“You can't just do that”

You yell, you've hit your snapping point. He's knocked you to the floor of the training room, and it just pushed you over the edge. All the stress of the few missions he's trusted you with on top of the seemingly endless training bubbling to the top.

He pauses, his mouth a thin line as he kneels down beside you and harshly grasps your chin forcing you to look at him.

“You don't get to choose what I do.”

His voice is a clear warning, if you don't get it together he'll probably throw you into the small empty closet in the training room. The last time that happened he locked you in there for a week before letting you out. He is having none of your bullshit.