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The two men circled around warily – each testing the other’s reflexes, skills....abilities. Caldwell faked to the right and found Ronon waiting when he lunged left. Their bodies met, both men solid, fit, straining for a hold, a grip –

An edge…

Ronon wrapped his arm around Caldwell’s back, grabbing his shoulder, pulling the Colonel backwards, down to the mat.

He hit hard, grunting out his supply of air, Ronon’s body unyielding above him.


He nodded an answer to Ronon’s unspoken question, the Satedan helping him to his feet, their bodies pulled together, fitting perfectly…

Holding a beat too long……


A testing of strengths, a rematch...

The desire - need - to best the other man drives him to remain standing after yet another powerful blow, pushes him to scramble back to his feet repeatedly when he is driven to his knees.

He can not fail. Not here. Not against this man.

A heavy kick catches him in the chest. Grabbing the foot, he striking behind the knee open-palmed, numbing the entire leg.

Ronon goes down hard, grunting as he comes up only to fall on all fours as feeling slowly creeps back into his leg.

Caldwell holds out his hand.



Counter, strike, dodge.


Advance, fall-back.


Grappling for a hold - almost...

Spinning, slippin away...

Arms around his, pinning them to his waist...

The smell of his sweat -

....the smell of his sweat

He breaks away.
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