Work Text:
Clark watched the fight in progress without much interest. Howard was doing what she could, but the result of her match-up was a foregone conclusion. Medical personnel only had to take the introductory self-defense course. She'd stubbornly insisted on taking the advanced ones.
Howard's final mistake was picking Clark's class. His job was to train future security personnel—fighters, not desk jockeys and band-aid dispensers.
"Huh, seems like the scores off," someone drawled. Clark glanced to his right and found himself looking at a lab coat on some older guy. Even without the coat, the flash of blue at his neck would have made it glaringly obvious that he was from medical.
"Help you with something?" Clark asked, not bothering to look twice. In front of them, Howard went down, as was inevitable. He'd matched her up with Thompson. He was a weight class above her and properly aware of what a fight should be.
"Nah, I've got this," the other man said. Clark looked back but whipped his head forward as the man strode past. He caught something like a glitter of mischief in blue eyes.
"Right, eyes are clear, and the corneas are intact. Follow my finger… good. Name, rank, and serial number, cadet," the man asked. He was kneeling next to Howard. She replied in a smaller, somewhat dazed voice.
She'd taken a blow to the helmet, which was a foul, but Clark hadn't called it. The point was to have her hit the mat, the match being enough to tip her grade to a fail.
"Beverly Howard, Sir," was all that Howard said that Clark could hear. He expected the medic to help her up and out of the class, but he didn't. Instead, they lingered for a few moments longer, talking quietly. Finally, the man did help Howard to her feet but quickly let go.
"Computer, erase the last match-up and restart using standard rules. Lock all further commands to McCoy, Leonard. Authorization McCoy Alpha Niner Zero," McCoy said. Clark felt his stomach drop into his boots. He only knew of one McCoy at the academy, and that was the head of Starfleet Medical School, a stars forsaken admiral.
"Go get 'em, Howard!" McCoy said, slapping Howard on the back. McCoy came to stand next to Clark again, his eyes trained on the match. Clark was looking at McCoy, trying to figure out his game.
The sound of a point scored rang out, and Clark instinctively looked to the ring. Howard had landed a hit on Thompson. It was the first scored one but not the first to connect in either match.
Howard would have won the first match if it had been going by points. She was quick and knew how to use her lower center of gravity to her advantage. Clark had set the match to elimination instead of using the technical score system because of that.
In Clark's eyes, Howard's bit of technical proficiency didn't matter. She couldn't hit hard enough to hurt and wouldn't be in the heat of combat anyway. It would be his other students who'd stand between her and trouble.
"I heard a funny story. Apparently, some utter throwbacks in this academy think they know who should and shouldn't get to pass. Been messing with the settings and scores," McCoy chirped.
"Sir-" Clark started. He stopped short when McCoy waved him off lazily.
"Shhh, you're gonna wanna watch this," McCoy said. Clark almost spoke again when another score startled him. He looked toward the ring in time to see Howard's red hair whipping like a ribbon of blood behind her. She seemed to be going for a face shot.
When Thompson raised his guard to defend his head, the feint turned into a vicious gut shot. The bo staff was padded, but Clark was sure Howard leaned into the hit, adding her weight to the blow as it connected. Thompson hit the ground coughing so hard it was a miracle he didn't puke.
Howard backed off but didn't leave the ring. It was a point, but the match would go to five. She gave Thompson all the time he needed to get back to his feet.
Clark swallowed. Thompson, Jack Thompson, was the son of Admiral Steve Thompson. He was being groomed for a command position and, like his father, prided himself on being something of an old-fashioned warrior.
Thompson got to his feet, but he was winded. He'd been going hard from the start while Howard had been fighting defensively. She'd had nothing to gain from hitting back, needing to stay in to pass.
Another point followed from a strike to the side of the right knee. Thompson was all but useless, winded from his prior assault and aching. One more point would end it.
That was when Howard struck Thompson in the helmet. The foul cost her a point, but she quickly earned it back, only to foul Thompson again. Thompson was tired, and all of Howard's boiling frustration now had an outlet.
McCoy didn't look at Clark, eyes still trained on the fight as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at another foul.
"Get 'em, Ginger Snap!" McCoy howled approvingly.
"Sir, she's won. Humiliating him-" Clark stopped, cold blue eyes driving the words out of him. Of course, Admiral Thompson wouldn't be happy, but he had no power over McCoy. As a Lieutenant Junior Grade, Clark might as well have been standing next to god.
"You know what Star Fleet Medical's motto is, son?" McCoy asked, all pretense of cheer gone. Clark just shook his head.
"It's real easy to remember. Do no harm, take no shit," McCoy growled.