Work Text:
Knock Out has been in this line of work for long enough now, and she's getting tired of it. Everyday is the same — she clocks out of the hospital, clocks in at the cage medbay, preps her work station and tools, and watches the fights from the TV in the bay. But she could never get tired of watching Breakdown fight.
The information scrolls across the bottom of the screen next to her picture on the bottom right - Breakdown of Kaon. Standing at 6'2 (187cm) and weighing at 250 pounds (113kg), Breakdown is one of the most successful heavyweights this place has ever had in the cage, even defeating big names from other places.
The commentators continue to sing Breakdown praise despite the fight being over. Knock Out sits back in her seat, watching the highlights of the fight play; her head caught in Bulkhead’s grip, Breakdown lands a wild but successful liver shot that has Bulkhead stumbling back and holding her side, a teeth bared in a grimace.
The next clip is one of them grappling on the floor of the cage, Breakdown on top of Bulkhead, and the latter practically helpless under her in Breakdown's inescapable grip. The highlight switches to the final score before they show the referee pulling them apart, unfortunately.
There's the ever-present squeak of the medbay door swinging open, and someone limps into the bay, supported by a very familiar figure.
"Good fight, Bulkhead," Breakdown drawls. "Too bad you still lost."
Bulkhead laughs, more of an strained exhale that borders on a wheeze. Probably a bruised rib, cracked, at the most. "Oh, just you wait."
They disappear behind a curtain and she doesn't catch what they say after that; it's probably more teasing. Breakdown and Bulkhead go way back, all the way back to when they were just rookies and were fighting each other at illegal fight clubs for mere pennies.
Emerging from behind the makeshift privacy screen, Breakdown's dark brown skin gleams with the sheen of sweat in the dim yellow lighting. The muscles in her legs are defined with every step but jiggle a little in a way that makes her want to grab and squeeze them.
The braids she did earlier, just two simple ones on the sides to the back, are a little loose and frizzy from grappling and partially connected hits. Her right eye is puffy, and there's an open wound on her brow, the site swollen and blood dripping down the side of her face from it.
Breakdown makes her way over to her, and Knock Out stands, brushing her jacket out and readjusting it before she can crowd her space.
She stops just short of her and smiles down at her. "What's on your mind, Doc?"
Knock Out returns it. "Oh, nothing. Just the way you beat Bulkhead into next week." Breakdown's smile turns a little sharp, she and leans down, silently requesting a kiss.
Knock Out stands on her tip-toes to meet her, and the kiss is chaste, nothing more than a quick peck despite Breakdown's hand sliding down her waist and resting on her lower back to keep her close.
All she can taste is salty sweat and the metallic tang of blood from the cut on the inside of her mouth. She smacks her lips as she pulls away, face contorted in disgust. "Ugh. Alright, sit down and let me take care of that so you can wash up. You taste like dirty sweat." She pushes Breakdown away from her. Not that it sends her anywhere, but it's the effort and implication behind it that matters.
"Like you don't love it, Knocks," Breakdown teases as she sits, her smile losing a bit of its mirth to a grimace.
"Yes, I love the taste of you, not the floor or your opponent." Knock Out squints at her, analyzing her posture. "What hurts that you aren't telling me about?"
"It's nothing," her wife sighs. "Just the adrenaline wearing off, y'know? The soreness setting in."
"I believe you, but I still want to see." Knock Out makes a turn around gesture with a hand, red, manicured nails glinting, and Breakdown complies with a weary groan.
True to her word, there isn't anything visible. It's a likely a nasty bruise, or a strained or pulled muscle at the worst, but it'll be some hours before anything is somewhat visible.
Satisfied, Knock Out tends to the wound on her brow. It isn't bad at all, nothing that a bit of saline, a steri-strip, and an ice pack can't fix. She's happy to see that that fight left her relatively unscathed.
Used materials put to the side, she doesn't let Breakdown go just yet. She wedges her way between those massive thighs and sets her hands on broad shoulders, absently rubbing her thumbs along the sweat-damp skin.
Breakdown's arms wrap around her waist and pull her close, her head resting on her chest; Knock Out's hands rest on her back. In moments like this, the faint din of fights happening in the cage, the crowd roaring, the buzz of the overhead lights barely audible, and Breakdown here with her, time doesn't exist.
Vaguely, Knock Out thinks about the sweat marks that will undoubtedly be on her shirt, but that's not particularly her concern right now nor something that can't be fixed.
At the sound of the medbay door opening, Knock Out pulls away slightly and gently cups Breakdown's face. Breakdown's eyes, ones that are so striking, almost gold, in the sun, are deep, enchanting pools of brown in the medbay lighting as she looks up at her. "I'm glad you're safe, mi tesoro." The air is heavy with unspoken words, a reference to the one fight that almost changed everything.
Breakdown's arms tighten around her for a brief second before going lax.
It's a moment longer before Knock Out begrudgingly pulls away. "Alright, go shower, love. I'll clean up here, and we'll go from there."