no one in particular, instinctively pulling back the covers and stepping out of bed without thinking. It didn't take more than a few dizzied, stumbling steps to start remembering; he steadied himself against the wall as he rushed to full consciousness, head swimming and throbbing.

Taking a few slow breaths and trying to focus, he righted himself and pushed towards the washroom. His legs started to feel a little more under him now, the initial pulsing pain in his forehead diminishing; he went to splash a bit of water on his face to awaken more fully, and was met with a sting that made him wince. He looked up into the mirror on the wall and recognized the cause. A misshapen, discolored lump across the eyes dominated the reflection, and he sighed bitterly at the sight, turning away from the mirror quickly.

Stepping out into the main room, he stood for a moment and looked around. He was struck by how quiet and empty it seemed. Usually he'd already be in the middle of his routine, chowing down breakfast, putting his lunch together, gathering his things and heading out the door. He rarely had time to stand around, and now, the thought of the whole day with nothing more to do but sit there and rest left an unsettling feeling in his gut. It'd been hard enough not to dwell on unpleasant thoughts the previous night.

What else is there to do, though...?

Nothing came to mind that seemed to be of any help. He was a do-er, he wanted to act, not sit around and think. Then again, it'd been hasty action and not thinking that put him where he was. If he'd thought about things a little more, if he'd listened to his trainer, if he'd listened to his friend... His mind wandered to Velvet with that train of thought. She'd be headed out the door about now. Of course, she probably wouldn't be stopping by to walk to work with him as usual.

Maybe, right?

But... probably not, he figured. He owed her an apology.

So apologize.

His head perked up at the thought. That was something he could -do-. He glanced up at the clock. She'd be on her way in already. Maybe if he left now he could catch her. He had to 'do' something. If nothing else, he could try to make amends for one of the mistakes he'd compounded yesterday, to brush away at least one of the dark clouds hanging over his head.

No more overthinking now; he moved right for the door, a little steadier on his legs now with a goal to move towards. It took a little doing, but with something to put his focus on, getting down the stairs and to the entrance wasn't as much of a struggle as he'd expected. He exited onto the snowy sidewalk, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun, amplified by the brilliant white sheen of snow covering the pavement.

Velvet walked slowly through the snow towards work, taking a long way in that would bring her past Pacer's building. She hadn't decided if she'd check on him or not, but at least she could put off the choice and leave it open. The uniform gray brick buildings blended into one other as she passed each one in turn, mellow blue eyes squinting against the light. She tried not to think too much about what to say. It was sure to come to her, she told herself - after all, words were supposed to be her forte, a cheery kind of pony who loved to uplift others with just the right thing to say or write.

So why are you so worried about it...?

There wasn't a chance to answer. Before the thought could even finish, as she neared his building on the other side of the street, a sillhuouette against the blinding light stopped her - a slightly shaky looking unicorn, hoof raised to his eyes against the light, standing on the sidewalk outside the door.

With his eyes slowly adjusting, Pacer started to get his bearings. He couldn't even be sure she'd come this way. But it was worth a shot. The chilly air and light made his head throb anew as he scanned the street around him. It was surprisingly quiet this morning, and he was silently grateful. In fact, there didn't seem to be anypony around at all. Just as he was about to wonder about it, he caught sight of her across and down the sidewalk.

He froze for a moment; it was who he was looking for, but now that he saw her he hesitated with a twinge of guilt on his conscience. Pacer collected himself briefly, and started to cross the street towards her.

Velvet felt the same hesitant strain, but it came with some relief, to see that he at least seemed alright. She started across the street as well. Meeting in the middle of the empty road, there was a moment of silent assessment. Seeing the ugly welt marring his eye made her wince, and he instinctively turned that side of his face away, head hung low. There was something that needed to be said, but he couldn't quite form it in his mind.

"I'm sorry-" they both started to say.

"No, Velvet..." Pacer started again, "you shouldn't be sorry. This is my fault."

Velvet shook her head and tried to refute, but he continued, finally blurting out what he'd tried to find the right words for, coming out simple and blunt.

"I was a jerk, and I'm sorry... I don't know what else to say. I got so caught up in ... all that, I didn't listen to my friends," he quietly admitted, looking up from the street to see her reaction.

"It's... it's okay, Pacer," she began comfortingly. "Everypony loses their head sometimes. And... I'm sorry too. I should've been there for you."

It was an uncomfortable reminder of how he'd felt when he'd woken from his defeat. He looked back away.

"I... never finished the story I was telling you."

Velvet looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Back in school, what I was telling you the other day. Seems just as stupid now as it did then - after that stupid fight, that filly I'd tried to impress and make friends with... She thought I was big jerk after that. I didn't get a second chance. When I woke up yesterday, I thought... I thought maybe I'd done it again."

Velvet's expression fell further. "Oh... I see. I'm really sorry, Pacer - I wish I'd been there. I really do."

Pacer nodded slowly. "I know, Velvet. I brought it on myself, just like I did back then."

A silent moment passed between them, a mixed sense of relief at broaching their apologies and the awkwardness of it all. Velvet finally realized they were still standing in the middle of the street.

"Hey, c'mon, let's get out of the road," she encouraged, gently nudging him back towards the sidewalk. They walked quietly over to the steps of the apartment building and sat themselves down on the stoop.

"So, um, what did the doctor tell you?"

Pacer shrugged absently. "He said I'd be alright, I guess. I could get back to work shortly, if I wanted to."

Velvet wasn't heartened by the way he'd worded it, in doubtful questioning. "That's great news... isn't it? It's what you love, after all."

"Yeah... it is. But I made such a fool of myself. Disregarded my trainer, my friend. Got shown up in front everypony else-"

"Hey now," Velvet interrupted firmly, "if you don't want to fight anymore because it's not what you want, that's one thing. But you better not be thinking about giving up because of embarrassment. That's not the Pacer I know. I understand, you wanted to prove you were just as good as Bright. But... is that really what matters?"

She caught him by surprise with the question. He had to think about it for long moment.

"No. No, it's not," he acknowledged.

"So you go back upstairs and rest. Don't think about it for now. And tomorrow you'll feel better, and you can get back to reaching for your dream. You'd never let me give up on mine, would you?"

He smiled over at her, the answer obvious. "Of course not. You deserve it."

"And so do you," she grinned back. "Alright? I'm gonna head to work, and I'll come by and see you after, okay?"

Pacer watched Velvet walk away, lost in absent thought about what she'd said. Before he knew it, she'd disappeared down the road. When he realized he'd been sitting there on the cold steps for quite awhile, he started to get up to head back upstairs. But as he was about to turn towards the door he felt something pull at his mind. He'd cleared the air with Velvet, but there was still someone else he'd wronged.

His thoughts turned to his faithful trainer, and how coldly he'd disregarded the old stallion's advice. And then, to Pinto's pained expressions of concern at the hospital. Pacer stood still, thinking over now how he'd neglected to consider how his actions effected others. For that matter, his actions had even effected Bright, facing suspension now. His foolish pride hadn't just hurt himself. Once more, he felt that pressing need to -act-; he couldn't see himself sitting around all day with a cloud over his head, without having made amends.

Maybe, he thought, If head to Half-Sun now, I can talk to the commissioner and ask him not to suspend Bright. And of course, while there, he could offer the apology he owed to Pinto.

With his intention set, he turned back down the stairs and set down the road towards the gym. Already, just getting moving gave him some sense of further relief. It felt good to be doing something and not sulking over it - though he still wasn't entirely sure what he'd do after, at least it was something.

The walk was comforting, even under still-not-quite steady legs and in a chilly day. The fresh snow's crunch beneath each step gave a tangible sense to the action he was taking. He kept his eye's forward, the easing fog in his mind less obtrusive, the fresh air helping his headache further. It wasn't very long, or at least it seemed to him, that he was nearly there already. He rounded a corner past towering brick buildings, portions bathed in what snow managed to stick to them. The open clearing of a park appeared a little further down the way.

Pacer could hear the sounds of fillies and colts at play before he could even see them. As he got a bit closer it was apparent there were a good half-dozen or so children revelling in the snow. It brought a smile to his face, hearing some raucous laughter and their joking. A few dozen yards away now he could see them having a friendly snowball fight; no particular organization to their haphazard play, snow flew chaotically back and forth between them. Pacer stopped in his tracks for a moment.

He saw one colt, what was quite apparently the youngest of the group, a little orange earthpony, trying to keep pace with some of the older kids. The little colt diligently gathered a hooffull of snow and looked up for a target; he chucked it towards an older pegasi who easily flitted away it. But the kid was undeterred. The misfire didn't faze him. He cast his eyes back to the ground to collect some more ammunition, when an older unicorn in the group magically grabbed up a tight ball of snow and struck him smack dab in the face. He was only stunned for a moment, though - he vigorously shook his head and wiped the snow clear from his eyes, a broad smile still on his face.

Pacer watched for awhile, reminded of scenes so similar in his own childhood. He thought for a moment about how many others had these exact memories, or one's just like them. Suddenly though, the nostalgia was replaced with something else. For a second he couldn't place it, but then it hit him. Guilt. He watched these children play, unbound, especially the little earthpony, at a disadvantage to the older kids, with no magic or wings. Certainly, he'd grow into his own and the natural physical talents of his kind, not to mention whatever his special talent might be. But for now, the colt was just having fun. Playing, competing, regardless of whether the other's might be better than him at the moment - or whether they had horns, wings, or not. Because that was the point. And that was the source of the guilt now gnawing at Pacer. He realized he'd replaced the joy of friendly competition with the narrow focus of winning. His rashness hadn't just hurt himself, or his friends, or even his rival; it was a blow to the whole reason why he loved what he did, why other's loved to watch.

-I owe them more than an apology-, he thought solemnly. He had to do something. A plan began to form nebulously in his mind, a way to make amends, to rekindle the real purpose in himself and show it to the others and break the foolish barriers that helped push him to his mistake in the first place. He turned back towards the road and continued towards Half-Sun.

When he arrived, there was no hesitation. He knew there'd be eyes on him, so when he pushed through the door he headed straight for the back. Disregarding the looks, not trying to make out the hushed words around him, Pacer moved straightaway to the office.

Opening the door he was greeted with the surprised looks of Pinto and the commissioner - a stocky red earthpony with intense eyes that instantly started to size him up - the two of them sitting across from each other at large desk in the middle of the room.

"Pacer!" Pinto exclaimed. "Great to see ya up and about already! See, I told ya, you'd be fine in no time at all, I was just telling the commissioner here, you'll be back in action right off!"

Pacer nodded with a steady smile. "Yeah, nothin' to worry about."

The commissioner was still looking him over, with a fighter's eye, as if scanning for weaknesses and strengths. "Pinto and I were just going over what happened. I'm glad to see you're already back on your legs. We hate to lose our up-and-coming fighters for even a single fight."

"That's what I'm here about, comissioner," Pacer started to explain.

The comissioner raised a hoof as if to stop him. "Don't worry about it. It's not ideal of course, but we can reschedule your upcoming fight to another event. I hate to have to do it considering we're losing Bright Strike's match for the next event as well, but it's all we can do."

"Actually, comissioner... That won't be necessary. You don't need to push back my fight," Pacer stated firmly.

Pinto eyed him with some concern, but was more or less pleased that he seemed as determined as he did. For awhile there he'd been worried he'd lost his focus. "Well, if yer sure, kid... Yeah, we could still have ya ready in time."

The comissioner stared him down for a moment, then glanced over to Pinto. "Well. If the doctor's given him clearance, and you don't think it'll be a problem, I suppose we can keep the match as is. You've been training fighter's a long time Pinto, so I'll trust your judgement."

Pacer nodded thankfully, but he wasn't finished yet. "There was something else, comissioner. I'd like to ask that Bright not be suspended. It was equally my fault, and she shouldn't have to be punished for what it took two of us to do."

The comissioner sat back and thought quietly for awhile, a silence passing between the three of them.

"It's important for the league's image that we have rules like this, Pacer," he finally spoke, "I appreciate what you're saying, but this is the kind of unsportsponylike conduct that gives us a bad rap."

"I understand, comissioner. And trust me, I know we need to project a better image... That's why I don't want my match to stay as-is," Pacer replied steadily, both their puzzled stares looking over at him before he continued. "I want Bright and I to fight at the next event. On equal ground, both our rules. We'll put this thing between us to rest, neither of us will lose a fight, and the league won't lose the matches."

They both sat in shock, but it didn't take the comissioner long to form a response. "Pacer, what you're saying, an inter-division fight, a -sanctioned- fight... Look, I know-"

Pacer cut him off mid-sentence, feeling a bit guilty at the impoliteness, but feeling it necessary. "Think about it for a minute first. Instead of losing two good fights for an event, you get a fight that'll draw more interest than anything we've had in months. We'll probably sell out the whole arena. And Bright and I can finally settle things once and for all, on even terms."

It was Pinto who responded this time, not quite sure of himself - or his fighter. "Pacer, kid... Are ya sure about this? Whaddya gonna gain?"

Pacer smiled at his old friend. "Respect, Pinto. And a good fight, of course." Pacer looked back from Pinto to the commissioner. "I know you don't have to agree to this. And I know it's irregular. But just this once, let's take a chance and see what happens. Trust me, it'll be worth it."

The comissioner turned to the side, looking out the window for a good long while as Pacer watched intently for some sign of what his answer might be. Finally he spoke, as if to himself. "It would be quite a draw... Might be some good publicity... Can always use a good haul at the box office..."

Pacer kept silent, not wanting to interrupt the positive line of thinking-out-loud he was hearing. The commisioner finally stopped, and turned back around towards him.

"Fine then. Just this once. You've got a deal."

Pacer grinned with satisfaction. "Thank you, comissioner."

"I can't force her to, of course - it would be an exhibition, outside her division, so she'd have to agree to it on her own."

"That won't be a problem, believe me. She'll agree to it," Pacer affirmed. He started to turn around and head towards the door.

"Where ya goin' kid?" Pinto asked.

"To get her to agree, of course," he replied as he neared the door.

The comissioner called out to him just as he was about to exit. "Hey, kid. Just remember. I'm takin' an awful risk here. You get yourself put back in the hospital again, in front a crowd... It'll be bad for the league - and you too. Don't make us regret this," he solemnly added.

Pacer didn't turn back. He let the warning sink in, but he was not deterred. He answered, Velvet's words more pressing on his mind than the comissioner's. "No... there won't be any regrets," he said matter-of-factly as he finally walked back out the door.

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END CHAPTER FOUR

Anonthony