Cat and Mau5

It had been 6 months. Gerard’s eyes were wide open in the bright of the morning, but he didn’t move his head from the pillow. 6 months to the day since that fateful match where he was beaten so badly he feared he’d lost his mau5bot. El had been damaged almost to the point of no repair. Almost. Thankfully Gerard had himself quite the wunderkind for a younger brother, and after 3 weeks of relentless work – and a handful of extortionately priced parts, afforded by his long-suffering manager – she was back on her feet and fighting fit.

Gerard’s ego had taken quite the bruising, too. But however skilled Mikey was in matters of metal and robotics, time was the only thing to soothe Gerard’s wounds.

He sunk back under his sheets a little as the memories pinched at his brain, unwilling to be brushed under the carpet. It wasn’t just the match. It wasn’t just losing to him; to Frank. Even after his mau5 was repaired and he was cleared for competition, there was still something off, something wrong.

A month later, another tournament, in another arena in another city, Gerard’s opponent was once again declared the victor. Gerard had lost. Again. And he was too numb to feel the shock.

As the audience had erupted in astonished cheers and the commentators speculated on Gerard’s fall from grace, he had removed his ear piece so as not to hear Mikey’s sympathetic voice, and turned on his heel and left.

It was one thing to lose because Frank had tricked him - first into bed and then into letting his guard down in the ring – but it was another thing altogether to still be off his game a month later. He had fully intended to strut into that arena and blow the competition out of the water, and show people that he still had it; g3rard was still a future world champion. But he was still rattled, still shaken up by the boy with big eyes and bed hair, and nothing went according to plan.

It had taken a lot to admit that he needed a break. Telling his crew was no easy feat either. Mikey had gawped and Perry had grumbled, but Gerard hadn’t taken any real time off since he started fighting professionally, so he knew he was more than entitled to do so now that he really needed it. It felt like another defeat in itself, to admit that he himself wasn’t a machine, and ‘recharging his batteries’ was a little more complicated than plugging him into a socket overnight.

The sunlight was warm on his face and Gerard took a moment to stretch, rolling out all of his muscles ready for another day. He took stock, and as he inhaled deeply he realised that he was feeling significantly better. Time was a good soother, if not a healer. But time away had been even better.

In the days following Gerard’s loss to Frank it had been difficult to look the members of his crew in the face. He felt uneasy, like he’d failed them by not being completely infallible. But it had been impossible for any of them to avoid the rumours. Everyone knew there was more to this defeat than met the eye, so they’d cut him some slack, and given him a small smile when he glanced their way like, ‘it’s okay, boss, it was just a blip, we’ll be at the world championships in no time’. Within a few days it didn’t feel so terrible anymore and he’d mostly shrugged it off. The second time it happened, when Gerard lost in a third round tiebreaker to someone he’d had no trouble with before, it wasn’t so easy for his crew to school their faces into happy nonchalance. Their faces no longer said ‘don’t worry’ and instead seemed to ask ‘do we need to worry?’

He couldn’t stay after that. It was crushing to feel that previously unending well of faith run dry and he knew he had to go somewhere else where he didn’t feel like he was being watched and judged every second of the day. Mikey didn’t even flinch, like he knew this had been coming, and that at least Gerard could be thankful for.

Ray Toro’s eyes had been like saucers when he opened up his door in Portland to find Gerard standing sheepishly on his doorstep.

He eyed up the massive duffle bag slung over his shoulder, met Gerard’s eyes, and then held the door open in unspoken invitation. They walked wordlessly to the kitchen, where Ray handed him a cup of coffee he’d just made, and proceeded to pour himself another.
“So. I take it you want to stay for a while?”

There was no judgement or irritation in his voice, which was surprising, considering most people would think it incredibly rude for Gerard to impose himself like this. This is why Gerard had come to Ray. They got straight to the point rather than dicking around with pleasantries.

“I need your help.”
“You might have given me some warning.” He smiled when he said it, so Gerard tried not to feel too guilty.
He shrugged. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“…Have you arranged for El’s transport?” Ray smiled at him when Gerard shook his head. “You’d better make the call then.” He raised his voice. “Christa! Guess who’s staying for a few days?”

Those few days quickly stretched into weeks.

The first few days were spent catching up with Ray and his wife while his mau5bot was being transported across the country. It had been a long time since he’d spent any time with the pair, and it was nice to simply laze around and watch bad television without any looming matches, or photoshoots, or meetings with the press, or paparazzi following him to the corner store. It wasn’t until Gerard stopped and took a step back that he realised just how tiring his life could be.

Ray was the only fighter Gerard had ever really trained with. He had a number of friends in the fighting circuit, but friendship couldn’t suppress the competitive aggression Gerard’s win-loss count tended to stir in most of them. On the flipside, Ray was so laidback that Gerard could thrash him 10 times in a row and he’d simply congratulate him and ask if he fancied pasta for dinner. Not that Gerard was the one doing the thrashing this time.

Initially Ray didn’t notice just how much Gerard’s losses had bruised him. He’d flown all the way to Portland to train, yet El had sat undercover in the yard with Ray’s mau5bot for days before Gerard could even contemplate what he had come to do. He lost his first four matches and was positively furious with himself every single time.

Gerard’s blood was pumping as quickly as it would during a championship final. It felt as important. If he couldn’t consistently defeat one of his best friends in his back yard then how did he expect to hold steady in an arena while his opponent wanted to end his career? He could feel the shakiness in his fingers as they directed El to weave around a particularly vicious right hook and he absently wondered how many matches it would take until he felt steady again.

The mau5bots traded punches to the mid-section for thumps on the shoulder for a few seconds until in the corner of his eye Gerard saw Ray move towards his control panel. Gerard instructed El to duck, anticipating a cuff to the left side of the head. He cried out in shock when instead the other mau5 delivered a roundhouse kick to El’s head that was originally intended for her midsection. Before Gerard could manoeuvre her into an upright position, Ray called for a roundhouse with the opposite leg, knocking her to the ground easily and securing the win.

The deafening crash of his mau5bot faltering was becoming all too familiar a sound. Gerard threw his controller to the floor and sat right there on the concrete, pressing the pads of his thumbs into his burning eyes.

Maybe this was it. Maybe it really had been too good to last. Maybe he wasn’t as good as everyone thought he was. The problem was that he didn’t know how to be anyone else. Everything he’d ever done had led to UFC. His grandmother’s dying wish had been to see him succeed. What would he do with his life if he couldn’t do her proud anymore? Would he have to get a job in retail? Ignore the paparazzi shooting him on a grocery run to catalogue his fall from grace?

The weight of Ray’s hand on his shoulder brought him back a little bit and Gerard increased the pressure on his eyeballs.
“Toro, I think I’m losing it.”
“Losing what?”
My mind. “My touch.”
Ray’s hand squeezed tighter. “No. You’re not. Gerard, you’re just…scared. I’ve never seen you look so afraid.”
Gerard removed his hands from his face and was greeted by a small smile. He sighed. “I am. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t-… This is my life.”
“It still is, Gerard. …That Frank guy really rattled you, huh?” The name stung like a slap to the face but Gerard didn’t allow himself to flinch.

Ray’s expression softened. “Before those two clowns the only other person you’ve lost to in competition is me. And you went easy on me because I was saving for my wedding.” When Gerard merely blinked Ray broke into a beaming grin. “Don’t think I didn’t know. Christa’s still grateful for that, by the way.”
The corner of Gerard’s mouth pulled up and the tension in his shoulders loosened a little. “You’re welcome.”
“Look, you’re probably just tired. I mean when was the last time you took a vacation? Never?” Ray pressed on when Gerard chuckled. “Exactly! And even now you’ve come to stay here and what are we doing? The same thing you do every day of your fucking life! It’s perfectly natural that you’d be a little burnt out, okay?”
“I can’t afford to be,” Gerard sighed, glancing up at his stationary mau5bot. “If I don’t win another tournament this year I’ll have to wait 4 years for another shot at the world championships.” He fixed his eyes on his friend imploringly. “I can’t wait that long, Ray. Tell me where I’m going wrong.”

Ray pushed to his feet and held out a hand to haul Gerard up. He tossed the discarded controller at his friend and went to retrieve his own, walking as he spoke.
“Stop second-guessing everything. You second-guessed Frank, you’re second-guessing me, and worst of all you’re second-guessing yourself.” Ray’s eyes were hard and serious. “Your instincts are the best tool you have. Stop ignoring them.”

Gerard rolled his shoulders and shifted his feet in the gravel.
“Okay. Let’s go again.”

It helped to have the advice of someone who knew exactly what they were talking about. Mikey’s encouragements only went so far; his true calling was in the technology that glued a mau5bot together. Although Ray had garnered more success in the featherweight circuit than the heavyweights the basic principles of a fight were the same. Ray could better spot the nuances that separated Gerard’s regular style from this new cautious approach that was only bringing him defeat.

Within a few days Gerard was beginning to find his feet again, and the win/loss ratio had evened out. It didn’t weigh as heavily in his favour as he hoped, but he was getting there.

He was feeling good. Gerard mentally retraced his moves during their last match as he sipped on some of Christa’s homemade lemonade. He’d won that round, after spending the majority of the morning falling to moves he knew he should have anticipated. He could feel things starting to slide back into place.

He reached for his comm as it rang, giving permission for video.
“Well if it isn’t the Boy Wonder. How are you doing, kid?”
Gerard was happier to see Perry’s face than he expected to be. “I’m okay, Blake. Doing better. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got you a tournament slot.”
His stomach jumped but he kept his face blank, steadfastly ignoring Ray’s eyes burning into the side of his head. “Yeah? What have we got?”
“Europeans. You win that and we’re set for the World’s.”

That gave him another 3 months then. Gerard nodded to himself briefly. That should be enough time to get him fighting fit.
“Okay.” He paused. “Anyone of note competing?”
The nonchalance in his voice wasn’t fooling anyone. His heart was in his throat. To Perry’s credit, he came right out with it.
“Our good friend Frank.” His eyebrow quirked. “That gonna be a problem?”
“Not at all.”

He finished the transmission swiftly after that, promising Perry he would keep him better informed on his wellbeing in the coming weeks. He pretended to flick through his emails afterwards, but Ray wasn’t letting up on his death stare. Gerard sighed heavily and Ray took the opening.
“Are you gonna be ready?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I’ll have to be.”
“You know you’ll face him first round.” Ray shrugged. “It’s supposed to be random, but it won’t be. Not this time.”
Gerard knew he was right. There wasn’t any point trying to deny it. The media storm surrounding their last meeting ensured it.

From what Gerard had gathered, the press had followed Frank diligently ever since that day. He’d barely watched any screen or read any webzines since in an attempt to avoid it, but people talked and Gerard wasn’t deaf. Frank had incurred two or three bad losses since then but it hadn’t dampened the curiosity that surrounded him. Apparently beating g3rard made you pretty hot shit.
“Like I said,” he said tightly. “I’ll be ready.”

He didn’t move from his seat, afraid that his shaky legs would embarrass him. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, during which Gerard steadfastly picked at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans. Eventually Ray broached the subject Gerard knew he’d been kindly careful to avoid thus far.
“Gerard, I hate to ask. But is it true what they’re saying? About you and him?”

Gerard let his breath out slowly as memories he generally tried not to recall pushed to the forefront of his mind. Hot skin, wet mouth, fast breath.
“What are they saying?”
Ray lifted an eyebrow. “Do you need me to spell it out?”
Gerard trusted his friend enough not to deny it, but he still felt his cheeks darken with humiliation.
“What, did he kiss and tell?” Gerard had come right out and told him to, so he could hardly be surprised if that was the case.
“No. From what I can tell he’s pretty much kept his mouth shut about the whole thing. I think a member of staff at the venue overheard some stuff.” He refilled Gerard’s glass with lemonade and came to sit closer. “What happened, G?”

He didn’t flinch underneath the supportive hand that rubbed at his shoulder. It was sort of a relief to be able to talk about it to someone.

He regaled the incident; Frank’s hidden identity, the spark between them, the apparent symbiosis that made Gerard feel like he’d found someone special, and the betrayal of having that all ripped away the following morning in the ring. Ray listened attentively, and Gerard felt the weight of it lessen, like he could feel his friend shouldering half the burden to take the pressure off.
“He took the illegal win and from what I’ve heard he’s basking in the publicity.”

After a moment Ray replied tentatively, testing the waters.
“Wouldn’t you? It’s a hard business, Gerard. Don’t you remember how it felt when you started getting the recognition you deserved?”
“Sure, but I didn’t get it by getting large off someone else,” he grumbled. “I’ve gotta hand it to him, he chose well. I’ve been a pretty great springboard. I dread to think how much he’s badmouthing me to keep the media storm roaring.”
Ray’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea about him. I agree that he should have told you who he was, but Gerard, he never has a bad thing to say about you.” He pressed on, even through Gerard’s icy glare. “No, really. Look, I was intrigued by the guy, so I’ve sort of kept up to speed. He never answers questions about the two of you and he seriously won’t hear a bad word against you. Look.”

Gerard’s stomach spiked when Ray thrust a webzine on his handheld under his nose. At the head of the article was a photograph of their interviewee. Gerard wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he was more glad to look into Frank’s eyes again than he was angry about it. He followed Ray’s finger to the pertinent section of the interview.

Frank: Look, I’d just like to set the record straight. I personally believe that my fight with g3rard finished with an illegal ending, and I shouldn’t have been given the win. That’s not to say that I haven’t been grateful for all the attention, but until I beat g3rard in a clean fight, I think of that one as a draw.

Q: A draw? There’s no disputing that you held the distinct advantage throughout the match.
Do you think g3rard’s number is up?

Frank: Not at all. g3rard is a phenomenal fighter and I believe a future World Champion. Everyone has their off days, and I think it’s quite ignorant of the media to write him off after 3 losses like he hasn’t had 68 wins. I won’t deny that our brief acquaintance has been a rocky one, but I have the utmost respect for him both as a fighter and as a person and I greatly look forward to the next time we meet.

As he pulled on a pair of black jeans Gerard wondered if that was still true. When Frank had indeed been announced as his opponent for the first round – a shock to all involved – Gerard had given a pretty scathing statement to the press. He’d spoken out willingly, rather than under Perry’s duress, because he was certain that Frank had been waiting all these months for Gerard to come out of hiding. He had assured his fans that he was fighting fit, publically voiced his outrage against the officials that had legalised an unlawful victory, and promised in no uncertain terms that Frank would pay for what he’d done.

Gerard reached for his comm when it chimed.

Good luck for today. I’ll be watching. Trust your instincts.

Ray. He smiled as he tapped back a reply. He felt good. Not bulletproof, which was understandable after the outcome of his last two matches, but he felt balanced, solid. Taking the time away to reaffirm his technique had been the right move.

Gerard’s match with Frank had been scheduled as the last of the day. It wasn’t a particularly subtle move; the fight was far more anticipated than a first round bout had the right to be. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the tournament was purposefully beginning precisely 6 months since the infamous fight. It was also being held in the same city, albeit in a larger arena. Gerard was glad for that. He couldn’t say he was particularly eager to step back inside The Pyramid any time soon.

Despite the match not beginning until 7pm, Gerard had a full day of photoshoots and interviews ahead. It was tiresome, but he had brought it upon himself by dropping off the grid for several months. Everyone had a lot of questions, and even more expectations.

He grabbed his satchel when he heard the car honking outside, and dropped into the backseat. He decided not to reply to Mikey’s teasing message regarding the battery life of his comm and noticed the driver had turned in his seat. He was smiling.
“My niece really appreciated the holo.”
Gerard couldn’t stop the answering curve of his lips in recognition.
“What are you my personal driver now?”
“Yes, actually,” the man grinned. “Your brother thought it would be a nice touch.”
“Of course he did,” Gerard muttered.