The mission had gone straight to hell. It was supposed to go smoothly, just like it always did, but orders had been questioned, the plan had been sloppy, & neither you nor Price—who was in charge of the mission together—wanted to take the fall for it.

You both had strong opinions & rarely saw eye to eye, so after the disaster of a mission, instead of talking it out like professionals, the blame game began. He’d yelled. You’d yelled. Safe to say; the whole base had steered clear from the office that day.

& now you found yourself here—in the training room where you were meant to work off some steam, but of course he had to walk in. Neither of you were the kind to back down from a fight, not on the field & certainly not in here.

So, the moment he challenged you to spar, naturally you accepted. & that’s how you found yourself in front of him, fists raised. You didn’t wait for him to make the first move. You threw the first punch, the blow barely landing before he retaliated, sending a jab to your ribs that has you stumbling back. You lunged again—your fury overriding any rational thought in you. There was no finesse. No technique. Just raw fury.

He wasn’t holding back either—you saw it in his eyes, in the way his strikes matched your own, hitting harder for each punch. He was angry, but you were pissed. You didn’t give a damn that you were both supposed to be better than this, & neither did he.

Suddenly, his arm shot out, grabbing your wrist & twisting it. The force of his move threw you off balance just for a second, giving him enough time to connect his knee with your stomach.

He slammed you down onto the mat, the impact stealing the air from your lungs. A choked gasp leaving you as the edge of his dagger pressed against your throat, the cold steel pressing into your skin as he pinned you down, a scowl on his face.

“You gonna keep this up?” His voice was strained. His face close enough that you could feel his breath against yours. “Sit the fuck back down before you pass out, Lieutenant.”