She was falling, again. Time seemed to freeze as her body went limp and tumbled to the ground.

Thud.

What was this? Fall number fourteen? Fifteen? She had lost count. Allowing herself a few seconds on the ground, she took a deep breath, eyes closed. If she stayed like this, she might imagine herself in her own bed. Maybe the sun is just rising. Maybe the sheriff hasn't found a way to make her life miserable. Maybe-

"Miles!"

No such luck. Kayla's eyes fluttered open and she pulled herself silently up off the mat.

The instructor was at a complete loss—and at the end of his patience. "Seriously, Miles, you know how to take a punch, but I don't think you could ever throw one."

He rambled on, but Kayla tuned him out, distracted by a male cadet's attempt to pick up a fit female. The sandy-haired guy leaned cockily against the treadmill beside her. He grinned wolfishly and said something he obviously assumed was clever. Treadmill Girl rolled her eyes, unimpressed. He tried harder, stepping closer while thrusting his chest forward. She waved her hand, as if telling him to leave. He boldly stood on the edge of the treadmill in an attempt to whisper in her ear.

Slap.

He fell majestically to the ground, stumbling over equipment.

Kayla barked out a laugh, and the grappling instructor stopped talking to take in the commotion.

"Deeks!" He yelled. The blonde jumped to his feet and saluted sloppily.

"Sir!"

"Get your butt over here!" The boy made his way to the ring, and the captain pulled him aside. "I need you to do something for me."

"Sir?"

"I can't get this cadet to throw a punch, and she has to pass hand-to-hand quals. You seem to have a knack for bringing out the worst in people, so I'm saddling you with the job."

"I beg your pardon?" Deeks wasn't sure if he was flattered or not.

"Have cadet Miles ready for qualifications, and I'll let the punishment for that stunt you pulled back there slide. Deal?"

Deeks paused, pretending to weigh his options. "Deal." He glanced around the gym. "So who's the hottie I get to train?"

The instructor indicated Kayla, and his face fell. The scrawny girl wasn't even on the scale. Heck, she couldn't even tip a scale. Her angular body consisted of skin wrapped tightly around awkwardly lanky bones. Fine dirty blonde hair had slipped out of the ponytail holder, clinging to her gaunt, sunburned face. The only thing he found remotely attractive about her were the overly large glowing amber-brown eyes that provided an alien appeal, as if she could see right through him.

The thought made him shudder. Blinking hard, he extended his hand to her.

"Marty Deeks, at your service." Her hand was cold, the handshake weak. He wondered if it would snap like twigs if he squeezed any harder.

His reputation preceded him-unabashed playboy-but Kayla had never understood how he could possibly be so charming. Now that she beheld him up close, she could see his appeal. Though he was a couple years older than her, he had boyish good looks, unruly blonde hair that begged to be touched, sparkling blue eyes that changed from grey to cerulean in a glance, and a wolfish, teasing grin.

Kayla might have flushed, uncomfortable from his attention, but the knowledge that he was out of her league strangely calmed her. After all, she had a reputation of her own: loner, loser, and all-around weirdo. The entire cadet population had no idea how someone like her would even get in, let alone attend the police academy. She had no desire to play the mysterious female cadet. The idea of playing their games disgusted her. She was here to survive and nothing more.

So as Deeks held her hand a second too long (harmless flirting on his part) she held in a sigh and dropped her arm from reach.

"Get to work," the coach ordered, leaving Kayla to stare blankly at Deeks.

"He says you can't throw a punch to save your life," Deeks started.

Kayla offered no help, her face betrayed nothing. There was no reason to let him in until she had him figured out.

"How much do you know about hand-to-hand?"

The girl grunted noncommittally.

"Have you ever hit someone before?"

Another grunt.

"Well, you're fighting me today."

That got her attention. Her jaw tightened, nostrils flaring. "No."

"Punch me!"

"No."

Deeks was becoming annoyed. "Are you some sort of pacifist?" He took a light swipe at her shoulder.

Her eyes remained dead. She swayed with the hit but otherwise remained still.

"Come on!" He swung again, a little harder. She absorbed the hit but didn't move. "What do you plan on doing if someone actually hits you?"

For emphasis, he let his fist fly full speed toward her face. He had no intention of actually landing the hit; he only meant to make a point, but before he could show her that was the case, she dropped to the ground like a rock. She lay there in the fetal position, one hand guarding her stomach, the other covering her face.

Her teacher squatted beside her, smirking, but it dropped off at the sight of her terrified face. He had made that face himself and he realized what was going on. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched away.

"Kayla," he breathed. "I'm sorry."

The girl relaxed, blushing as she rolled into a seated position. "Just...don't do that again."

"You know I'm going to have to do it eventually."

She nodded, gulping.

"That's enough for today." He laid a hand on her shoulder. Once again, she twitched, but didn't pull away.

They stood opposite each other. Kayla continued to blush, embarrassed by her behavior, but didn't speak.

"Same time tomorrow?" Deeks tried to meet her gaze. She nodded vacantly before slipping through the ropes and jogging away.

Kayla kept her cool until she was out of sight, careful not to draw attention to the telltale flushed face. Her steps were deliberate, one in front of the other, but every, muscle in her body wanted to bolt down the road. The walk to the running trail seemed excruciatingly long, but the moment she stepped onto the path, she let everything loose.

Running flat out, she took out down the path. She thanked her lanky frame for its long legs, perfect for cross-country. Time slipped away. Her muscles ached, but she forced herself onward. She was frustrated with herself. How could she let herself show fear—here, of all places! She hated herself for failing. She hated herself for being in this wretched place. More than anything, she wished she could change her past, she wished she had never let her father touch her. And here she was, the joke of the Los Angeles Police Academy. Sweat dripped down her brow, blinding her momentarily—long enough for her to trip over a root and tumble down the hill.
Dirt filled her mouth; she spat it out. "Shit!"

A pair of sneakers approached her tentatively. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," she replied through gritted teeth.

"You sure? Do you need any help?"

"Why do people always think I need help? Do I look like a damsel in distress?"

The new girl knelt down beside Kayla. "Yeah, you sort of do."

Kayla looked at her companion. "Jocelyn? Jocelyn Hart?"

"Guilty as charged." Jocelyn smirked. Her smile was charismatic; full, straight, white teeth.

Green eyes glimmered with genuine concern, her black hair loosely pulled back. Even with sweat glistening on her forehead, she looked like a movie star. "You're Kayla Miles, right?"

Kayla eyed her suspiciously, but took the proffered hand long enough to sit on a fallen tree.
Jocelyn's reputation preceded her, and similar to Deeks, was an avid fan of the opposite sex. It was a bit harsh to call her a slut, and to call her easy was inaccurate. She was simply confident in her sexuality and knew what she liked. Kayla almost admired this about her. With Kayla's self-confidence ground into the dirt, it was inspiring to see someone so comfortable in their own skin. Personally, she had hated her body ever since her father touched her. The thought made her skin crawl.

"I'm fine, really." Kayla squirmed under Jocelyn's concerned gaze.

"I'm sorry, but a red nose and puffy eyes aren't nothing." She crossed her arms. "Spill."

"I'm just a little beat up from falling."

"You don't seem like the kind of girl who cries because of a skinned knee."

"What makes you think you know me?"

"I don't. But I've been watching you, and I think you could do with a friend."

"What makes you say that?"

"The fact that you don't have any friends."

"Who says I need one?"

"I do! This conversation, right here, is the most I've heard you speak the entire two weeks we've been here!"

"Maybe I just don't like talking."

"Maybe, but what else are you going to do? Something's bothering you, and it's not going to sort it out in your head.

Kayla became more and more annoyed. She would have up and left, but her throbbing ankle told her that was a bad idea.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sweetie, if we're going to be friends, you're going to have to tell me things."

Kayla had a friend, once. Her name was Brittani. She had asked for Kayla's sandwich and Kayla had obliged. Brittani pronounced them best friends. The next day, she asked for Kayla's milk. Friends share, after all. Every day after that, she had taken something from her with the promise of friendship. Time passed, yet Kayla never stood up, never broke away. She did start bringing boring lunches.

"Who says we're friends?"

Jocelyn sat by her on the log. "Me, that's who. Now, who is it? Do you need me to knock them out? Put a snake in their sheets?"

The bizarre response was rewarded by a small laugh, surprising both Jocelyn and Kayla.

"See?" Jocelyn prodded, "There's a smile, and a pretty one at that. So, who's the culprit?"

"It's not his fault."

"Him?" Jocelyn grinned. "Honey, if it's a man, it's always his fault. Who is it and what'd he do?"

"His name is Marty Deeks."

Cutting her off, Jocelyn squealed. "The really hot blonde guy?"

"I guess." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, he's teaching me hand-to-hand. He didn't mean anything by it, but he scared me."

"I can kill him for you, if you like."

"He apologized. Besides, violence is not the answer."

A smile slid across Jocelyn's face. "Did you just make a joke?"

Kayla blushed, but stood, testing out her ankle.

"I think you made a joke! There's hope for you yet. Anyway, there's no reason to be afraid, you've got me now! If he pulls anything else, just let me know, and I'll take him down."

The blonde winced as her ankle gave way beneath her. "Maybe I'll take you up on that, friend." Jocelyn beamed. "Good, now let's get you to the infirmary."

"No." The voice was forceful. Fear flashed across Kayla's pained face. There was no way she would let word of thid get back to her father. "I mean, I've had worse; I'll wrap it myself."

Kayla began down the path, but rolled on her ankle again and fell to her knees."

"Here," Jocelyn offered, wrapping Kayla's arm over her shoulder and lifting her fallen comrade.

"Let me help you back."

Kayla almost protested, but one step on her rapidly swelling ankle told her she wouldn't make it back on her own.

That night at dinner, Deeks cornered Philips. The question had plagued him from the moment he saw Kayla's terrified face: why him? Did they know about his past? He was so sure those records had been sealed. Why would a grappling instructor choose the one guy who understood Kayla's plight?

"Honestly?" Philips asked after Deeks posed the question, "I figured you were the one guy she might consider punching. You have a tendency to bring out the worst in people, I thought it might work with her."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think you understand where she's coming from."

"Understand where she's coming from?" He repeated, "That girl is the daughter of an LAPD sheriff. She should be top of the class, but she's failing nearly every exercise. She's a wuss; she shouldn't even be here."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"She only made it in because her father pulled some strings. She barely met the qualifications for application, but he was dead set on her coming here."

"Any idea why?"

"Does it matter? She's here, and she can't even throw a punch. LA's finest, indeed. Unless that cadet whips herself into shape, she's going to be the laughingstock of her dad's precinct."

Deeks walked away, disgusted. How could an instructor like Philips be so naive? He gritted his teeth. If Kayla needed to be whipped into shape, he was hardly the man for the job.

Responsibility wasn't exactly in his repertoire of virtues, and he wasn't used to hanging out with women when there was no promise of sex. But Kayla's face! He couldn't clear it from his mind. She was so scared, but of what? He was determined to find out. Only then would he really be able to help her. Curiosity would keep him coming back.