Stressed

Posted on Wed Nov 11th, 2015 @ 6:47pm by Captain Brenda Sinclair

Mission: If I told you...
Location: Deck 3 - Gymnasium

ON

Each loud, sharp 'thump' was accentuated by a quick, and equally sharp exhaled breath.

Brenda rarely, if ever, actually used the on-board Gym for exercise. More often than not, she either used the holodeck, or took a run around Deck 3. She had a nice little loop that was almost perfectly - 50 feet short, but the loop was good enough - one mile. Plus, it had the added benefit of ending in the Lounge, where she could cool down and have a drink.

That was in and of itself, fine. It just didn't have quite the punch she needed. She needed to vent. She needed to purge herself of her anger and frustration.

The punching bag was - quite literally - the ideal target. Well, not so much a punching bag, as it was a full stading, padded block. With marked areas for hands, head, torso, and so on.

Brenda slammed her forearm into the target's padded 'neck'. Two missions she had been on-board. Two whole missions. And what had she accomplished? Jack-freaking-squat.

She stepped back, and brought her leg up, a snap kick into the solar plexus. First mission, she had been stuck on the Bridge while the Captain - the Captain of all people! - was down on some planet, getting into trouble.

The most recent mission... Brenda gritted her teeth and slammed her fist into the target's right shoulder region. Yeah, what fun that had been. Acting as bloody taxi driver. Yeah yeah, she knew she was technically a qualified pilot. Not her choice. The Corps had all but required her to at least pass the quals.

She was Infantry for Frak's sake. Infantry, by definition, meant being on the ground. Not on the ship, not in a damned shuttle.

On. She brought her knee up into the centre of the target's hips. The. She twirled away, and brought her arm hard against the head of her target. Ground! One final, high kick, which connected to the side of the head.

Brenda used the momentum to carry herself, and landed - if not perfectly, then adequately enough - in a half-crouch. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as she rose, feeling the slight tingle as adrenaline still ran through her.

So much for getting it out of her system. She was just as wound up as when she had started. Maybe she did need to go for a run after all-

"Should I come back when you've actually beaten it to death?"

Brenda didn't answer immediately. She walked to a bench, and grabbed a towel she had put there earlier, wiping the sweat off her face, and slung the towel over one shoulder. She almost-black, sleeve-less top she wore was sticking to her like glue, and she didn't feel up to a verbal sparring match on top of a physical work-out.

"What do you want, Alex?" Her own damn fault, she supposed. If she had wanted privacy, then the door locks were a voice code away.

Taking in the sight of her for a moment, Alexander Greyson composed himself. "Word on Deck 7 is that a Jarhead - their words not mine - was kicking the crap out of the ship's equipment."

"Your point?" Brenda tried to be brusque. Having him so close was not good. Having him right there, just a few steps away... she tried not to think about the taste of his lips. The scent of his skin. Was that her? Or the adrenaline driving her mad?

"I..." Alex faltered then, unsure. She was so distant, seemed so closed. Had so much damage been done, he couldn't begin to repair the connection between them? "I guess I was concerned. Wanted to come see you were okay."

She needed to get away. Needed to get some air. Hell, she needed a cold freaking shower. "Your concern is appreciated." Making to step past him for the door, Brenda stopped when his hand closed around her wrist, drawing her attention to him. Her eyes moved from his hand, a firm, strong grip closed around her, and she looked into his face.

"What is with you?" He asked, trying to understand her. Their last encounter hadn't exactly been pleasant - she had slapped him. Damn near took his head off. Yet all in all, it had gone better than he had feared. Yet this, this was a whole different Brenda. This one had closed herself to the world, and was keeping herself locked from it. "What do you want from me?"

Her heart raced a mile a minute. Her breath was even shorter now. Shallower. She trembled slightly under his touch, under his gaze. The question floated through her, and she tried to figure out what it was she wanted. One part of her wanted to get the hell out of there. To flee, to run, to escape the madness. The other, wanted nothing more than to sink into that madness, and enjoy it for the brief time she could.

"Computer." She licked her lips, her voice almost cracking. "Seal the doors. Security over-ride. Authorisation: Sinclair-Gulf-Niner-Foxtrot." With the doors sealed, she moved.

What did she want from him? So many things.

OFF