The Law of Averages

They found a place to spar. It wasn't hard, in a house as large as this. The second floor had space aplenty, including what seemed to be a second living room. The furniture had been removed up here, but a few conspicuous wall mounts and couch-impressions on the outdated carpet told the tale. Abby was just about ready to immediately throw down, but Dan vetoed that idea out of concern of breaking something important. Like the floor.

Abby was not gentle on the terrain. He'd need to invest heavily in gym mats.

The master bedroom was on the second floor, and about as bland as it could be. Though, it was a bit smaller than Dan had expected, especially considering the size of the house. Still, it had a closet and a bathroom, and that's all he really cared about. It was, however, in dire need of redecorating. The walls had been painted haphazardly, with huge swathes of messy grey covering up whatever the former owner had in place. The realtor's work, Abby had presumed, putting in the minimum amount of effort in a weak attempt to spruce up the place. It was telling, how little attention had been paid to Abby's inquiries. This house had been given up as a lost cause a long time ago.

Downstairs though, things started looking up. The kitchen was nicely tiled, with marble counters and a large island taking up the center. The actual living room was adjacent to the kitchen, and built like a movie theater. A large, empty wall sat across from a semi-circle of old couches. Mounts for a surround sound system hung empty, occupying each corner of the room. The area was well lit, with dimmers built in to the light switches. Just a little work, and the place could be amazing.

But the real prize was the backyard, which was enormous. With green grass, soft earth, and a notable lack of weeds, it was the only part of the house that was still clearly being cared for. A wooden fence separated the house from its neighbors, and a small shed stood in the corner. The yard was plain, really. It had neither flowers nor trees, no ornamentation of any kind. It was... perfect. A blank slate to be built upon. An opportunity for a more personal touch.

It was here that Dan fell in love with the house, and here that Abby declared it time for an ass-whooping. The latter put a bit of a damper on his elation, if he was being honest with himself, but only a bit. He enjoyed sparring; it was undeniable evidence of his own progress. Nothing felt more satisfying to Dan than announcing, "I could not have done that last week."

So the stage was set. Dan's little group of friends gathered in the center of the backyard, standing in a loose circle on the lawn. Abby bounced lightly on her feet, cracking her knuckles and stretching her arms. Graham moved to do the same, at which point Dan had a great idea.

"Are you gonna fight in that?" he asked, pointing to Graham's formal attire.

The younger man glanced down at himself, adopting a pinched expression. It seemed that, in his haste to show off, Graham had forgotten his own circumstances. The blazer he could take off, but the button-down beneath it, and the trousers beneath that, would surely get ripped. The professional brown-noser visibly debated with himself the merits of impressing his mentor figure, against the likelihood of ruining his finely tailored clothing.

As befitting a peacock, fashion won the day. Graham slumped slightly, stepping backwards with a sigh.

"I suppose not," he replied to Dan's question. With a generous bow to Abby, he conceded, "He's all yours, Miss Summers."

Abby huffed. "You're next on the list if you keep calling me that."

The idle threat put a considering look on Graham's face, but he wisely shook it off. "Yes Miss Abby."

A shame. Dan would've liked to see that.

"Danny." Dan's attention snapped towards Abby. She passed him an easy smile and asked, "Would you mind fetching my bag?"

"Sure." Dan fell into the void, stepping back out into Abby's home gym. Her duffel bag full of safety gear sat nestled against the side of the room. Dan looped it over his shoulder, and willed himself elsewhere.

His reappearance did not draw much attention. Everyone present was more than familiar with his supposed power set, though Gregoir seemed impressed at the speed of his actions. He dropped the bag at Abbys' feet, and she quickly dug through it.

Headgear, mouth-guards, hand-wraps, everything you needed for an impromptu spar. Abby had no issue making ample use of Dan's abilities as the ultimate delivery service. The pair of them strapped on their safety precautions with practiced ease, even as the three observers spread out in a wide triangle.

"Usual rules?" Dan asked his closest friend. The modus operandi for these little spars had remained constant for as long as he'd been training with her. Full contact, full powers, no holding back except for crippling injuries, everything else was fair. It wasn't exactly the safest method, but Dan had been so hilariously inept, at the beginning of their spars, that Abby could afford to let him go all out. It was good practice, she had argued, for real life scenarios. As time had passed, he had slowly improved, but not by nearly enough. Though she had exaggerated slightly while ribbing him to his friends, Dan had never actually won a spar. Or come close to winning. Or landed more than a few glancing blows.

In a vacuum, it might be seen as a point of embarrassment. To anyone who understood Abby's background, however, it was a point of pride to land any blow at all.

"Usual rules," Abby confirmed with a grin. She enjoyed the fight just as much as Dan. Perhaps it was the thrill of victory, the adrenaline of a physical contest, or maybe she, too, enjoyed seeing her best friend's progress. Dan had never asked, but he liked to imagine that it was the latter.

But there was a certain violence in her gaze that suggested the former. They faced off, eyes burning into each other. This was a time for Dan to plan, to come up with some new method that might earn him a victory. As effective as his power was in single combat, Abby always managed to elude him. He was even more limited here, as he had to hide the true nature of his abilities. He was limited to what his public file claimed him capable of, and simply punching at her from oblique angles would never work.

The problem lay with her power. Proprioception, the perception or awareness of the position and movement of the body. Abby could piggy back another's with a touch. It let her monitor Dan's physical state while working out, to make sure he didn't strain himself. What she failed to mention, but should have been obvious, was that the ability lingered after the touch. It's effectiveness increased, in fact, with repeated exposure.

Abby was very cuddly. Physically affectionate. It was just her way, even before they'd admitted any attraction to each other. Her power was very familiar with Dan's movements. Dodging him was about as simple as dodging her own limbs, and Abby was nothing if not graceful. Beyond that, he quickly discovered that her upgrade functioned more like a field of awareness, than any sort of direct connection. Unlike the mind control mutation he had been subjected to before, the effect was entirely on her end. The touch requirement was an attunement, not a connection Dropping into t-space did not end the effect, as there was nothing tethering the two of them together.

Dan always found it amusing that an ability designed for medical use could be so insanely effective in a fight.

"You ready, Danny?" Abby asked with a vicious smirk.

Dan tensed, his muscles coiling. He'd start off without using his power. It was good practice, and Abby wouldn't expect it. She'd have to hold back, wait for him to try something tricky. Which, of course, he inevitably would have to. He had no hope of beating her in a straight brawl, especially when she could sense his movements like they were her own. His only advantage was that she couldn't predict when he'd teleport.

"This is so exciting!" Gregoir cried emotionally, breaking all sense of tension.

Dan's muscles loosened, and he fell out of his stance. "Goddamnit Gregoir," he started, "you can't just ruin the mood like that—"

"Start!" Abby bellowed, practically exploding out of her position across from him. She covered the ten meters between them in a fraction of a second, giving Dan just enough time to yelp and fall into t-space.

The comforting cold of the Gap greeted him like an old friend. He took a few moments to collect himself. He had all the time in the world, here. It was just a matter of properly using it. Most fights were a mix of muscle memory, instinct, and rough planning. Abby nearly always had a motive with her opening few moves, but the fight would quickly dissolve into twitch-based, instinctive reactions. The pressure Dan could put out basically demanded such a thing.

So, her opening move was a lunge. What was she hoping to accomplish?

Abby rarely committed to a strike. It was the fastest way to lose against Dan, as his nigh-instant repositioning allowed him to take full advantage the moment his opponent was off-balance. Abby knew this perfectly well, meaning her reckless charge was almost certainly not a reckless charge. It was a feint, testing how impulsive he was feeling today. It wouldn't be the first time that Dan had not bothered to think, before dropping back into reality. She was undoubtedly prepared for him to appear behind her, mid swing, whereupon she'd do something horribly painful to him.

Fuck that. Dan reappeared in Abby's starting position, braced and ready. His opponent reoriented almost instantly, spinning on her heel and skipping towards him in a single bound. He stood his ground this time, ducking under an earth-shattering roundhouse kick, before falling into a rapid exchange of blows. Despite his earlier plan, his resolve to avoid using his power vanished within the first few seconds. Abby was faster and stronger than him, a product of over a decade of physical training and an immensely paranoid grandparent, so Dan could only keep up by cheating like a motherfucker.

Strike, teleport, reposition, strike, rinse, repeat. Committing to an attack was just as much a double-edged sword for Dan as it was for Abby. A proper blow needed follow-through. It's not the initial impact, so much as the physical weight behind it, that caused damage. If Dan teleported away the instant he landed a hit, he might as well be swinging around a pillow. He had to linger, if only for a moment.

Unfortunately, Abby was fast enough to capitalize on that moment, and perfectly willing to trade blows. It was an exchange that Dan would inevitably come out the wrong end of. He had eaten dirt enough times to know this for a fact. So, he probed.

Jab, fall into t-space. Reposition into a sweep, reappear mid-swing. Get stonewalled by thunder-thighs, retreat to safety. Transition to uppercut, appear mid-swing, slightly behind her left shoulder— DODGE HAYMAKER! Reappear above, elbow drop, get punched in the kidney. Retreat to t-space, lament that wrestling moves were rarely effective, while coming up with a new plan.

And so it went, with Dan accumulating more and more bruises. Every hit he landed was returned in kind. Abby's strikes were harder and faster, and far more impactful; she knew the human body better than he ever would, and had no qualms about exploiting that fact. At this rate, he'd be pissing blood by the end of the spar.

And Gregoir was cheering, the bastard.

Dan was performing better than he ever had. His movements were smoother, his repositioning more accurate. A month ago, he had been completely unable to teleport within Abby's guard. His situational awareness simply wasn't good enough. His power required a mental picture of where he wanted to reappear, and precision was difficult to achieve while in the heat of the moment. It was more than a little difficult to grasp the layout of his surroundings, while a beautiful woman attempted to violently fist him.

...That came out wrong.

Regardless, he clearly wasn't at the level of skill he needed to be, to win in close combat. Dan could reappear mid-swing with trivial ease, but he struggled to control the distance. Within two feet was roughly his current limit. Plenty close for the overwhelming majority of opponents, especially when appearing in their blind spot.

Abby was not a part of the overwhelming majority, nor did she have blind spots. What she did have, was an unerring sense of his body state, and the reflexes to act on that information.

He gave it the good old college try anyway. Their fight dissolved into a blur, as Dan blinked in and out of existence as fast as he was able. He spent fractions of a second in reality, just long enough for Abby to register and react to his strikes, before vanishing once more into the abyss. Her defense could not be perfect forever. Eventually she would slip up. He just had to be patient. He could wear her down; he had all the time in the world.

Unfortunately, Dan did not have all the patience in the world. What was less than thirty seconds for Abby, was a subjective ten minutes for Dan. Ten minutes of feather-light jabs and kicks, vanishing away just before a retaliation. It was exhausting, mentally and physically, to keep up. He took breaks within the Gap, calming himself and his mind, but he was only human. Without constant reminders, the mental picture required for close-range teleportation would fade, and that was unacceptable. He couldn't afford to let up the pressure but the stress was fraying his focus and temper.

His frustration quickly reached its boiling point and he attempted something idiotic. A dropkick to Abby's center mass. He appeared while airborne, legs bunched up and body hurtling forward. He caught sight of a bemused expression on Abby's face, right as he kicked out with all his strength.

She stepped into the blow, easily absorbing his momentum, before driving an elbow into his chest. Between her strike, and his own failed attempt, he managed to forcefully pile-drive himself into the dirt. The air blasted out of his lungs upon impact, and he instinctively retreated back into t-space, barely avoiding Abby's follow-up kick.

This was not working. He had to be missing something, some trick or idea that he was overlooking. Abby set the rules, but she wasn't vindictive. She wouldn't have made victory impossible. There had to be a way for him to win, or at least not lose so badly. All he was accomplishing at present was making himself look like a moron.

He had to think. To treat this like a real fight. He didn't actually want to hurt Abby, and therein lay the problem. There was no viciousness in his actions; he lacked the creative spark that genuine danger brought him. If he was ever really accosted by an insanely dangerous woman, he'd just teleport away. If, for some reason, permanent retreat was not an option, he would rip out his body weight in air volume, and let the atmosphere violently reassert itself. Vacuum bombs tend to solve most problems, even if it wasn't the cleanest of methods. If that was not an option, he'd probably drop something heavy on the person. Or find some pepper spray. Or a gun. Humans were tool users, and Dan's power gave him a lot of options.

Oh.

Ohhh.

Dan was a moron.

Time to fix that.

He reappeared in his hotel room, inside the linen closet. With each hand, he grabbed the largest blankets available, then dropped back into t-space. A subjective minute or two of finagling, and he had his plan.

Less than five seconds had passed in real time. Speed was of the essence here. His skill with his power had grown in leaps and bounds, but this would push him to his limit. If he was even a second too slow, his plan would fail.

He dropped back into reality around where he started the spar, a bundle of blankets beneath each arm. Abby stood in the center of the lawn, looking around carefully. Her head snapped to him the instant he appeared, but Dan was already leaving once more. It was just a check-in, a confirmation of her position, before he acted.

The next time he appeared, it was behind Abby, mid throw. For all her ability to read Dan's movements, she had no way of knowing what objects he brought with him. She lashed out at him, mistaking his throwing motion for a sloppy punch. The king-sized blanket swallowed Abby entirely, wrapping around her like a net. He blinked, teleporting to the other side of her and grabbing the trailing edges. A solid tug pulled her slightly off balance, and he was gone once more.

He reappeared in front of her, arms extended. Her fist lashed out, sloppy, off-balanced, and caught on the sheet before it could connect with his jaw. His next projectile caught her around the waist, Dan's second comforter acting like an anchor on her movements. Abby was quickly tearing through the obscuring sheet, but barely a second had passed since Dan had started his attack.

Faster faster faster. He had to move faster.

His next jump brought him back to his hotel room. He lingered for a fraction of a second, taking just enough time to grab his target. His veil surged through the heavy material, ripping it through the void. He repositioned himself in t-space, taking full advantage of the arbitrary physics inherent to the place, before reappearing several feet above Abby's head.

His body was held parallel to the ground, elbow downward. Abby, relying on her proprioception, lashed out at Dan's chest, looking to stuff his second elbow drop of the day. With her vision obscured, she couldn't see the danger.

Dan rode his hotel mattress down onto his best friend's body, squashing her flat. The relatively soft material ensured that the only thing hurt was her pride, but the undignified squawk Abby made upon impact would warm his heart for days to come.

"Yes!" Dan shouted, reorienting himself into a cross-legged stance and thrusting a fist into the air. "This is my win, Abs! Yield and I'll get off you."

A long moment passed as Abby pushed against the heavy mattress, and Dan's body weight. He remained unbothered; in any sort of real fight, he would have had plenty of time to finish her off by now. She knew that as well as he did.

"Yield," she grumbled, barely audible. "Geroff me."

"Yes!" Dan shouted again, before hopping off his improvised throne. He pulled the mattress off Abby, and helped untangle her from his sheets. After fussing over the few bruises she'd gained, he was waved off.

Abby smoothed out the wrinkles in her outfit, before giving him a fond smile.

"Well, good job Danny. You finally got a win." She patted him on the chest. "Nice fight."

Dan beamed at her.

"I could not have done that last week," he announced proudly.