Archive of Our Own ^beta

“There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns. Patterns hidden by patterns. Patterns within patterns. 

If you watch close, history does nothing but repeat itself.”

- Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor

i. 

The inciting incident, like most things in Johnny's life, is a punch to the face. 

Before the twerp manages to land it — right into Johnny's mouth pow! right in the kisser! — it's just a game to Johnny. Here's this skinny kid moving in on his girl, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, like a gnat in the sand just buzzing around. And Johnny, sure, he toys with him. Dances around him and lets him try to land one. But it's only when he manages to get a good one in there that Johnny sees red and nothing else. Because who does this kid think he is? Who does this kid think Johnny is? Doesn't he know who he's dealing with here? He can hear Kreese’s voice in his head: the enemy deserves no mercy. And Johnny doesn’t know who this kid is by name but he knows he’s just made a new enemy.

So Johnny shows him. With fists and kicks and a hard landing with a mouthful of sand. Forces him to cover up the dark bruise around his eye with a pair of aviators on his first day of school. Hide those Bambi soft brown eyes from Johnny's field of vision before he can even think about losing himself in them. 

That one punch sets each of them forward on a trajectory they are powerless to change. Their moves are now set in motion, each one preordained: LaRusso ducks left and Johnny swings right, LaRusso runs and Johnny chases. The interference by deus ex sensei only prolongs the inevitable moment: the pivotal accident that the tournament is only a few weeks away. That Kreese will do anything to win, even asking Bobby to fight dirty and deliver that crushing blow to the knee: it’s all a set up for the perfect storm that ends with Johnny’s face getting kicked by what shouldn’t be a long graceful leg but somehow it is. A beautiful kick. And if Johnny’s going to get kicked like that, it had better be a beautiful one. 

Johnny finds himself wondering what would have happened if that fist never swung his way. How different 1984 would have ended. First ever three-time All Valley Champ. Would Daniel LaRusso have found karate without punching Johnny Lawrence first? Would Johnny have found Daniel some other way? 

It's useless to wonder what could have been but Johnny does it anyway. He wastes years on it until one day he’s forced to walk into LaRusso Auto and sees the smug, charming, ageless face that’s plagued him all this time. Another hit, this time a hit and run, that resets the board and puts them in motion again. 

Three and a half decades later, LaRusso swaps a punch for a kiss — another pow! another pop in the mouth! — and just like that first night, Johnny doesn’t see it coming until it’s already happened.

He doesn’t see red but he does strike back. Uses his hands to tell LaRusso just what Johnny thinks about that, one with a grip on his jaw, the other threading through his stupidly soft, dark hair. Pushes him up against the wall of the dojo because this is just another fight that Johnny’s going to win. 

LaRusso pulls back with puffed up lips and heavy dark eyes. His hair’s a mess and his grin is infectious. 

Another inciting incident. 

The truth is, Sam kisses Miguel because she's drunk. 

She thought she'd been drunk before. Sneaking sips of wine from Mom's cup at club dinners and snickering about it later in the corner with Aisha. Shots of syrupy-sweet Malibu with Moon and Yasmin at sleepovers in Moon’s bedroom. She'd been tipsy before in those moments, a little giggle in her throat and a sway in her step that she maybe leaned into a little too hard. Prove she's not just a good girl, she can be a bad girl too. 

But at the party she's drunk and drunk Sam is not tipsy Sam. Drunk Sam is different. Drunk Sam wants. She wants someone, someone's lips on hers, someone to want her back. So she kisses Miguel because Miguel wanted her once and maybe he can want her again and if Miguel wants her now then surely Sam can want him back and the feedback loop of wantwantwant will quiet down and so will the blood rushing in her ears like overpowering waves. 

It doesn’t. 

That Tory sees it is just a pivotal accident. 

Dominoes fall. Her dad stands in Sensei Lawrence’s living room the next morning, fists raised and ready to finish the fight they started in 1984. When her dad finally looks at her, she wishes he hadn’t. 

The next domino falls at school. Tory’s voice over the PA, snarling into the microphone. “I’m coming for you bitch.” And Sam is scared, terrified actually, because she knows in some way she deserves a little bit of what’s coming for her. 

But Tory is angry and out for blood and that spiked bracelet delivers more pain than Sam could have ever anticipated. 

The only thing she can think when she finally gets to go home, skin sutured and body wrecked is. 

It was just a kiss. 

In hindsight, Sam should have seen it coming. 

It doesn’t make the hit any softer. A punch square in the chest, one that knocks the air all around her ribcage, bouncing like a pinball in the machine until it finally leaves her with a softly exhaled oh. Ding-ding. That’s what that is. 

She had mistaken it at first for hate but Sam doesn’t really know what hate is supposed to taste like on her tongue. Is it supposed to be this tantalizing? Is it supposed to leave her in such a frenzy, keyed up like a live wire every time? 

Tory’s lipgloss leaves behind a tacky sheen and Sam thinks she can still feel it on her lips even hours later. 

And Sam thinks, skin buzzing and heart in her throat, that was a kiss. 

ii. 

The thing about history is we're doomed to repeat it. 

That's what Mr. Murray says on Sam's first day of AP World History. Standing at the front of the class in his too-tight white shirt, buttons straining against his potbelly. Sam scribbles down his words in her brand new notebook, fresh college ruled pages now scrawling with her floral script in blue ink. 

It's human nature, he says, to make the mistakes of our ancestors. The only way to anticipate these mistakes is to learn of them, learn from them, and hope we can use what we've learned to avoid the same pitfalls as our predecessors. 

Sam thinks about her dad. How he has to ice and elevate his knee sometimes, propped under pillows on their coffee table while he points and flexes his feet over and over again with a wince. 

She thinks about her arm and the scar Tory’s bracelet left behind. The phantom pain of her skin ripping against the spikes. The scream she released at the pain and wonders if her dad sounded similar when Johnny Lawrence went after his leg in 1984. 

"Did he ever apologize to you?" she had asked one day, watching with ocean storm eyes as he adjusted his leg over the pillows.  

"Who?"

"Johnny."

Her dad shifted his weight on the couch, teeth gritted in pain. He shook his head. 

"No," he said, but something fond fell over his eyes as he answered. "But I've forgiven him for it anyway." 

Sam sits in class and silently wonders if she'll forgive Tory thirty-five years from now. 

This school fucking sucks. 

Not that Tory’s last school was any better. Or the one before that. Or the one before that. Shit, not that Tory likes school in general. It’s a means to an end for her. A passing of time so she can get a diploma and make her mom proud and maybe find a job that pays worth a damn and the only way to do that anymore is to have at least a high school diploma so. Here she is. At this stupid fucking West Valley High School and it’s all thanks to the LaRussos. 

She sees Sam in the hallway with her bright eyes and perfect curls and those pastel pink outfits she’s always got on that make Tory want to barf. She looks so sweet, like those ice creams with the bubble gum drops in them. All smooth and melt in your mouth with an added sugar jawbreaker hidden inside. Teeth rotting. 

Sam glares at her as they pass each other and Tory slams the locker of an underclassman with her first so hard she dents the metal. 

iii.

Sam likes Johnny. She likes him a lot, actually. Sure he's a little unhinged, his methods are not just insane but dangerous. Like, really dangerous. He had Sam jump off a building that one time. But it was fun. Thrilling. Exhilarating, honestly. The most powerful Sam had ever felt in her life. Like she could fly. (And, fine, like an eagle.)

She needed that lesson, as crazy as it was. And she needed Johnny in her corner at the All Valley against Tory. 

She thinks he gets her. She thinks he can see the pieces of her that she tucks away beneath her shiny veneer. That when he looks at her, when he talks to her, he doesn’t see just her as her father’s daughter. 

She is, in some ways. Jersey tough and all that. But she’s also got her mother’s eyes and complexion. She’s got her grandmother’s stubborn nature. And so many things that are all her own. 

Johnny stands there in his white gi — the new one they had made for him and Chozen and her father with the eagle embroidered over the rising sun — looking both so out of place and so at ease in the backyard dojo. He’s working with Miguel on getting his kicks higher. Sam watches as Johnny replaces the now-broken board and moves it up one rung higher. Kick. Replace. Move. Repeat. Kick. Replace. Move. Repeat. And in between every broken board is Johnny, loud voice carrying across the backyard. “Good job, Diaz!” “Nice one!” “Higher! You can do it!” Miguel’s labored breathing, the “aits!” he releases before landing a kick, like a drum beat to Johnny’s songs of praise. 

Sam’s supposed to be working on blocking with Robby but she can’t stay focused. Everyone is here today, the yard crowded with students from all three dojos now that they’ve finally combined into one. Some kids she recognizes, some kids she’s never seen before. Some she wishes just stayed home and put karate behind them.

Tory stands in the back of the class with Devon, working on attacking the few busted dummies that Johnny had brought over when they made this whole partnership official. They’re smiling at each other, urging each other on with taps to the shoulder and gentle kicks to each other’s calves. 

“Hey, Sam?” Robby asks. “You doing alright?” 

Sam nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Is it…?” He juts his chin over Sam’s shoulder towards Miguel and Johnny.

She shakes her head. It’s not Miguel. They’re okay. They’ve been okay for awhile, actually. 

“I’m good, Robby. Let’s go.” She steels her gaze and waits for Robby to begin. 

They bow with their hands besides them in tight forms. Robby telegraphs a kick and she blocks it too easily. He throws a punch, another telegraph. It’s too easy. He’s taking it easy on her and it makes her want to scream. 

So she does. 

“Miss LaRusso!” Johnny calls from across the yard. “Is there a problem?” 

No, sensei is on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t say anything. The class is watching them. Her dad is watching them and she can see him getting ready to walk over to Johnny and say something, probably something that will cause a fight, and now all she’s thinking about is fighting and how maybe she wouldn’t mind a fight herself right now so she says — 

“I want to train with Tory.”

Johnny walks over to her leaving Miguel to continue his kicks. He puts a hand on her shoulder and crowds in on her and Robby. The rest of the class goes back to work. 

Except for Tory.

She's standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow lifted like a challenge as she watches from behind the busted dummy she’s been beating up all class. The sun shines on her like a spotlight. It highlights the green in her eyes. 

“Is there some sort of issue with Mr. Keene?” Johnny asks. (And it’s so bizarre to Sam sometimes, how he’s so formal when he’s in sensei-mode. How he seemingly takes nothing seriously but karate.) 

Sam sighs. “I just feel like Tory would be a better match for this, that’s all.” 

There’s something like concern behind Johnny’s eyes and she doesn’t miss the way they flick upwards at her dad like a checkpoint. Her dad must give him the okay somehow — that weird telepathic communication they have that only works when they’re in the dojo — because he nods and turns to the crowd of students. 

“Miss Nichols!” he yells. “Trade places with Mr. Keene.” 

Tory’s shoulders give a minute slump downward and she rolls her eyes but it’s only a sliver of disobedience before she straightens up and makes her way over to Sam. Her shoulders pull back, pieces of dyed blonde hair framing her face as she moves through the trees in the yard. She stands tall and strong in front of Johnny and Sam before bowing in a movement of perfect control. 

“Begin!” 

Tory doesn’t hesitate. She makes a move for Sam’s right side. Blocked. A move for Sam’s left side. Blocked. Switches it up for her legs. Blocked. Kick to the left. Blocked. Another aim at the legs. Blocked. Her right side again. Blocked.

A blow to the chest. Landed. 

“Fuck,” Sam breathes. 

It hurts. All punches hurt. But the smile Tory wears like like wolf’s teeth is a different kind of hit and with it brings a different ache. 

“Again!” Johnny yells. 

Back to bow. Back to stance. Back to Tory attacking her from every angle. Block. Block. Block. 

Sam feels restless; her feet won’t stop moving and her limbs are vibrating like aftershocks from every point she blocks, practically bouncing on the mat like it’s a trampoline. It doesn’t even feel like she’s doing Miyagi-Do defense anymore. Or Eagle Fang, for that matter (if there is such a thing). But it doesn’t feel like Tory’s doing Cobra Kai offense either. It’s more like a dance, two bodies in motion moving together. One steps forward, the other steps back. Forward and back in 4/4 time. Quick and fast like a swing dance, not the slow delicate waltz of Miyagi-Do that Sam is used to. 

“Remember your form, Nichols!” Johnny yells. “Don’t get sloppy.” 

Across from her, Tory nods. She only casts a quick glance at her (former?) sensei before she looks back at Sam and tightens herself up. She’s still quick but she’s more controlled this time and Sam slips in a wax on, wax off against her that feels so right. She can see Tory’s feathers are ruffled, all that bright plumage of her exterior is now out of place. 

Tory sweeps her leg. It’s a beautiful sweep — perfect form and everything — and Sam’s only outwardly pissed when she ends up on her back on the mat.

Everything slows down for a minute. The only thing Sam can hear is the sound of her breathing coming out in quick puffs as she gazes up at Tory. She looks miles high above her, her large eyes so wide open, almost soft as they gaze down at her. Those stupid blonde pieces of her hair that she can never seem to pin back are dangling over Sam’s face and her fingers curl in on themselves like she wants to reach out and grab them. Tuck them gently behind Tory’s ears. Just to get them out of her face for once. Or something. 

Tory extends a hand down to help Sam up off the ground. Another slow movement. A camera flashes in Sam’s mind: a reel of her taking that hand and pulling Tory down to the ground with her. 

Sam doesn’t take her hand. 

She hoists herself up and lands on her own two feet, turning on a heel to face Johnny in her honorable defeat. 

Johnny’s frowning, just a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth. He looks like he wants to make a comment on the refusal of Tory’s gesture but he clears his throat instead and leaves that alone. 

“Alright,” Johnny says. “Good work today. Both of you. Nice sweep, Nichols.” 

Tory preens. “Thanks, sensei.”

“Yeah, thank you, Sensei Lawrence,” Sam mumbles. 

From across the yard, Sam can hear her dad sighing into the trees. That disappointed father sigh he always has waiting for her. Her heart sinks. 

But the sigh isn’t for her. “Johnny, can I talk to you after class?”

Some of the younger kids “ooh” at that and Sam rolls her eyes. Mixed age classes. It’s like being in a freshman elective as a senior. 

Tory changes out of her gi in Mr. Miyagi’s old bathroom into a pair of ripped jeans and a flannel open over her tank top. She’s fixed her hair and applied lip gloss and too much black eyeliner, like all that makeup will make her look older and fiercer than she really is. She doesn’t need it, Sam thinks. She’s fierce enough as it is. 

They’re the only ones in the hallway. Most of the kids have already gone home, save for Robby and Miguel who hang back waiting for Johnny.

The space feels charged, energy bouncing off the thin walls of Mr. Miyagi’s home and crashing into the limited space between them. 

Tory speaks first. “Good job today, Princess. Those were some nice blocks. Didn’t think I’d get you.”

Sam crosses her arms over her chest. Another defensive tactic. “Yeah, well. The leg sweep was a dirty move.” And Tory scoffs with her head thrown back. “But it was still a good move.” 

There’s a hint of a smile that borders on shyness. It stirs up a hurricane of disaster in Sam’s chest that she fights to push down. 

“Thanks, LaRusso.” 

When she finally leaves, the hallway still smells like her Bath & Body Works body spray. Sam stands in it for too long. 

Daniel’s pissed. Hands on his hips, changed into his sweatpants and hoodie looking like someone’s ticked off dad whose kid came home late on prom night. 

“You wanna tell me why you let Tory sweep Sam’s leg like that?” 

No, Johnny doesn’t want to tell him. But Daniel’s got that look on his face that means he’s not going to let up until Johnny relents. 

“It was a good sweep,” Johnny says. Daniel scoffs at him. “And Sam asked to train with Tory. She knew what she was getting into stepping on the mat with her.”

“What was wrong with her training with Robby?” Daniel asks. 

“He was taking it easy on her.”

“No he wasn’t.”

Johnny sighs. “LaRusso, I saw him. He was telegraphing every move. She’s never going to get better if you keep handling her with kid gloves.”

“I do not —”

“Yes, you do.” 

Daniel release a hard exhale through his nose; the one that usually precedes a fight and Johnny’s ready for it. Fist curling, ready to punch, and feet planted just in case there’s a shove. 

“Alright,” Daniel says, surprising Johnny with the softness of it. His fist unfurls by his side as he watches Daniel’s shoulders melt downward. “Fine, maybe I do.” 

He takes a seat on the floor of the deck. The sun is setting now; the leaves of the trees that litter the backyard dojo oasis are dipped in a glittering gold. Class ran long today but they needed it. Hell, Johnny needed it. He’s willing to bet Daniel did too, even if the weight of it all sits on him heavy. 

Johnny sits next to him. His legs are sore as he tries to cross them a bit beneath himself. Feels good, in a way. 

“She’s been through a lot. With her,” Daniel says. “And I know…I know what that’s like.”

He’s looking down at his lap, deliberately not looking at Johnny. Johnny sighs, filled with the urge to reach out and comfort him. Hand on his shoulder or maybe his thigh. Rub some small light circles into his muscles to ease the tension he’s been holding onto. 

He settles for a friendly pass over Daniel’s shoulder. 

“It’s not the same thing,” Johnny says, voice tight. 

Daniel looks up at him, all doe-eyed and filled with emotion. Expressive in the way his eyes always are, have been. “Isn’t it?” 

Johnny shakes his head. “I’m not Tory. And you’re not Sam. And Miguel and Robby aren’t Ali. Shit. They wish, right?” 

That gets Daniel to smile. It’s small, reminiscent of the covert teenaged smiles Daniel would send across the field during gym at Ali that caused a small pang in Johnny’s chest every time. (The pang is the same even now, Johnny thinks.)

“Look, you don’t have to trust me. But you should trust Sam. She’s a good kid and she knows what she’s doing.”

Daniel’s smile shifts almost imperceptibly. Like there’s a different reason for his mouth to turn up at the corners like that. 

He’s so warm under Johnny’s palm. His thumb has betrayed him, making small circles rubbing at the bone beneath the fabric of his stupid soft hoodie. Daniel’s leaning into it a little, letting Johnny smooth out all of his wrinkles with the pad of thumb. Sweep, sweep, sweep. 

“I trust you, Johnny.” 

That shouldn’t feel like the bomb that it is. That shouldn’t twist Johnny’s insides and shred them all up into tiny pieces that float through his body and make him feel dizzy and weightless. That shouldn’t be anything at all. 

Johnny’s mouth feels dry, tongue swollen with the weight of Daniel’s words like an allergic reaction. Daniel’s just looking at him like he’s not waiting for Johnny to respond and god, Johnny doesn’t want to know what his face looks like right now. What Daniel can see behind his eyes. (Because the thing is, he can. He always can. Stares at Johnny like he’s Superman with x-ray vision looking right at Johnny’s guts and not turning away at the horrors that are stuck in there.) 

“Dad! You ready?” Robby calls from inside and thank fuck because Johnny can’t sit under that stare a minute longer before he says something stupid in return. (Like, “thank you for trusting me.” Or “fuck why do you say shit like that to me? Don’t you know what it does to my head?” Or “I love you too.”) “You said you’d drop me off before you took Miguel home!” 

Daniel nods at him, shoves his shoulder up like he’s giving Johnny permission to take his hand back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “Have a good night, John.”

Johnny gives a curt nod over his shoulder and gathers his kids with swift arms before he peels out of the driveway like a bat out of hell, cranking up the radio to drown out all the words he didn’t say in response. 

iv.

If there’s such a thing as normal, that’s what things go back to. For the combined students of Miyagi-Fang-Kai (or whatever the name is supposed to be registered under for the Sekai Talkai — they’re still working that out, though Daniel is partial to Miyagi-Fang while Johnny wants to pick a different name altogether and Chozen has absolutely no opinion), they fall in line under their assigned sensei for the day. A group of kids under Chozen, another under Daniel, another under Johnny. And they switch off and on and back and around until a rhythm is developed and Johnny thinks to himself that things are looking pretty good. He’s learned all of the kids names. He’s figured out strengths and weaknesses pretty quickly. And he figured that working with Chozen would be a breeze (the guy is so fucking bad ass he’s like Johnny’s hero at this point), working with LaRusso is much easier this time around. No Kreese or Silver to distract them. No battle for the soul of the valley of whatever. Just good, dirty karate. 

He’s been focused a lot more on Sam and Tory this go around. Daniel’s given the leash around his daughter some slack and she gravitates towards him without even thinking it. He can see she likes it; this rougher, take charge, strike first and strike hard style of karate. She takes to it like a duck to water or whatever the saying is. The foundational moves her dad and the old man had drilled into her from the time she could stand make her a quick study. 

Tory was a natural from the jump. Fierce and fiery and ready to strike the moment she set foot in his dojo. That same sort of anger in her wide eyes that Johnny remembers LaRusso having at her age. Intense and all consuming. Stare at it too long and you’ll start to sweat. 

It’s still there, LaRusso’s still got that fire in him. Though now they’ve dwindled down to smoldering embers that are begging to be whipped into a wildfire that could burn the whole valley down. Whenever Johnny catches it, he can feel himself slipping under the memories that come on like an assault to his senses. The cocky attitude he greeted Johnny and the guys with every morning when they couldn’t chase him down the halls any more. The way he crumbled under Johnny’s hands with just a few punches like a balled up paper towel. The bruises Johnny left on his skin in his twisted, misguided anger.

(Those bruises, Johnny hates to admit it, were so fucking beautiful in their own right. Dark and discolored against the tan skin of his jaw and puffing up angrily in a midnight purple around his soft brown eyes. A sickening, tight coil of arousal would burn in his gut whenever he saw Daniel covered in Johnny’s bruises. All dark ink and smudges where Johnny had left his prints like a signature. A possessive feeling, like watching Daniel walking around school wearing his letterman jacket or something.)

So, yeah. Back to normal it seems. 

The core six tend to hang back late after practice. They goof around in the dojo, pretend to work on the balance wheel but with the only goal of pushing someone into the koi pond (and every time it’s Demetri — kid’s never going to learn is he?). Johnny watches them from the deck with Daniel always close by in a scene that feels so domestic that Johnny often wonders if he’s dreaming it. 

“Sam and Tory seem to be tolerating each other more,” Daniel says. He hands Johnny a cold Banquet but his eyes don’t leave the kids. 

Over in the corner of the yard are Sam, Tory, and Robby. Tory’s sitting on a rock with a smile painted on her red lips. Her eyes are watching Sam, only briefly casting over to Robby as the two of them are caught up in conversation. 

“Yeah, they’ve been taking a lot less cheap shots at each other during practice, too.”

Daniel grimaces. “She gave Sam an elbow to the gut earlier today.”

“Really? Must have missed that.” 

Johnny didn’t miss shit. He just thinks it might be better to let the girls fight it out until it’s all out of their system. It’s what he should have done to LaRusso years ago but then again, maybe they wouldn’t have ended up here if he had done that. 

“I’m worried about her,” Daniel says.

“Here we go again —”

“Look you weren’t there after the school fight, Johnny. Tory left her marks all over Sam and I’m not just talking about the scar on her arm.” 

“Why can’t you just accept the fact that people can change?” Johnny asks. He’s so tired of this. These trust issues that LaRusso can never seem to put behind him. Always guarded, always ready to snap at any fucking moment. 

Daniel casts his dark eyes over Johnny. Soft and stupidly pretty. “What makes you think I haven’t?” 

Johnny gets the feeling they aren’t talking about Tory anymore. 

Sam jogs up to them there on the deck with a smile that falters like she thinks she might be interrupting. 

“Hey Dad?” she asks. “Is it cool if we all go out tonight? Head over to Hawk’s house for a couple hours?”

“Are his parents home?” Daniel asks and Johnny has to laugh when Sam starts to blush. 

Daniel deflates a little before Sam can have the chance to lie to him. “Back by eleven, okay?” And his daughter beams at him with a kiss on his cheek before she runs back to the group. 

“You can trust her, you know,” Johnny says. 

“It’s not her I don’t trust,” Daniel replies. 

“You can trust the other one too.”

Daniel picks at the wood on the deck’s railing. He chips away at a worn piece of paint with the edge of his thumbnail, worrying at his lip with his bottom teeth as he does so. Johnny’s hands get that urge to touch him again and he curls his hands into fists because he knows that that’s the only way he ever gets the chance. 

“You want a beer, Johnny?” he asks, eyes still focused on the wood he’s preoccupied with. “Keep my mind off the kids for awhile?” 

And sure, Johnny could think of a few different ways he could take LaRusso’s mind off things tonight but he watches the way his shoulders tense and his back is knotted so Johnny pushes those thoughts away and lands with a simple, “Sure. Why not?” 

Sam drives to Hawk’s house because she’s the only with a car and even if she wasn’t, she likes being the one in control. The Audi is a little small and Robby sits up front while the other four pile into the backseat. Demetri sits on Hawk’s lap, his head and neck bent so far forward he’s almost a perfect 90 degree angle. 

“Is there a reason you’re not the one sitting on top of somebody?” he asks Tory. 

Tory glares at him. “Yeah it’s because I’ll kick your ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like a valid reason.”

“It sounds like you want to get your ass kicked.”

Robby twists himself to look back at the two of them. “Guys, we said no fighting tonight.” 

“She started it,” Demetri grumbles. 

“And I will finish it.” 

“No one will finish anything because no one is going to start anything. Right?” Miguel says. 

Demetri scowls with his arms wrapped around his waist like a protective hug and Sam steps on the gas. 

Robby still has his fake ID and he tells Sam to stop at the corner store on the way so he can put a few six-packs of beer in her trunk before they head to the house. Tory asks for a pack of White Claw, which is sort of surprising to Sam because aren’t those, like, girly drinks? Who knew Tory was into those? 

He comes back with his arms full and Sam pops the trunk without getting out of the car. Miguel helps him stash them and Sam can’t stop looking in the rearview mirror at Tory. 

She’s staring out the window, at the empty space Miguel left beside her. She stretches her long legs (still in those stupid tight ripped jeans) and gnaws at her cuticles like she’s nervous or something. Sam can’t imagine her nervous. It makes her breath hitch in her throat. 

Sam says she’s not drinking when they get to Hawk’s because eventually she’ll have to drive everyone back home (except Demetri announces he’s sleeping over because of course he is). Robby says he’s staying at his dad’s tonight so she can drop Miguel and Robby off together. 

That just leaves Tory. 

Tory, who nurses her can of White Claw while the boys set up the Playstation. Who stares down at the can like it’s making her sad to just sit and sip there. Who looks like she doesn’t know why she agreed to come here in the first place. 

Sam sits beside her on the couch while the boys crowd the living room floor. 

“Not a big gamer?” she asks. 

“Not really, no.” Tory’s still staring at the can in her hand, flicking the top of it. 

“Me either. My brother is. Plays games all the time, it’s so annoying actually because he’s always walking around the house with his face, like, covered by a screen or something and my dad always flips out on him —” 

Tory whips her head around to face Sam and Sam can’t tell if she’s angry or surprised. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks. 

“What?”

“You’re being, like, super nice to me all of a sudden. It’s weird. Why.” 

Sam stammers. The boys aren’t paying them any attention. “I…don’t know. I want to?” 

“Okay but. Why do you want to?”

Sam sighs. “Does it bother you or something that I’m being nice to you? Because I can go back to being a bitch if that’s what you want.”

Tory’s face softens. She’s always hard lines and cold gazes around Sam but in the low light of Hawk’s living room she looks. Pretty. She’s a pretty girl. Sam can admit that, right? That another girl is pretty. That another girl is beautiful and at times she’s hot in that frankly terrifying way that Sam’s never experienced before with any other person let alone another girl. 

“Okay,” she says. “Fine. Be nice.” 

“Okay, fine, I will.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Sam drinks her beer and Tory flicks the tab of her White Claw can and the boys yell at each other because Miguel died. Again. 

v.

Johnny’s can’t remember his first kiss. He thinks it might have been Madeline Carter in the second grade. She had curly red hair and her mom always put bows in it. Lots of freckles. She kissed him on the swings at recess and ran away almost immediately after. Johnny’s doesn’t remember if he kissed her back (do little boys know how to kiss back?) but he remembers sitting on the swing with his face all hot until the teacher called them back in for class. 

If Madeline Carter doesn’t count, then it was a boy named Corey who lived in the same apartment complex Johnny and his mom lived in. He had dark hair and the lightest, clearest blue eyes that he hid behind a pair of thick poindexter glasses. Johnny kissed him first with a shove to his chest against the side wall of the apartment complex. Quick press of lips on lips, soft and dry. 

Corey punched Johnny in the face afterward. Johnny didn’t think the kid had it in him. It was the first time Johnny had ever been punched but it wouldn’t be the last. 

He didn’t kiss boys for awhile. 

Sam’s first kiss was in the seventh grade during a game of spin the bottle at Lacey Martin’s thirteenth birthday party. Lacey had just gotten her braces off and her parents let her get highlights. (Sam had asked if she could get highlights. Her mom and dad shut that down pretty quickly.) She wore a plastic tiara on her head the whole party and a pink satin dress that was too short for her to be wearing while sitting on the floor. 

Lacey spun first and Sam watched so nervous she thought she would pass out in anticipation. It landed on a boy Sam can’t remember well enough — just the fuzzy outline of some kid who let Lacey crawl over to him on all fours and kiss him full on the mouth. 

A boy named Jordan who didn’t go to school with Sam spun his bottle and Sam wasn’t even paying attention when it landed on her until the chorus of “ooh”s alerted her to it. He had a few pimples and his sandy brown hair covered his forehead with a swoop. He kissed her so timid and light she barely felt it on her lips but it happened. Her first kiss. With a boy she never saw again. 

When it was Sam’s turn to spin, she kept her eyes glued to the bottle. It knocked around a bit — not a clean spin but any means — and Sam held her breath as it wobbled around the floor and landed right on Lacey Martin. Sam felt a clench in her chest like a vice grip. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes and heard the bright laughter of Lacey’s voice crackle through the static. 

“Uhm, we’re not kissing,” Lacey snickered. “Girls don’t kiss girls and boys don’t kiss boys. Obviously.”

Sam had blushed, hiding her face behind her hands as she pretended to brush away a lock of her curly hair. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course. I was only kidding.” 

“Guess you gotta spin again,” Jordan said, leaning across the room like he was thinking about kissing her again. She gulped.

“I’ll let somebody else take a spin,” she said, demure. 

Lacey Martin kissed three boys that night. 

vi.

“We should do the wheel.”

Tory’s stretching at the end of class. Legs spread out in front of her as she reaches for her toes, spine out long. She pulls up and looks at Sam with a mixture of wonder and disgust. 

“You’re kidding.”

Sam shakes her head. “You’ve never done it before and I think it would help you.”

“Help me?”

“We gotta learn to fight together. It’s a good exercise for that.” 

“We fight each other just fine, Princess.” 

Sam fights back a groan. She’s so stubborn and Sam can’t help it from getting under her skin. “I said together, not each other.” 

Tory shrugs. “Don’t see how that makes a difference in a tournament.”

“It’s about being a team, Tory. You’re part of this dojo now. We all work together.” 

Tory looks like she’s about to say something smart. Sam can hear the “Spare me, LaRusso” before it leaves her lips. But she rolls her shoulders back and does a kip up to her feet (and why is that so thrilling to witness how her body moves like that?) landing with her hands on her hips. 

“Alright. Fine.” 

Sam grins. Point: LaRusso. 

The water is as freezing as it always is. A shock to the system that makes Sam jolt, hands in the air and spine super straight. Tory must be immune to temperatures because she glides right in and hoists herself up on the wheel with a measured practiced. Graceful and lean and Sam’s all limbs for a minute until she can hop on herself. The wheel wobbles beneath them as they set themselves into place. Tory loses her footing and the wheel dips down but Sam acts as her counterweight and slides to the opposite side. 

They stand statue still. The wind moves the leaves through the trees with a light rustling sound. Sam can hear birds chirp in the distance and the calming sound of the waves they’ve made beneath them.

“Now what?” Tory asks. Her tone is a little warbled, maybe a little nervous. Like she needs Sam to take control and pin her energy back. 

“Now we move.” 

“Yeah, I figured that,” Tory scoffs. “How?”

“Just follow my lead,” Sam says. And she can feel the shift as Tory tries to turn her body to watch but she catches herself before they can flip back into the water.

“Okay,” Tory sighs. “How am I expected to follow your lead if I can’t see you?”

“That’s the point, Tory. You gotta trust me. You have to feel it.” 

Sam can practically hear the eye roll Tory gives her but she does feel it when Tory moves back to stance. Sam gives her a minute, lets her get settled in before she takes her first step. Left foot. Turn. Tory moves. They don’t tip. Sam moves again, both feet. Tory is a fraction of a second behind her but she follows. 

It’s not like it was with Robby: the multiple times they fell in the water before finally figuring out what the exercise was all about. Tory moves with control, a flow that matches Sam’s and neither of them say a word. When Sam starts to incorporate her arms, she can feel Tory doing the same. Sam’s breathing intensifies, louder breaths in and out. She can hear Tory’s match. Perfectly synchronized. 

In together, out together. Step, turn. Sam chances a kick — nothing too crazy. From the corner of her eye she can see Tory’s toes pointed. Her heart sticks in her throat. 

They move on the wheel together as fluid as the water below them. Sam’s body is electric. Lights all the way up her spine so bright she wonders if Tory can see how she’s glowing. 

When they finally stop, Sam can hear Tory breathing hard. As hard as an intense day of training. Deep, labored inhalations into the soft air around them. 

“Shit,” she curses, breathy like a sigh of wonder. “That was kind of intense.” 

Sam swallows. “Yeah. It kinda was.” 

They’re back to back again and Sam is thankful because she doesn’t want to think about what Tory looks like right now. What expression she wears on her face, if the one Sam wears matches. 

“Uh, what do we do now?” 

Sam can think of only one thing to do. 

She jumps. 

Sam is merciful giving up the shower to Tory first. She had looked ridiculous, hair drenched and matted and leftover eyeliner streaming down her cheeks. For a moment Sam had worried she miscalculated. That this would be a repeat of Junior Prom. But Tory had laughed. Laughed! Sam had never heard her laugh in genuine amusement before, only ever sneered in sarcastic gestures. 

Tory should laugh like that more often. Sam has a feeling she doesn’t get the opportunity all that much. 

Sam waits for Tory to finish up on Mr. Miyagi’s old couch wrapped in a towel and hoping her dad won’t yell at her if he catches her dripping pond water all over the place. 

She can hear someone pull up the drive and curses herself internally for even thinking about what her dad is going to say, like she manifested his arrival just at this very moment. 

She’s surprised to see Johnny standing there. Keys in hand like he owns the place. 

They look at each other, both startled. 

“Miss LaRusso,” Johnny says in greeting. “You’re all wet.”

Sam blushes a little. “Yeah.”

“Balance wheel?” Sam nods. “Is Robby here?” 

Sam opens her mouth but they’re interrupted by Tory’s voice calling out “Shower’s free!” and for some reason Sam feels like she’s been caught redhanded. 

Johnny just looks at her. 

Sam doesn’t look away. 

“I guess I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Johnny says. He gives her a small smile paired with that look he has for her like he knows her so well. It’s typically a comfort but it doesn’t have the same effect today. 

He turns around to head back but Sam stops him. 

“My dad isn’t here!” she yells. Johnny stops mid-foot and turns back to her. “He’s working late. At the dealership tonight.”

“Oh,” Johnny says. And for some reason now he’s the one who looks like he’s been caught. “Well. Goodbye.”

Sam lets him walk away this time. She makes her way to the shower and scrubs the pond water off of her until she’s pink all over and she thinks about telling her dad that Johnny came by but something tells her to keep it a secret.

Johnny feels a little sheepish as he gets into the car and heads back to his apartment. He could have sworn Daniel told him to come over tonight. “The kids are at Amanda’s and I’ve got nothing else going on,” were the exact words he used. (Johnny remembers because he’s been playing them on a loop like a song on his Walkman for the last twenty-four hours.) And the worst part is, he was looking forward to it. He wanted to hang out with LaRusso. (He always wants to it seems which is annoying enough to think about but more annoying when he gets invited and feels like he’s been stood up.)

He does wonder what that was all about with Sam. But he thinks he gets it. He may be dense but he’s perceptive. He thinks. 

He gets back to his apartment where he left his phone to charge on the kitchen counter and finds three missed calls and two messages. They’re all from Daniel. Apologies on apologies he’s stuck at the dealership tonight but he’s off tomorrow and can Johnny come by then? 

It loosens the feeling in his chest. Just a little bit. 

Johnny texts him back with clumsy thumbs that he’ll be there tomorrow but LaRusso owes him a beer. 

It’s eleven o’clock when Johnny’s phone dings with a text from Daniel. It’s a photo of a six-pack of Banquet already in his fridge. Another text comes through a second later. See you tomorrow Johnny. Looking forward to it. 

Johnny can’t help himself from responding: Me too. 

vii.

Daniel thinks it would be a good idea for them to spar. 

That should be the first red flag for Johnny. Because Johnny loves a good sparring session. He’s thrilled by the idea of it. He loves fighting with Daniel like it’s some sick and twisted version of a rollercoaster. He loves watching the guy move and dodge each of Johnny’s hits and the exhilaration Johnny feels all the way down to his toes when he finally lands one on him. Because Daniel’s eyes go all flinty and that wildfire returns to them and Johnny just knows he’s in for a good ride from that moment on.

But Daniel has always met him on the mat with a series of groans, begrudgingly moving to face off with Johnny like it’s the last thing he wants do it in that moment. Like he’s doing Johnny the biggest favor in the world by sparring with him when in reality it’s the only way to keep him in shape to train these kids. Only doing kata every day is just gonna make him soft and how’s he gonna get these kids to fight if he’s out of practice himself? 

They bow towards each other. Daniel’s eyes are locked on Johnny’s. His mouth is a hard line already and Johnny straps himself in. 

Daniel strikes first. It’s blocked but not easily, more because of the shock that he’d come at Johnny so quickly without being forced to hit him. Johnny bites back a curse but he comes back swinging. Kick. Block. Punch. Block. He’s got Daniel moving backwards to the edge of the mat and his foot lands out of bounds so they restart. 

Bow. Lock eyes. And now Daniel’s smiling at him like he’s feeling just what Johnny’s feeling every time they meet here. Like he’s finally getting it. 

Quick succession of movements. A flurry of kicks and punches and blocks. Johnny feels Daniel on him and the moment his foot gets close to the edge he spins to keep himself back in the fight. He wants to ask Daniel what the fuck has gotten into him today but he doesn’t want to lose the momentum. He can’t have Daniel pull back now. 

Daniel lands a hit to Johnny’s ribs that knocks the wind out of him briefly but he pulls himself together because fuck that felt good. Try it again, LaRusso, I dare you. And he does. Another hit, opposite ribs. And oh, he’s got Johnny right where he wants him. 

He goes for Johnny’s legs but Johnny side steps him and he practically slides like he’s headed for a baseball diamond. Home run hit. He lifts himself up with those sickeningly long legs of his and plants his feet before Johnny can get a jab in that gets blocked. 

It’s the best sparring session Johnny’s had in years. His heart hammering in his chest and the feeling of fluttering in his belly. They move until they can’t anymore and that’s when it hits him.

Daniel’s lips are warm and soft but his mouth is punishingly brutal. Johnny can taste the faint saltiness of his sweat on his lip. It’s all Johnny can do but to bring his hands to Daniel and force the kiss to deepen. If LaRusso is gonna hit him with this he better make it a good one. Can’t pussy out now. 

Johnny pushes him up against the wall. Grabs at him with greedy hands while Daniel opens up against Johnny’s mouth and slips his tongue inside and Johnny wants to feel that mouth all over him. All over his skin.  Wants to touch and kiss and lick and bite all over Daniel and have Daniel do the same to him. 

He’s grinning like a fool, face split in two perfect halves when Johnny pulls away to take a breather. It’s a lost cause. Daniel takes his breath away. 

“How long have you been wanting to do that for?” Johnny asks. Because he knows his answer. Thirty-five years and counting. 

“Too long,” Daniel says and he kisses Johnny again like he’s making up for lost time. 

Johnny’s head swims with it and somewhere at the back of his mind is a timeline of inciting incidents one after the other that finally brought them here. 

viii.

Tory is still waiting for Sam when she finally gets out of the shower. Her wet hair is pulled back into a tight bun at the top of her head. She’s in a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. No makeup on but for the shiny shellacked lipgloss that’s always on her bow-pink lips. 

She makes no move to get up when she sees Sam so Sam takes the first step and sits down next to her on the couch. She’s playing with the hem of her shirt, a piece of thread that’s pulled out long wrapped around her fingertips. 

“Hey so,” she starts. “Today was actually. Really fun. Thank you, Sam. I kinda needed that.” 

She sounds so genuine, calling her by her name like it really means something. Sam puts her hand on Tory’s thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“Thanks, Tory. I had a lot of fun too.” 

And all that softness that Tory is hiding comes peeking through in increments the longer Sam’s hand is on her leg. She can see each and every brick of the wall she’s put up start to crumble around them. Her eyes are so green, Sam keeps thinking, like it’s the only thought in her head and it’s such a distracting thought that she almost forgets to kiss back when Tory puts her lips to Sam’s. 

Let the dominoes fall where they may. Tory’s lipgloss tastes like artificial cherry and Sam kisses her until there’s nothing left to taste.