The Law of Averages

There were a few facts that Dan had failed to consider before challenging Graham to a spar.

Crack!

"Shit!"

"Pathetic, Newman! Keep those hands up!"

The most pressing of which was that Dan, though having improved tremendously over the past few months, had not, in fact, been training to fight for the majority of his life. Graham, on the other hand...

Thump!

"Goddamnit!"

"Get up, Newman! Your footwork is terrible!"

Graham had spent the last decade learning how to go hand-to-hand against hardened criminals. Against hardened criminals with superpowers. Against hardened criminals, with superpowers, whilst having no powers of his own. Dan felt like he was sparring against fucking Nightwing.

The younger man's style was highly evasive, with its techniques seemingly built around the idea of being physically weaker than his opponent. More importantly, Graham himself was fast, blisteringly so, and had the balance of an Olympic gymnast. There were no acrobatic flips or exaggerated twirls, nothing showy or dramatic, but he could shift directions on a dime and dodged like a mongoose on crack.

None of these things would have presented a problem to Dan in a real world fight. Dan's power was disgustingly effective in any sort of duel situation. Perfect, instantaneous repositioning tended to present an overwhelming advantage. Failing that, Dan's power was the ultimate de-escalation device. Any fight that he couldn't win, he could simply run away from. Dan knew it, Marcus knew it, Abby knew it, and he was taught accordingly. His various crash courses in fisticuffs all involved an absolute reliance on, and abuse of, his power.

This was coming back to bite him in a huge way. Graham was still a baseline human, though a ridiculously trained one, and it would be extremely unsporting for Dan to use his power in a spar against him. Beyond that, while using an active upgrade in a friendly match was not strictly speaking illegal, so long as both parties consented, society at large considered it the ethical equivalent of using brass knuckles and bear mace for a bar fight. The social stigma was so extreme that such upgrades were banned in just about every competitive sport that Dan had looked into.

In other words, Dan would look like a big fat cowardly coward.

This incredibly relevant fact had not actually occurred to Dan until he had taken his place across from Graham, ready to begin the fight. Had he given it even a second's consideration before that exact moment, he might not have been so self-confident. As it was, he had taken a solid jab to the face while looking for a socially acceptable loophole.

Obviously, there was some wiggle room allowed for special cases. Police officers had to train against active powers; it would be absurd to ask them not to. It was an argument that Dan had considered using about thirty seconds into his first bout, when he realized that he was hilariously outmatched in a straight fight. Unfortunately, he doubted that Graham would entertain the idea for longer than a few seconds.

The reason lay solely with their current setting. Had there been a qualified supervisor, or Gregoir, nearby to supervise, Graham would probably be demanding a no holds barred match to satisfy his ego. As it was, they were forty feet underground, in a dimly lit room, without spectators, tossing each other around a moldy old boxing ring. Any reluctance on Graham's part in this situation would have been understandable, really. Accidental injuries were no laughing matter. It made perfect sense.

It did not make Dan feel any better.

"Oof!"

"Again!"

Dan's world was pain. Thankfully, or perhaps not, this was completely normal. Abby regularly thrashed him while he used his power, but she had been trained by a woman who gave Dan's nightmares nightmares. To receive the same kind of beating from a man five years his junior was immensely frustrating. Even more so because there wasn't much he could do about it. No amount of brutal training could make up for literal years of experience.

And thus, Dan suffered. Horribly.

"That was embarassing, Newman," Graham stated frankly in the aftermath, as they both toweled away their sweat.

Dan had been the decisive loser of their bout, having spent approximately eighty percent of his time knocked on his ass. He'd landed a few blows on Graham, sure, but nothing solid enough to even make the younger man flinch. As embarassed as he was, Dan felt the tiniest amount of thanks for the experience, as it had exposed a rather gaping hole in his fighting style. It wasn't necessarily one that needed patching, but it was good to know that it existed.

Still, he had his pride. Even if it was currently mashed into paste.

"Not my fault," Dan immediately defended. "My entire fighting style is based around my upgrade. It's not like I can whip that out against you!"

"That would be inappropriate," Graham agreed smugly. He eyed Dan with consideration. "A shame. I would have liked to spar with you at your best. I must admit, I'm surprised that your trainer has focused so exclusively on your upgrade. Most would have expanded your skillset."

Dan raised a questioning eyebrow. "Why bother? It's a part of me. That'd be like training to fight without your right arm."

"You are legally allowed to defend yourself with your right arm," Graham pointed out with only the slightest hint of pomposity. "I was under the impression that you weren't pursuing a career in law enforcement. It is a rare situation indeed, that would allow you to fight in the manner that you are being trained to. Not without coming dangerously close to violating the Vigilante Act."

Graham actually sounded concerned. How about that.

"I was planning on going into disaster relief," Dan replied with a shrug. "Once I have my certification, I'll be granted a provisional license for self-defense any time I'm on the job, same as we had during the ride along. For looters and such." Dan paused awkwardly. "My trainer knows what she's doing. Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't worried about it, Newman," Graham immediately blustered. "It is my duty to ensure that the law is followed! And I do not tolerate scam artists." After a moment, he added, "I have had some small experience in dealing with people of ill-repute myself."

Dan couldn't stop the skeptical laugh that erupted from his lips.

"It's true!" Graham insisted indignantly. "When I was younger and less wise"—Dan snorted—"I thought to find a non-traditional teacher, one that my parents mayhaps would not approve of."

"Teenage rebellion, Graham?" Dan asked with amusement. "Wouldn't have pegged you for that."

Graham sniffed disdainfully, pausing his speech to guzzle down a bottle of water. He wiped his mouth with a sigh. "I wanted something to call my own," he admitted, setting aside the empty container. "It is... difficult to follow a path laid down by others. Even one straight and clean. There is an uncertainty that lingers, you understand?"

Dan did understand. "You can never know if you chose the path, or if it was chosen for you."

Graham shrugged noncommittally, busying himself with packing away their safety gear. He gestured for Dan's headguard, and Dan passed it over. Into the duffel bag it went, joined by bandages and wraps and empty bottles.

"So, what did you do?" Daniel asked, as Graham zipped the bag shut.

"Ah." Graham paused his cleanup. The ever present arrogance radiating from him shifted into morbid embarassment. "Perhaps it was a mistake to mention this."

"Too late, Graham." Dan made a spinning motion with his finger. "Out with it."

The younger man idly tugged at a tuft of hair. "Well— You must understand, I was only fourteen."

"Yes, yes, young and stupid," Dan hurried him along.

"Right. Well, I was slightly enamored with Eastern culture at the time." Graham cringed to himself as he spoke. "There was a movie... I doubt that you'll have heard of it. It was one of those old, foreign kung-fu films that came out during the eighties and nineties. They didn't get much traction in America, but my Uncle was a fan of this particular actor."

Graham's nervous twitches increased, and the young man seemed lost in his own mortifying reminiscence.

"Anyway, the protagonist used, ahem, alchohol, to enhance his fighting techniques. I was strictly barred from ever even tasting alchohol at the time, obviously, but I thought the idea was fascinating. There was a very loose explanation given within the film, something about loosening the body, and unpredictable movements. Nothing really scientific, but it interested me enough to go looking into it. It seemed a good way of both becoming independent, and annoying my parents."

Dan listened to the rambling explanation with a sort of horrified fascination.

"Again, do remember, I was fourteen," Graham repeated, not even glancing Dan's way. "So, naturally, I consulted the internet. After making some inquiries on a few, um, unsavory forums, I found a man claiming to be a master of the art, and willing to accept students. He convinced me that I needed to undergo an evaluation, as an unusually high alchohol tolerance was necessary for the style to function. I was instructed to visit a certain bar, and to bring with me the payment for the first month of lessons. That way, we could begin instruction immediately, should I be found worthy."

"You didn't," Dan exhaled incredulously.

"I did," Graham admitted. "In my defense, my social interaction up to this point had been limited to immediate family, personal tutors, and maybe a dozen or so peers. I had been raised on stories of honorable officers triumphing against overwhelming odds through discipline and skill. I assumed that anyone disciplined enough to master a martial art must be a decent person."

"It didn't occur to you that he might be lying?" Dan asked, struggling to breathe through his laughter. Baby Graham had been shockingly naive.

Graham frowned. "I had no experience dealing with criminals. I knew, peripherally speaking, that liars existed, but at the time I had never experienced such a thing. Not to my knowledge, at least. I'm sure I had faced white lies before then, exaggerated compliments or criticisms, things of that nature." The younger man cleared his throat.

"But no. It did not occur to me. I acted as instructed. I slipped out of the house and made my way to the bar, where my 'sensei' immediately robbed me of everything I possessed."

That sobered Dan's mood. "The guy actually showed up then? That could've gone way worse for you."

"I'm aware," Graham replied defensively. "My uncle was emphatic on that point, once I was able to call him for help. He believed that the man had intended to do something far more immoral, but was dissuaded by my close relation to law enforcement."

"You got lucky," Dan stated, jabbing a finger towards Graham.

"Perhaps, but I learned from my mistake." Graham straightened his posture, some of his old arrogance returning. "Regardless, my family determined that I had been far too sheltered. I was enrolled into Saint George's the very next day, and have consistently placed at the very top of my class ever since."

Dan blinked slowly. "That sounds very impressive on paper, I guess. Realistically speaking, though, how good are you?"

"Good enough to put you on the ground. Repeatedly," Graham preened to himself, his previous humiliation long gone.

Dan rolled his eyes. "Yes, congratulations. Your years of training beat my six months." He clapped his hands. "Well done."

Graham flinched as if struck.

"Six months!?" Graham paused, eyes quickly running over Dan. "Truly?"

"I mean, yeah?" Dan inched away from the younger man's searching gaze. "The whole," he twirled a hand, "disaster relief thing was a recent decision on my part."

"I see." Graham crossed his arms, gracing Dan with a rare look of approval. "In that case, you fought well, Newman. For a beginner. I should very much like to meet your trainer. They must be a miracle worker."

"She lives outside the city. My mutation makes long distance travel fairly trivial." Dan quickly killed that idea. Graham would either get along fabulously with Abby, or she'd rip his head off and use it as a lawn ornament. Dan wouldn't appreciate either outcome.

"A shame." Gram sighed, brushing his hand dramatically through his hair. "This was an useful diversion, Newman. We should spar again sometime."

"Maybe." Getting his shit kicked in was not Dan's idea of fun, but the experience had at least been helpful. It was certainly the fastest way to patch the hole in his skillset. Getting to know Graham hadn't been as grating as Dan had expected, either. The younger man was still a bit of an egomaniac, but he seemed... lighter now. Buoyed by success, perhaps? Less bluster, and more confidence. It was a pleasant change. The Graham that Dan had met at the police station would never have shared an embarassing childhood story; not with Dan, not with anyone. Maybe he felt more comfortable with Dan, now that they had both beaten the crap out of each other?

Such was the eternal puzzle of male bonding. A mystery for the ages.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Dan mentioned. "That whole kidnapping situation was rough." Even as the words left his mouth they sounded wholly inadequate. Thankfully, Graham seemed to take no offence.

"It was," he admitted, shrugging with forced nonchalance. "I am past it, however. I will use the experience as a benchmark for my own growth!"

"That seems," Dan searched for an appropriate word, "healthy?"

"I'd like to think so," Graham agreed pompously. "I am perfectly capable of focusing on the positive aspects of my detainment. For example, watching Officer Pierre-Louis in the midst of battle was a privilege that I shall treasure."

Dan had never heard anyone describe being in Gregoir's presence as a 'privilege' before. His curiousity got the better of him, and he asked, "What was it like?"

"The kidnapping?" Graham questioned incredulously.

"Gregoir," Dan clarified. "He talks big, all the time, but I've never seen him fight before."

"He... has the qualifications to boast," Graham acknowledged, a small amount of awe leaking into his voice. "He was like a force of nature. Utterly unstoppable."

"I saw his interview, shortly after he busted you out. He made it sound like there weren't many people inside the building," Dan pointed out.

"I can't speak for that," Graham admitted sheepishly. "I'm afraid most of my memories are blurry at best. The villain, not the mercenary, but his employer, his body was made up of this strange anesthetic gas. He kept me quite inebriated."

Dan tried not to laugh at the frank description. Graham was acting awfully blasé about his experience, but it couldn't be easy to remember.

"I do remember Officer Pierre-Louis arriving though," Graham mused to himself. "He came through the wall like it was made of paper mache. Just"—Graham slapped his hands together— "wham! Right through it."

Like the fucking Kool-Aid Man, Dan thought to himself. He imagined Gregoir shouting "Oh yeah!" and found the image to be perfectly believable. He turned his attention back to Graham before his thoughts could further derail.

The younger man's eyes glazed over as he continued to speak. "The villain was with him when he arrived. This horrible swirling purple nightmare fog, struggling to hold him back. He was also," Graham coughed awkwardly, "completely nude. Well, no. There were these manacles on his arms and legs, massive steel things, with bits of table still attached to them."

"They probably had him restrained," Dan guessed, shrugging. "I'm guessing it didn't work too well."

"And... a collar," Graham continued slowly. "Covered in spikes. Like you would put on a dog, but reversed, pointed inward."

Dan froze.

"It was supposed to cause pain," Graham said, his voice growing more confident. "I remember that, specifically. The villain was boasting about it. Enough pain to stop a heart. Enough pain to control a man. He kept saying that. Kept screaming it, really."

Graham smiled viciously. "The villain turned it on, and Officer Gregoir barely flinched. I could smell his flesh dissolving, but he kept moving through sheer willpower. It was glorious." He sighed dreamily, as if describing something intensely erotic. "And then he ripped the collar right off. Shouted something about pain invigorating his fighting spirit. I can't remember exactly."

His eyes refocused, and he awkwardly scratched his head. "At that point, I think the villain decided to cut his losses, because everything started to explode. I blacked out after that. The last thing I remember is Officer Gregoir scooping me up and sprinting towards a wall."

"I see." Dan said carefully. He wanted to press for details about the collar, about the villain, about so many things, but Graham was in a fragile state. Dan shouldn't push him. Not yet. It woudn't be right.

He would just... have to...

Spend more time.

WIth Graham.

Alternatives, alternatives, there had to be alternatives. Who else knew about the collar that he could ask?

Gregoir!

No. There were no alternatives. Not unless Marcus came through, but that was more of a Hail Mary than anything.

This was—Dan shivered—the best path forward.

"On second thought," Dan started tentatively, "maybe we should make this a regular thing. I could use the practice, and you could use the humility."

"Putting you on your ass will hardly make me humble, Newman," Graham replied with a sneer. Despite that, his tone was more friendly than disdainful.

Dan sighed. "We'll set something up."

This was his life now. Drifting from one ass-kicking to the next, interacting with snobby graduate students and macho police officers, investigating shadowy villains, all while stuck in another world.

Ah, well. It could be worse. He had Abby, and Maggie, and Merrill, and sometimes Marcus. Gregoir, too, much to Dan's dismay. Maybe Graham would be on that list someday as well.

He had problems, and he had solutions. He was growing stronger every day.

Life was complicated, but it was his.