--I apologize ahead of time if the French and Russian in here are incorrect! I also had to do a fair bit of research, since I am not very familiar with the Punch Out characters. Apologies for any inaccuracies contained therein.--
"Pick it up, Mac! You're fallin' behind!" Doc cried from outside the ring.
Mac narrowly dodged another blow from the infamous Russian boxer, Soda Popinski. Doc simply called him Soda Pop, which at first, Mac thought was pretty damn funny.
But this guy was no joke. Mac's left eye was already swelling shut after he failed to duck down far enough. Sweat rolled down his forehead and made his green fighting top cling relentlessly to his skin. He was beginning to feel dizzy, but he refused to back down.
You were watching silently among the bustling throngs of people watching this match. The World Circuit matches were usually some of the most crowded. You yourself were a boxer in the women's division, from France. Your English was poor, but most people wouldn't dare make fun of your lingual impairment for fear of getting KO'ed.
Little Mac had become a favorite for you to watch. His skill was undeniable, and you knew he was capable of achieving certain greatness.
Unfortunately for the aspirant, tonight was not favorable.
You winced as Soda Pop's red gloved fist connected with Mac's jaw, and the poor boy fell to the ground. Out cold. The referee rang the bell, and the match was over.
Soda Pop gave his signature wink and gestured to Mac, beaming with pride. But there was a peculiar glint in his eye this evening. You paid him no mind, too busy watching Doc as he shook a well-beaten Mac back into reality. The rising star slowly got to his feet and started walking towards the barrier to exit the ring.
"Для России, так и для World Circuit!" He declared.
You and the rest of the audience watched in confusion as he walked up behind Mac and proceeded to punch him in the back of the head.
"HEY! GET OFF MY BOY!" Doc roared, jumping into the ring.
Soda ignored his demands and continued to beat the shit out of an already tarnished Mac. The referee began shouting at Soda's trainer to do something. You immediately jumped out of the stands and rushed forward, pushing through other onlookers.
"Non! Bouge de là! Déplacer!!" You shrieked.
Soda gave Doc a swift blow to the stomach and then turned back to Mac, who was lying on the ground, groaning in agony.
You tossed aside your jacket and purse, jumping past security guards and hopping over the walls of the boxing ring. Soda turned around at the last second, only to receive a brain-shattering uppercut from your bare fist. Your hand screamed its disapproval, and you guessed you'd probably dislocated one of two of your fingers. That guy's head was a rock.
Paramedics and policemen crowded the hall, as did curious reporters. Security was ushering everyone out the doors to make way for the authorities.
"'Ey there, (Y/n)." Doc greeted, recognizing you. "Thanks for takin' care of 'ol Soda Pop there. Them Russians sure don't play nice."
"Is not problem." You replied, smiling. "Mac give good match, even though lose. Strong boy. Much talent. Handsome too."
"Need to get that hand looked that though, honey. Dontcha have a Circuit Match this weekend?"
You nodded, watching as the paramedics loaded Mac onto a stretcher and carted him out the door. "Hand will be fine. Worry not about me, about Mac."
"I'll make sure he comes to your match and thanks you properly, eh? See ya then, (Y/n). Train hard for me, aight?" Doc asked.
You chewed nervously on your mouth guard, awaiting the beginning of the match. There were way too many things on your mind. Surely it wasn't healthy. Doc and Mac had yet to make an appearance, though you could hardly blame them, considering the events that transpired only a few days before. You wondered if Soda would be disqualified or charged for his actions.
"Préparez-vous, ma colombe." Your trainer, Kiera, whispered. "This one fast, like viper. Be faster. Stronger. Focus more, win more."
You nodded, stepping forward into the ring. Your opponent was Ruby Redford, otherwise known as Red Ruby, from England, as her tank top patriotically screamed the Union Jack. Her icy blue eyes practically stared a hole into your soul.
"Ready to get your ass kicked, Frenchie?" She taunted, tossing her blonde ponytail.
"Pas ce soir, salope." You shot back, (e/c) eyes glittering.
Doc Louis and Mac finally showed up, just as the bells rang for the round to start. Your opponent lunged forward, hitting only air as you easily dodged. You landed a sharp uppercut into her stomach, just as Soda had done to Doc. A surprise punch hit your upper chest, sending waves of pain into your neck. You rolled your shoulders back and ducked under Ruby's fist. Damn she was sloppy. You guessed her speed made up for her pathetic aim.
"I could do this all day, Frenchie."
Holy shit, this girl was good.
After Doc had finished yelling my ear off about how I'd lost, he'd told me about the young French boxer who'd stopped Soda before he could do any real damage. At first I was generally unimpressed. Usually the female boxers weren't much to look at, nor were they very polite. But Doc kept singing her praises for hours.
Only now would I admit that I had been wrong in assuming that (Y/n) (L/n) was another chintzy little chorus girl. She was a hell of a boxer, and she looked even better.
Ruby Red looked like she was fighting drunk. She was flailing like a chicken with its head cut off, it was almost comical. Though I wasn't looking at her, I was looking at (Y/n), someone I was growing to admire.
"See, boy? What'd I tell ya? (Y/n) knows how to give a good ass-kickin'. Ain't no doubt about it." Doc Louis said, unwrapping his umpteenth chocolate bar of the day.
"Damn straight. She's a hell of a looker too." I admitted, scratching the back of my head.
Doc gave a hearty laugh. "Ain't no boys good 'nough for her. The last boxer to try an' make passes got a swift kick in the basement."
Maybe one day I'll be good enough... I thought to myself.
Ruby stumbled backwards after taking a blow straight to the left boob(yes, the boob). She made a noise that sounded like an angry dog and charged forward. You dodged, dodged, parried, dodged, then delivered one of your famous uppercuts, thus ending the reign of the British Bitch.
The ref called for a KO, and the crowd roared. You saw Mac in his snazzy little suit, standing beside Doc Louis. He had tape over his eyebrow and nose, and you could still see a fading bruise under his left eye.
He was still hot as hell regardless.
Kiera pressed chaste kisses to both of your cheeks, crying "Excellent, mon cher! Merveilleux!"
"Non. Was too easy, cher." You replied, wiping the sweat from your forehead and gratefully guzzling down your water.
Doc and Mac strolled up, squeezing past reporters and cameras to get to you.
"Not bad, honey. I knew you'd do good." Doc congratulated, clapping you on the back.
"Merci!" You replied, beaming. It was always great to hear good from old-timers and legends like Doc.
"Hi." Mac said, somewhat awkwardly.
You smiled. "Hello, Mac. You are well?"
"Quite so, thanks to you. Would've been toast had you not been there the other night."
"Oui. You are very good boxer. I admire you. Same age. Bit short." You chuckled, shamelessly teasing him about his height.
"Hey, height is just a number, just like age." Mac said, faking hurt.
"Why don't ya come on down to the gym with us tomorrow? Mac here's gotta train up for next month's fight." Doc invited.
You studied Mac for a moment. Black hair, buzzed short. A somewhat stocky build, made up for by sparkling teal eyes and, surprisingly, perfect pearly whites. He was certainly growing on you.
"I will see you then, oui? Seven in the morning?"
"Sure." Mac agreed. "See you, (Y/n)."
"Au revoir, Mac." You grinned back.
"You seem nervous, cher." Kiera said, looking at you in her rearview mirror. "Something wrong?"
"Non." You lied. To be honest, you'd been daydreaming about Mac. Kiera would tease you to death if she found out.
"Oui, and I am Queen of England." She scoffed. "Tell me, or I will find out myself."
You sighed. Kiera simply knew you too well. "Mac. He is... different. Not like other boxer. Other boxer rude, cocky, overbearing. Mac is humble. Strong-willed."
"Sounds like you have a crush, cher. I also see your English is getting better. You might need that if you want to get with Mac." Kiera teased.
"I- ce qui- non!!" You spluttered, flushing crimson. "Vous êtes scandaleux!!"
Kiera burst into a fit of hysterics as she pulled into the gym parking lot. "Don't worry, cher. I won't tell anyone. You will figure your feelings out eventually."
You shook your head and muttered profanities under your breath.
"Hey, (Y/n)!" Mac called, flashing those perfectly straight teeth. "Come on over, we were just getting started."
"Let's change it up a bit here." Doc said. "You two train together, and I'll talk with Miss Kiera about our different regimens."
You gave Mac an awkward smile and began wrapping your hands in tape.
"Whoa whoa whoa whoa, what the hell is this?!"
"Quelle?" You asked, confused. "I mean, what?"
"I mean this shitty tape job! Here, let me see that." Mac said, snatching the roll of tape.
You watched as he fervently unwound your hands, then slowly and carefully re-wrapped the tape around your knuckles. He was surprisingly gentle, despite the fact his hands were huge. You felt Kiera's grey eyes watching you from the other side of the room, though she never stopped talking to Doc.
"There we go." He declared. "Now put your gloves on, I want to see how hard you hit."
You scoffed, pulling your blue and white gloves on over your taped hands. "Hard enough."
"Doc always says hit as hard as you can- and then some."
You raised an eyebrow, not understanding what he meant. Americans were so strange...
"He means do your best, not just the bare minimum to get by. You'll never get anywhere in life if you don't push yourself." Mac explained, noticing your confusion.
"Oui. Doc Louis is good mentor. Kiera is too. Mid-weight women's champion four time. Retire after almost 20 year." You replied.
"I'm gonna be a champion one day. I bet you will too."
You smiled, feeling your heart pick up at Mac's supportive comment. "Merci. I have faith in you, Mac."
"That's probably the most grammatically correct sentence I've heard you say."
"Hey! No judge language! You try speak French!"
It was safe to say that you and Mac were inseparable at this point.
You went to every one each other's matches, if you were able. If you weren't, you'd make up for it by training together for twice the time. You were both slowly rising to the top of your divisions. During that time, Mac began to notice something.
Whenever you weren't there, he lost.
It was getting to be a regular thing, and Doc was displeased. Mac was getting told off more often than praised, since he was so distracted.
You were getting the same treatment from Kiera. She knew you were smitten with Mac, and she knew Mac was falling head over heels for you as well. She even made a point to bring up the subject to Doc.
"You think the both of them are fallin' behind 'cause they like each other?"
"Oui. (Y/n) talks about him endlessly, and always gets upset when she cannot see his fights."
Doc sighed. "Mac does the same thing with her. Neither of 'em are very straightforward, and we can't make 'em be."
Kiera nodded in agreement. "(Y/n) is home in France today. Perhaps Mac can take a vacation and see her? They can go to Paris. See the Eiffel Tower. (Y/n) has not yet seen it and I am sure Mac has not either."
"Paris is the city of love." Doc chuckled. "This ought to work."
You were definitely not expecting to find Mac standing at your door in Marseille, France. You choked on your crepes, you were so stunned.
"Easy now, don't die on me." Mac joked.
"You surprised me." You chided. "What bring you to France?"
"Apparently we are being shipped off to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower."
"Sûrement pas!!" You cried, gaping at him. "Awesome!"
"Never been too fond of field trips, but if its with you, I guess I'll put up with it." Mac laughed.
You hid your blush under your (h/c) hair. "Give time to dress and pack."
"But if its with you I guess I'll put up with it?" I mentally slapped myself. What the hell kind of line is that?
Damn her, she was too pretty. Too perfect. She could probably beat my ass any day of the week to boot. I'm definitely not into the prudish whiny girls who can't get enough spine to stand up for themself. (Y/n) was headstrong.
The English dictionary didn't have enough words to describe her. Maybe the French dictionary did? Speaking of which, I should probably brush up on that. I failed that class in high-school.
Mac was way too fucking cute.
Just. Hell no.
Those eyes on top of his personality?
You pulled on your New York Giants sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, along with your favorite boots. They were the lace-up kind that reminded you of your boxing shoes. You loved those shoes.
Then you stuffed a few days worth of clothes and toiletries into a giant duffel bag (much like the one you used for your boxing gear) and dashed back into the living room where Mac was waiting. He seemed surprised at your sweatshirt.
"Hey, I didn't know you liked the Giants."
You nodded. "Favorite American team. Kiera showed me your sports."
"Well, I'm from the Bronx, New York, so the Giants are my home team." Mac grinned.
"Bruiser from Bronx, oui?"
Mac laughed. "Yeah. Shall we go?"
~>[*Time Skip To Paris*]<~
"Wow. It's beautiful here." Mac said in awe.
"Yeah. Look, Mac, you can see Eiffel Tower!" You cried, pointing at the structure in the distance.
Mac squinted at the horizon. "Yep. You sure can. It's pretty big."
"Let's go look up close! Come on, Mac!"
You grabbed his hand and dragged him through the crowds of people, excitement taking over. It didn't even occur to you what you were doing. Mac felt his face turning beet red. Your hand was awfully cold, but he held on.
"MAC IT'S SNOWING!"
Jesus Christ, you'd gone from a mature 17 year old to an over zealous 5 year old in a span of about 5 minutes.
Sure enough though, little white snowflakes began falling from the sky. You and Mac finally broke through the crowds and were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in all its glory.
"It's magnificent." He said quietly.
So are you... You thought, squeezing his hand.
Mac shook the snowflakes out of his dark hair. You laughed, running your fingers through your own (h/c) hair.
He still hadn't let go of your hand.
"... Je t'aime."
"I love you, idiot."
"Oh. Uh... J... Je.."
You laughed at his struggle. "French not easy for American boy."
"The hell it ain't. But this is."
Mac pulled you down to his level and kissed you. Hard. You were stuck there for a moment, shocked. But soon you melted into it, becoming oblivious to what was around you.
You heard someone clear their throat.
The two of you jumped back like you'd been electrocuted, only to find Doc and Kiera standing behind you. Kiera had a huge smile, but Doc had an excellent poker face. "I hope we're not interruptin' anythin' important here."
"Nope." You and Mac said in unison.
Doc smirked. "Thought so. Good on you two for workin' things out. We finish up this vacation and it's go time back in the states."
"He's right. We don't have long, so enjoy some relaxation while you can, cher." Kiera agreed.
"Damn right we'll be relaxing." Mac muttered.
"Love sure is fierce." Doc said as you dragged Mac to the nearest café.
"Those involved are fiercer." Kiera noted.
"Indeed, Miss Kiera. Indeed."