"I can't believe this."

"I did tell you to be careful."

"I know, but I had done it plenty of times before, why should that be any different?"

"Murphy's Law, probably."

"Good point." Gilda said, resting her head on Spike's shoulder. "You know, you don't have to do this, I can just call up a friend to pick me up."

"Nuh-uh. I'm doing this and you can't stop me." Spike said, pausing to readjust himself before continuing. Gilda was riding on his back thanks to her new sprained ankle she received from slipping on wet rocks in the local river. After ensuring no emergency calls needed to be made, Spike lifted her on his back and began the trek to her house.

"There's no way you can make this distance and we both know I'm no lightweight."

"Well, muscle is heavier than fat, and you are an amazon." Spike said. "But what kind of man would I be if I just left you on your own? Besides, I'm thinking of this as intense training." He came up to a set of stairs leading to the road above. "Very intense training."

Gilda chuckled. "And they say chivalry is dead."

After Spike climbed the stairs, leaving him a panting mess, he oriented himself and kept walking. He used whatever advantage he could to boost his endurance to her house, be it gravity or the moment's rest to wait for the crossing light. It was only when he was a few blocks away that his body started to give in.

"Don't give up now! I'm so close!" Spike said to his shaking legs.

"I told you that you weren't going to make it." Gilda said. "If you let me down, I can probably limp from here."

"No, I'm gonna make it. Just a little bit more." Spike said. "I didn't get this far without pushing myself." Using all his willpower, he forced one foot in front of the other, trying to build enough momentum to take him to her home.

Gilda was silent for a moment. Spike couldn't quite see her face, but he thought he saw a bit of red in her cheeks.

"You know, with this sprained ankle, I might have some trouble changing out of these clothes." Gilda said.

Spike almost stumbled as he became very much aware of the two soft mounds pressing into his back. Said mounds that were now dragging up and down against the fabrics they wore. That awareness was enough to harden his resolve, among other things. With a burst of strength, he jogged forward, letting his center of gravity drive him to his destination. He tried not to focus on the now jiggling mounds on his back as he ran.

Soon enough, he reached Gilda's house. To be more accurate, it was her uncle's place, but it was where she lived. Now that Spike thought about it, he never actually saw much of it except the outside when Gilda had to pick up something or change after her practices.

The building itself was a simple single story building with a porch out front and a driveway leading to the garage behind the house. It was a well-worn house, if one was being generous, but anyone could see that it needed more than just a paint job and lawn mowing. Not that there was a mess all around the house, but it did look as Applejack would say "it would fall over from a butterfly's sneeze". However, it was a sight better than most of the other houses on the street.

Stepping up to the door, Spike turned his head and asked, "You got the keys?"

"Yeah, they're in my back pocket. Think you can reach them?" she said, a hint of a sly smile on her face.

Though, Spike knew very well that it might be a trick or at least a tease in waiting, he slid his hands back up her thighs until they reached familiar curves. With no reaction yet, he felt around for any signs of the keys. He found nothing on his first try, though he did almost touch his fingers together. Thinking that the fabric might have hidden it, he tried patting around, determining what was metal and what wasn't. It was on his second brush through that he realized it.

"You don't have back pockets." Spike said,

"Nah, but it was nice of you to cop a feel. Think of it as your reward for carrying me this far." Gilda said, whipping out the keys from her real pockets. "If you realized it sooner, then I would've known you were staring at my ass all day. Either way, I win."

Spike blushed. "You suck."

"Not yet I don't." Gilda said, earning another blush on Spike's face.

Once they were inside, Spike carried Gilda to the first comfy seat he saw and set her down on it.

"Where's the fridge so I can get some ice packs for your ankle?" Spike asked, once Gilda was set properly with her ankle elevated.

Gilda jerked her thumb behind her. "Down that way, kitchen's on the the right. There should be some ice packs in the freezer already. This isn't my first injury, y'know."

"Got it." Spike hurried toward the freezer and grabbed the ice pack. After he returned and put it on her, he took a good look around the room.

One thing for sure, was that it was much cleaner and well kept than the outside. On the walls were various sports memorabilia, almost all of it boxing. Pictures of matches with the blows captured in a split second as they hit, framed article of big matches or victories, and even a few worn out gloves and a dinged up bell. There were a few non boxing related stuff, like a signed baseball and poster, but they were rare on the wall.

"Your uncle really likes boxing." Spike said, picking up a photo frame of a match.

"Likes boxing? More like he was boxing." Gilda said. "He was the greatest guy in the ring. Few could even stand up to him. Hell, he invented a bunch of moves that are still used today, but they can't do it like he could." When Spike giggled, she asked, "What? You think I'm kidding?"

Spike waved his hands in front of him, "No, no, it's just...you looked cute when you were praising him. You must really want to be like him."

Gilda turned away as fast as her face turned red and crossed her arms. "Y-yeah, well of course I-I do! He's awesome! I'm going to make it to his level someday!"

"You've still got a hundred years more training before you can even think of trying to touch me." A voice boomed out, causing both of them to jump. Out from behind the corner came a tall, lean, yet muscular man. He had a almost bald head and a broom mustache that was starting to grey. Of course, his wide smile had a few teeth missing. If one tried to compare him to his photos, they would see he hadn't lost a bit of his strength.

"Well, Gilda? Are you going to introduce me to this young man before I knock his block off?"

"Uncle!"

"Ha! I'm kidding, he wouldn't be worth the effort of washing my hands for it." The towering man strode over to Spike and thrust his hand out. "The name's Arthur Swanson. Give me a good reason why I shouldn't snap you in two."

Spike stared at the intimidating man's face. By the crazed smile, he couldn't quite tell if all the threats were serious, even if they could be backed up. Spike straightened his back and looked him in eye as he shook his hand. "I'm Spike, and I'm a little exhausted after carrying Gilda from the river. Also, I promised my sister I'd go back home in one piece."

There was a moment of silence before Arthur howled with laughter. "A man who keeps his promises, eh? I respect that." he said, still laughing between sentences. "You get to live this time. Though I might not be so nice next time you get frisky with my chickadee on my property."

"Uncle!" Gilda's face turned red as she tossed a nearby book at his head, which only caused him to laugh more.

While Spike was a little scared, his mind made a connection from the pictures and the man before him. "Wait, you're Arthur 'All-out' Swanson? The famous boxer to hold the champion title for fifteen years? That Arthur Swanson?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "So the squirt knows who I am? And here I thought I was going to be gathering dust in a book while the new kids played in the ring."

"Kinda hard not to when one of your friends talks a lot about boxing and wrestling." Spike said. "He said you got your nickname because you liked to go all-out in the ring."

"That's right! You only live once, so why not give it your all? Of course, they don't tell you how much it comes back to bite you when you get old." Arthur said with a quick flex of his arms. He turned back to Gilda. "I can see why you like this kid. Much more respectful than that other punk."

Spike sent a questioning look to Gilda, who had her face buried in her hands. "Gilda talks about me?"

"Mostly about workouts or some stuff, but everytime she does, she's always smiling. Much more than she had up until a few months ago." Arthur said. He then glanced at a nearby clock. "Now while I would love to stay and interrogate my niece's little suitor, I must get going. I have some errands to run, including picking up some more aspirin now. Later, chickadee." Before closing the door, he added. "Also, if I come back to see any making out, I break the big guns out. Bye."

The room was silent except for the sound of the clock, a truck driving off, and the echoes of embarrassment. Gilda kept burying her face while Spike searched for something to say.

"I think that went rather well, all things considered." Spike said. When that didn't get a response from Gilda, he sat down next to her. "You okay?"

"I have a sprained ankle and terminal mortification from embarrassment. What do you think?" Gilda glared at Spike, then sighed. "Sorry, I didn't think he was going to be here when we arrived, and I forgot how...enthusiastic he can get when I bring guys over. I know he means well, but still."

"I know the feeling." Spike decided to change the subject. "So what was that about you training to be like him? I thought you wanted to work at the bird sanctuary?"

"I like fighting and I like birds. What's so hard to understand?" Gilda said. "I gotta keep my options open, plus fighting doesn't always pay the bills and you don't need a degree to fight, so why not both?"

"Is that why he calls you 'chickadee'?" Spike asked, fighting to keep the grin off his face.

Gilda glared at him. "You're lucky you're cute. Now go get the last of the aspirin before I change my mind."