"I think you should take those off."

"What?" Baatar's hands flew up protectively. "No!"

"It's not an unreasonable request," Kuvira said as she started bending off her pauldrons. The backplate she'd left on the train. "What if they get knocked off?"

"They're not going to get knocked off," he insisted, re-adjusting the arms of his glasses behind his ears. "They fit very well. You remember they even managed to stay on after that accident—"

Kuvira, now undoing the buttons of her jacket, looked up with an incredulous expression on her face. "Pure luck, Baatar! And it could have taken your head off!"

"Regardless, they stayed on then, they're staying on now."

"You wouldn't even put them on a cord."

"I'm not running around looking like an old auntie, dammit."

"Fine!" She threw her jacket at him and Baatar snatched it out of the air, tossing it to the side of the ring before quickly shucking out of his own. Across from him, Kuvira pulled her arm behind her back, stretching. He'd already gone through his warm-up exercises, but he dropped into one last quick side lunge, just to loosen up a little more. When sparring, Kuvira consistently caught him in the footwork; her dancing experience gave her an extra edge there.

"Ready?" Kuvira asked. She stood ramrod straight, arms at her side. He mirrored her, and they bowed, then fell immediately back into defensive stances.

Kuvira, always a bit of a show-off, bobbed around on the balls of her feet, shifting weight, constantly on the move. The first few times he'd sparred with her he'd tried to emulate her. Now he knew better. She had years of training, he only had two. But he had reach and upper-body strength where she did not, and that gave him his own kind of edge.

She struck first, a quick feint with her right fist meant to distract from her left uppercut; he blocked that easily enough. She was just testing him, making sure he was paying attention. He sidestepped back out of her reach, aware of the line drawn in the sand. Wouldn't do to get driven out of the ring either. When she struck next with a kick, he tried to grab for her leg, punching in with his free hand. Too slow. Her foot caught him in the side, and then she was gone again, out of reach.

"Come on, Baatar! Try a little harder, won't you?"

He growled softly under his breath, then shifted to the offensive. He wasn't as fast as Kuvira was, never would be, but didn't mean she was completely beyond his reach. Kuvira relied heavily on speed, striking before her opponent could, thinking two steps ahead, reacting quick enough to keep them off guard.

For him it meant taking a barrage of blows to the arms as he stepped within reach, then finding a gap in her defenses to land a blow. He used to hold back, scared he'd hurt her. Nowadays he gave as good as he got.

Kuvira stumbled back, winded by the blow he'd landed to her gut—a knee, not the punch she'd apparently anticipated—but with a grin on her face. "Nice one!" she cheered. "But you've got to do better than that."

"You talk too much," Baatar grumbled, ducking under a kick, feeling the breeze from her passing foot ruffle his hair. He stayed low, intending to sweep her legs out from under her, but she just leapt lightly over them. He overshot and overbalanced, and the next thing he knew, a firm kick between his shoulder blades sent him sprawling to the ground.

Rolling, trying to get out of reach and to his feet as quickly as he could, Baatar found his arms suddenly pinned to the ground. With rock. "No bending!" he yelled, kicking out with his feet, trying to break free from his earthen bonds. But Kuvira simply sidestepped his flailing legs, and stood over him with a smug smile on her face.

"Just one quick thing…" She plucked the glasses from his face.

"Kuvira!"

She made gesture with her open palm and a neat circular indent appeared in the ground right next to them. Into it she dropped his glasses. A fist closed it up. "Try fighting me without them."

"Give them back!" The rock around his wrists crumbled, and he leaped to his feet, lunging for her.

Kuvira danced easily out of reach. "Not until you spar at least one round with me without glasses."

"What?" He waved a hand in front of his face. "I can hardly see you!"

"Oh, really?" she scoffed. He took a hasty step back as she neared again, but she didn't attack. Instead she only put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You can see me well enough in bed without them."

He felt a hot red flush rise up the back of his neck. "I keep my glasses on half time, you know that," he grumbled. "Also that's not the same the sparring!"

"Are you sure about that?" Kuvira asked. She'd already moved away, so he couldn't really tell if she was wagging her eyebrows at him, but he could hear it in her voice.

"Spirits, you are so...strange, sometimes."

"Come on," said Kuvira, and now she sounded slightly bored. "Fight me, and you'll get them back."

"Okay, okay!" He dropped down into a stable, defensive stance, keeping his eye on the green and white blur that was Kuvira. It was horrible. In his head he could see her, every curve, every wickedly sharp line of her, but none of that matched up to what his eyes were telling him. That, more than his terrible vision, was what tripped him up. Knowing what he was supposed to be looking at, but nothing quite adding up, no matter how hard he instinctively squinted or tried to focus his vision. He didn't notice her lunging forward until she slapped him lightly in the face.

"Hey!"

"Sorry." He couldn't tell by her tone, and definitely not by her face, but he imagined she sounded at least a little contrite. "You okay? You're making funny faces."

"Well, it's little hard for me to see right now," he muttered.

"Is it really that bad?" Now he could hear doubt creeping into her voice. No, he didn't want that, didn't want her to start worrying about him or his ability to take care of himself. Didn't want her to sideline him because he was too weak or useless in a fight. "I know I tease you a lot about it, but I really do—"

He reached down and grabbed Kuvira's hands. That he could do without looking. They were bulky, wrapped up like his were, but he could still thread their fingers together. "It's fine," he said reassuringly. "You know me," he gave her a self-deprecating smile, "just need to vent a little before I get into it."

"Into it, huh?" The pink smear of her mouth grew a little wider.

"Just give me a few minutes." He gently bumped his forehead against hers. "It's annoying, but you've made your point. One round. I'll take you down, glasses or no glasses."

"You wish, Beifong," she said in a playful sneer, even as she bounced up on the balls of her feet to press a kiss to his dusty cheek.

"I've done it before, I'll do it again!"

"That was sheer luck!" she crowed as she started circling him. "Beginner's luck!"

"Three times! You don't know what that word means!"

"You talk too much!"

"You talk—ow!" He stumbled back from a painful kick that caught him in the hip.

"Stop falling for my trash talk."

"Can't help it," he gasped as he ducked under her next swing. "It's your sexy voice."

That caught her off guard, made her laugh—and gave him the right opening to land a jab to her ribs. She staggered back, lashing out instinctively with one arm as she curled in on herself. Baatar easily blocked it. It was getting easier, he noticed, knowing where the next blow would come from, reading her movements even though everything was still firmly blurred and a slight headache was forming behind his eyes.

The next blow from her came straight for his face, but he blocked that with his forearms, then retreated back. Kuvira bobbed and weaved, not moving as fast as she usually did, but not going easy on him either; her hits, when they landed, hurt. He managed to land a few blows himself, mostly targeting her shins, hoping to trip her up at some point, or at least slow her down.

Then he spied an opening as she swept her foot back, shifting her weight. Before she could strike, he lashed out with a kick. It connected. Kuvira folded over. He swung down, ready to deliver a finishing blow only for the ground to suddenly shift wavelike under his feet, knocking him back to the edge of the ring.

"Kuvira!" he shouted, pushing himself upright. "What did I say about—"

He stopped short. She was hunched over on the ground, head bowed, cradling her arm...or something? Had he hurt her? He hadn't kicked that hard...it could be a trick, he didn't put it past her. Kuvira was more than willing to fight dirty if she wanted to prove a point. Or if she just wanted something badly enough.

"Um, Kuvira?"

Carefully, Baatar neared her. He briefly considered poking her with a toe, then thought better of it. The last time he'd done that, she'd yanked his feet out from under him, and he'd ended up with a concussion. Still, he was beginning to get worried, though there was no blood, or at least no red he could see, and he couldn't hear her breathing funny. He blinked furiously, wishing that he could see properly, that she'd at least look up, or say something, or—

"You kicked me in the crotch, you ass," she wheezed.

Oh shit, he mouthed and flung himself to his knees next to her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't really see—oof!"

Caught off guard, he'd left himself wide open. Her fist caught him in the diaphragm. With the both of them crouched low the angle was all wrong, but she managed to put enough force behind it to knock the wind out of him and send him sprawling back.

"Spirits!" he gasped between heaving breaths as he tried to suck air back into his lungs. "Fighting...dirty."

"You started it," Kuvira groaned, still crouched on the ground with a hand tucked between her thighs. "That hurt."

"I couldn't see! I was aiming for your..." He gestured at his own torso in demonstration.

"Aim higher next time! I'm not short!"

"Ugh!" He brought his hands up to his face before he remembered. "My glasses, give me back my glasses."

Earth shifted, and he heard the soft patter of loose dirt on the hard packed ground, then something thin and black floated into his field of vision. He plucked them from the air, and set them on. They were dusty, covered in a thin film of yellow dirt. Taking them off, he wiped them on the hem of his undershirt. It only made the dust migrate to the sides of the lenses, gathering in the edges of the frame.

"Great," he muttered, putting them back on. It was like looking through a dirty window, but at least he could see again. He sat up and scooted over to Kuvira. She was sitting down now, legs outstretched, her face tilted towards the sun.

"You seem to have recovered," he observed.

"Hmm." She punched him none too gently in the thigh. "You're an ass."

"You're the one who says all's fair in love and war."

"This is neither."

"You once threw dirt in my face during a sparring session," he pointed out, voice dry.

"Well," she said slowly, leaning her head against his shoulder, "that was training. Bandits don't play fair."

He stretched his legs out next to hers. "And what was this? Please," he added hastily, "don't say foreplay."

"Well, it's definitely not that anymore after you've kicked me in the crotch."

Baatar rolled his eyes. "You insisted on taking off my glasses."

"You need to learn how to fight without them." Kuvira reached up, and his hand flew to the frames defensively, but she only waved a hand over them. Before his eyes, little grains of dirt unstuck themselves from the edges and floated around her fingers. With a flick of her wrist, she cast them away. "Better now?"

"Much." He leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek. She swayed into him for a moment, then turned away.

"We should get back to the train. Our hour's almost up." Rising gracefully to her feet, Kuvira pivoted on her heel and walked to where they'd dropped their jackets and her armour. Baatar's own attempt to rise was a little less dignified: the ground under him suddenly turned to rocky spikes, and he jumped to his feet with a yelp.

"Really, Kuvira?" He rushed her and tackled her around the waist, stooping low so that she folded over his shoulder. Her alarmed screech in his ear was gratifying, her hard fists in the small of his back not so much.

Baatar didn't manage to hold onto her for long, but when he went down he made sure to take her with him. They collapsed in a heap, Baatar curling up just in time to avoid an accidental—or strategically placed—knee to the gut. Kuvira landed on top of him, grinning fiercely. Their sparring and wrestling had mussed up her neat braid, and loose strands of hair fell into her face as she lifted herself up and peered down at him.

"You've gotten our uniforms dirty." She shook the yellow-dusted jackets in his face, and he had to close his eyes against the soft rainfall of dirt. "You happy?"

"Yes," he said simply. He couldn't see her face, but he could hear her breathing, soft, slow, calm. Didn't need to see to reach up and cup her face in his hand. Under the curve of her cheek, he could feel her pulse flutter under his fingers, smoothing out into a steady metronome beat.

Baatar didn't open his eyes until she'd gotten off him and helped him to his feet. Let go of her hand long enough to pull his undershirt over his head and wipe his face clean.

When he could see again Kuvira was watching him with a gleam in her eyes. She nodded at his shirt. "You should put that back on before we get back. People might get ideas."

"Love, we've just spent an hour wrestling in the dirt." He pressed a quick kiss to her sweaty brow. "They already have plenty."