Norris squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. He slid his grimy glasses off and held them with his right hand, wrapping his left around his forehead in an attempt to massage both temples simultaneously. This training was remarkably good at giving him headaches.

And, he had concluded, that was all it was good for. He had yet to move one pencil, guess the image on one card, or snuff out a single candle. He could feel tension slowly building across his shoulder blades and needling sensations in his lower back. This room was uncomfortably hot and his exertions had left sweat-dampened patches in his clothes. His forearms flexed unconciously and one small muscle group in his cheek began to twitch rapidly. The idea behind this room was to avoid all forms of distraction, but his body provided all the distractions he could have asked for.

A drop of sweat trickled its salty way down his nose and hung patiently from the tip. Norris shook his head and sent the drop flying away with several of its close relatives, and ran his hand up his forehead and over his spiky hair, pushing his sweat around.

I have to have patience. It just takes practice. This is important. If they can do it, we can do it. A thousand arguments for practice ran through his head, all ones he had told himself before. But all the logic in the world was not going to improve his mood, and he was too frustrated to remain here any longer.

Norris uncrossed his legs stiffly and stood up, digging his knuckles into the muscles in his lower back, working one stiff ankle. His right hand pushed the thick eyeglasses back onto his slick nose and then reached for the doorknob. Opening this door was like being let out of Hell - or into Heaven. A blast of chilly air tugged at his loose black shirt and filled his nostrils with smells of grass and dust and trees and ice and a thousand other things that all smelled better than the built-up sweaty odors in the cubic room behind him. He stepped forward and felt a pleasant shiver as sweat began evaporating from his skin and clothes.

"Taking another break, Norris?"

Norris jumped a bit at the deep voice and turned to see Damian leaning with one hand against a large Oak tree - Quercus L., Norris thought automatically. Damian's impressive chest swelled and then fell, and the familiar red tint of his face said he'd been excercising. There was no telling what sort of strange skill he'd been practicing up here, waiting for Norris to emerge from his practice. Norris felt vaguely guilty.

Norris sighed and nodded once. "I'm just not getting anything. I've never been this frustrated. And I hate that room."

Damian grinned. "Yeah, it does pretty much suck in there. I think the heat is good for the training...I think it's worth it. I don't know. We'll figure something out, don't worry."

"You've been saying that a lot lately." Norris was continually surprised by Damian's apparently indominitable optimism, especially with their so far pathetic progress - and especially considering what they knew of their adversary.

"Don't worry about it. I've come up with some more ideas. How's everything else going?"

"You mean the physical training? Pretty good," Norris replied. "It's hard trying to get back into shape again after all that down time. But I'm starting to get into the gymnastics, and the Sensei says I'm a natural at Aikido."

"Good. Let's try focusing more on that for a while and giving this psionic stuff a rest. I'd like you to start learning some Tai Chi and maybe some Yoga."

Norris's eyes widened for a second. "Geez. I don't know how much stuff I can learn at once..."

"No problem. Just do the best you can. I finally finished up most of that stupid business crap, and Tia's working on most of the engineering problems faster than I could, so I should start having more time to work with you guys." Norris had always found it amusing to watch Damian's face change as he spoke. His mouth twisted around the words "stupid business crap" as if they were painful, and the jump of his eyebrows when he spoke of Tia showed the typical Big Red combination of pride and amazement that a plan was actually working. As for his expression when he mentioned 'working' with Norris...

"Sure, that'd be great," Norris said, somewhat apprehensively. Of all the various mental and physical instructors Norris had learned from over the years, Damian was by far the most...intense.

"Good. I brought your towel from the house, and some water." Damian didn't need to mention the other objects he'd brought along, as he pulled a pair of bats from over his right shoulder and began spinning them with a grace that was always surprising.

Norris's eyes and mouth tightened for an instant, but he accepted the proffered wet towel and wiped his face and neck with the cool moisture gratefully. Then he started spinning the towel about its diagonal, tightening it into the long, loose weapon he was slowly mastering. For real, now.

Half an hour later, Norris was back at the entrance to the house, pressing a rough cloth filled with uneven chunks of ice to his cheek. Damian had apologized profusely, while grinning in a most unapologetic manner. Well, Norris thought to himself, it was all my fault. I can't believe I actually pulled his bat into my face. So much for my cocky "mastering the towel" attitude.

The sounds of bare feet arythmically pounding the earth announced the presence of Timmy and Rachael, the two youngest kids. Rachael took the time to point at Norris' discomfort and giggle before charging inside the house after the small boy. Both of them were waving light escrima sticks and wearing thick white aprons, scored with faded black streaks. The ends of the sticks were dipped in a homemade paint and used to determine successful strikes during their sparring practice.