Sparing Match

                “Again.” 

                Nova gave her a nod. He had hardly raised his sparring staff back into position before Ava was upon him, determined and ferocious through the sheen of sweat that covered her brows. He blocked her blows, held his ground, and slipped his staff under her foot right as she went for another risky hit. She fell on her back, hard, with Nova’s staff pointed at her exposed throat.

                 “Again,” she wheezed.

                 “Ava – ” 

                She got back to her feet, drawing in straining breaths, and leveled him with a steady glare. “See? I’m alright,” she said. “Now, let’s go again.” Nova hesitated for just a moment. That was enough for her to step into his space and aim for his chest. He stumbled back with the force of the blow as it hit his staff, blocked on pure instinct. She stepped in when he stepped out, pushing him further and further back. The fight was getting away from him. Her eyes shone with the knowledge of it; he knew that look. It was the look of someone who could taste victory. If he were a more merciful man, he might have let her have it, but he respected her too much for that. She deserved his best.

                  She deserved defeat.

                 Nova stepped to the side of her next blow and slipped behind her. She spun around, ready to strike – and found her staff flung across the room, with his pointed to the center of her chest. Ava stared into his eyes for a moment, looking ready to spit or curse or bite, before gritting out the same word she’d echoed for the past few hours:

                “Again.”

                  “You’re exhausted,” he said. “That’s why you keep losing. I saw you earlier, fighting the other troops. You won, you were winning, against almost all of them.” 

                “But they weren’t—they weren’t you,” Ava said desperately, as if that clarified anything.

                 Nova sighed and stepped back. “Are you that desperate to avoid your actual job?”

                 “What? No.”

                 “I saw that heap of files in your inbox. Sure this has nothing to do with any of that?”

                 “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Then, finally, her expression relaxed. It wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t a grimace.

                  Nova studied that expression for a moment in silence. “Why are you pushing yourself like this?” he finally asked.

                 “Like you said, I’m avoiding all the busywork,” she said, but he saw her eyes flit towards the scar down his temple.

                 “Okay, mess hall it is.” He began to move past her towards the exit, but she moved faster. Ava grabbed the staff, twisted it from his grip, and threw it beside her own before getting into a fighting stance.

                  “Just one more round,” she said, and hit him square in the jaw. 

 There is no emotion, there is peace.

                 His head spun, but his body knew what to do. He moved instinctively into a square position and dodged her next blow. 

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

                 They moved together, responding to each other’s movements almost rhythmically. It was a bit like what Nova imagined waltzing felt like. Ava did not seem to share this fantasy. She moved with heavy, harsh blows, pushing him further and further back, not letting up any ground. 

There is no passion, there is serenity.

                 It was hard to predict her movement when she wasn’t planning ahead. She knocked him to his knees before he even understood what she was doing. Her hand was outstretched towards his face, fingers splayed out. Ava wouldn’t force manipulate him—logically, he knew that—but he couldn’t stop the flinch.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

                 He knew how it was. They both dreamt of laserfire and last breaths. Force knows how often Ava had starred in those dreams; probably almost every night, at this point. She was usually on the “last breath” side of the spectrum. Usually.

There is no death, there is the Force.

                 None of the Jedi really followed the code to the letter; it was impossible for a sentient being to cut off emotion completely and live in undisturbed balance, in Nova’s opinion. This, however. This ferocity, though born of loyalty and compassion, was in no way sanctioned by the Jedi lifestyle. They weren’t supposed to fear death, and Ava certainly didn’t fear dying, but…they lost a trooper on the last mission. She’d been a live wire since then. You need to rest, he wanted to say again, but instead—

               “I need to rest.”

               Ava stepped back immediately. “Of course,” she replied. “Keep your strength up.”

               He worried for her. Someone had to.