He was home.

The sound of quiet footsteps made him open his eyes again. His eyes fell immediately on the tall man moving serenely towards him. The man’s hair, jet black as long as Sean had known him, was shot through with the first threads of silver. He stopped in front of the younger man and lowered himself into a respectful bow. Sean echoed it, murmuring, “Master Teo.”

His old master smiled slightly then, taking the weight of years off his face, and moved forward to pull Sean into a rough hug. Holding him out at arms-length, Teo studied him thoughtfully. “Sean. It’s been too long.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard, and watched for myself. Neck injury, eh?”

Sean shrugged. “I landed wrong.”

“You were thrown wrong as well.” The edge in Teo’s voice made Sean smirk. “You’re well now?”

“I’ve recovered.”

“Good. You were missed.” Clapping his arm suddenly, as if to distract him from the indulgence of such affection, Teo turned away and started walking down the narrow, dimly-lit hallway. His bare feet fell soundlessly on the wood; Sean had a moment to regret not pulling his shoes off, then obeyed the unspoken command and fell in step behind his old master.

Deeper in the dojo, within the training rooms down the hall, he could hear young voices counting in an enthusiastic unison. The sound grew louder as they drew closer, then dropped into reverent silence as Teo crossed the threshold into the room. Teo nodded to the instructor, then to the students, smiling into the upturned row of interested, eager and, in a few cases, resentful, young faces. Sean couldn’t help smirking, remembering the first time the master had nodded to him like that. He’d hated him for it, growling inwardly at the smug condescension, pushing himself just to prove that he deserved better. It had taken him a few years to realize that had been the plan.

The room burst into excited whispers as soon as the beaded curtain swung behind them and Master Teo was out of ear-shot. Sean grinned, hearing one of them mutter about DX; it was still damned nice to be recognized. The instructor’s voice cut through the chatter smoothly as he said curtly, “Yes, that was one Master Teo’s former students. One of the best. Work hard, pay attention, and you can earn his status in this dojo. Now, begin again!”

Oddly touched, Sean muttered, “Please don’t tell me you’ve been encouraging your students with that.”

“Hn.” The nonverbal grunt was Teo’s best imitation of a ‘yes’. Without turning to catch Sean’s triumphant grin, he said dryly, “Don’t let it go to your head, little one. I’d be more than happy to remind you why you are still the student-“

“And you’re still the master. I know, I know. And no thanks. I’ve still got bruises from the last time you decided to stop pulling your punches when we sparred.”

“You don’t have to worry about that today. We won’t be sparring.”

“Katas, then?”

The disappointed tone in Sean’s voice made Teo smile faintly. “I only said that we wouldn’t be sparring.”

Sean brightened considerably. “Another sparring partner?”

Pausing long enough to nod encouragement through an open doorway at a sweaty teenager practicing katas with a staff, Teo replied, “I’ve run out of partners for this one, and I won’t let him challenge me. Too easy for one of us to be hurt.”

“He’s that violent?”

“Violent, no. He’s proud, disdainful, cold…” Leading them into a large open room made to look even larger through mirrored walls, Teo turned to face Sean again. “And he’s very, very good.”

“And what’s the name of this new little master?”

“Ask him yourself.” Teo looked at something over Sean’s shoulder. The unreadable smile on his face was more than enough warning for Sean; he had the sudden urge to hide under something. “Good evening.”

Sean looked over his shoulder just in time to see the shadows move and part. Out of them walked a boy who, by the most generous estimation, couldn’t be more than eighteen.

“Good evening, Sensei Teo,” the boy murmured, no trace of joy in his low voice or his wide dark eyes.

The abrupt clap on his shoulder nearly made Sean start. Teo’s smile widened, and Sean remembered a few moments too late that his master had a tendency to set up slightly sadistic sparring lessons to keep his students in line. Damn. He hadn’t come here to beat sense into some kid. It wasn’t Teo’s style to make him do so. He had to be missing something here.

“I believe I will go watch the junior classes. Enjoy your sparring.”

With a few quick footsteps and a rattle of beads, Teo was gone, taking with him Sean’s chances to escape from this gracefully. Sean had the less than grateful urge to throw a shoe after him.

Letting out a sigh, he resigned himself to his feet and bent to untie his boots. As he was sliding the first off, he risked a glance at the boy and found him looking back at him, sizing him up. He had to struggle not to let his amusement show, and instead said simply, “Sean Waltman.”

The boy nodded, still not smiling. Sean was beginning to wonder if he knew how. “Wufei Chang.”

With a nod in return, Sean shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. Moving towards the center of the room, he felt more than saw Wufei doing the same. Apparently his instincts weren’t as rusty as he had thought. As Wufei drew to a stop in front of him, falling into the ready stance with an ease that implied he was more comfortable that way, Sean couldn’t help but see that the boy was a full head shorter and at least fifty pounds lighter than he was. He winced inwardly, already hating himself for this. Maybe this was Teo’s unique way of telling him to take it easy. Unless he wanted to break Chang into ten different pieces, he’d have to.

Bending into the starting bow with a quick, wistful glance at the doorway, Sean came up and aimed a slow, easy punch at Wufei’s ribs.

Three seconds and one judo throw later, and he was on his back staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell had just happened.

Kipping up, Sean had to immediately block a punch to his ribs, then to his shoulder. Both left him stinging; those punches were real. He ducked to sweep Wufei’s feet out from under him just to give himself some time to reconsider his game plan, slightly gratified when it caught the boy off guard. Wufei hit the floor with a slap that meant it had to hurt, but was back up on his feet without missing a beat.

Maybe this would be interesting after all.

Stepping back before the boy could launch another attack, Sean caught Wufei’s eyes, then aimed another deliberately light punch at his side. Wufei’s lip curled, and for a moment Sean thought he was going to end up on the floor again. But he leaned away from the punch, and blocked the next. His returning punch was equally light. Sean gave him a quick, grateful nod as he blocked it in return.

The first few returns of punches and blocks were hesitant, awkward, as each waited for the other to mount a sudden blitz attack. When none came, the rhythm built slowly between them of its own accord. The nearly soundless collision of forearm meeting fist grew louder as their motions came faster. Gaining confidence in his own reactions and that of his partner, Sean started punching harder, and received equal strength in return. With the start of a grin, he let himself enjoy it, losing his thoughts to the simple flow of motion between them. Block, punch. Block, punch. Easy as breathing.

The first time Sean moved forward, adding another step to the dance, Wufei faltered and nearly missed blocking a bruising punch. Recovering hastily, Wufei shot him a dirty look, the first trace of emotion Sean had seen from him. His mouth set stubbornly as he met the challenge and stepped backwards; the look on his face said, quite clearly, that he hated not leading. Sean serenely ignored it.

Another graceless few times to practice the new flow, and they were back in that same building rhythm. They circled the expanse of the mat, moving in near-harmony, faster, harder. Sean realized absently that Wufei’s blows were probably going to leave one hell of a bruise on his arm. There was sweat trickling into his eyes, and he was breathing harder than he would have liked to admit. His neck was aching, a dull throb that would hurt like a bitch later. They should stop. He should stop.

Taking a deep breath, he forced the pain and fatigue down and just pushed himself harder.

What seemed like an eternity later, when they were moving at a speed and force that he knew they couldn’t keep up without one of them eventually slipping and being hurt, they finally, mercifully, stopped. Thankfully for his ego, Wufei was the one who tripped.

To the boy’s credit, he was up almost the moment after he fell. For the first time, Sean noticed that Wufei’s tank top was dark with sweat. As Wufei shifted into ready position again, Sean held up his hand. With a smile to remove the sting, he said in something closer to a pant than he liked, “I’m done.”

For a moment, insanely, Wufei started to protest. Catching himself, he almost visibly forced the emotion from his face and just nodded instead. Sean tried not to let his sigh sound too relieved.

Crossing to his jacket, Sean pulled out the bottle of water and took a few healthy gulps. When he could trust himself not to just collapse, he eased himself down to sit on the edge of the mat and turned to look at Wufei. The boy was standing well out of reach, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Sean through narrowed eyes. His thin body tensed as Sean moved, holding out the bottle. Quirking an eyebrow, Sean offered, “Want some?”

Wufei eyed the bottle as if he expected it to suddenly turn into a weapon, then shook his head.

“You sure?” Trying not to smirk, because he had the feeling it might insult the strange and haughty boy, Sean shook the bottle and coaxed, “It’s still cold.”

Temptation warred with pride in Wufei’s dark eyes for a moment, before temptation won out. With a curt nod, he moved quickly close and took the bottle, careful not to touch Sean in the process. Taking a quick, polite sip, his eyes locked on Sean as if he was still waiting for an attack while his guard was down, he handed it back. His words were quick and formal. “Thank you.”

Sean shrugged. “Not a problem.”

Silence waved between them for a moment, thick with tension. Then Wufei turned away. He sounded almost grudging as he admitted, “You’re good, Waltman.”

“Thanks. So are you.” Sean paused, then grinned and added pointedly, “Chang.”

“Feh.” The boy somehow managed to load the sound with self-directed scorn, rejecting the praise. It was so like Teo that Sean laughed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Wufei start at the sound, his gaze jerking up to warily watch Sean in the mirror.

Rising reluctantly, wincing as all his sore muscles made themselves known, Sean stretched and shook his head. “Well. I need to go take a lot of aspirin. Thank you for the sparring, Chang.” When Wufei didn’t turn, Sean glanced up from gathering his jacket and boots to add, “I hope we can do this again.”

Halfway down the hallway, he finally heard the soft, solemn reply. “As do I.”