Fire and Flames

by P-Berry

Rating: teen
Tags: Sex, Spitfire, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Human, Other
Length: 16947

So my instructor has called me into her office after hours for a 'confidental talk'. What could possibly go wrong?

I suppose you all know that life in the military isn't easy.
You may also know that life as a recruit for the Wonderbolts is a whole lot harder than for any other branch.
And as you all can probably imagine, life is even harder with a sadistic instructor who is always doing her very best to make your life a living hell.

And now she's called me into her office after hours for a 'confidental talk'.

Mother of god, I think I'm screwed.

Credit for the cover goes to DimFann.

Published 2017-05-16 23:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-05-16 23:10:01 UTC

Act 1

Life in the military is no walk in the park. That itself was something I had known all my life; had well considered and kept in mind when I had taken the ultimate leap of faith and had enlisted in the armed forces four months ago.

And not just any sort of armed forces - one of the best, if not the best part of the armed forces. A group of the most skilled, well-trained and generally most awesome flyers in the whole country: the Wonderbolts!

Just thinking of it made me smile. I would be a Wonderbolt! I would be a part of this legendary group, make my childhood dreams come true and finally do what I always dreamt to do!

Well, that is, I would be one of them, provided that I would survive six more months of basic training, as well as three excruciating years of what counted as one of the hardest trainings in the whole military.

But even before I could start surviving that, I would have to survive what was about to descend upon me: Spitfire, the captain of the Wonderbolts, had told me to come to her office after dismissing us from our today’s training. It hadn’t seemed like she was peeved or even angry at me, but while I had only been here for a few months, I knew her well enough to know better.

Spitfire was a bitch.

No, really. She was the textbook example of that cliché drill sergeant; that one person that would go the extra mile to make her recruits’ lives as hard as possible. Somebody was a minute late for training? A hundred push ups for the whole group. Someone had forgotten to blacken their boots? Six rounds around the academy for everyone. Captain ‘sadist’ Spitfire was having a shitty day for no apparent reason whatsoever? You could bet your life that she would let it all out on us.

And now she was about to go down on me. I didn’t know what I had done wrong. For all I knew, there might be nothing at all, but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t summon me into her office to blow off some steam and cut me down to shape anyway.

A fellow recruit had suffered this exact fate last week: she had called him into her office, made up some sort of excuse, and given him the enema of a lifetime. He had fallen into his bunk and cried himself to sleep that night. My heart went out to him.

And as it seems, now was my time to suffer this fate. I took in a deep breath, rubbing my sweaty hands against my pants as I walked down the plain corridor towards her office. I could feel my hands begin to shiver, my mind drawing up images of all the ways Spitfire was going to give me hell today. I swear I could feel the walls to my sides coming closer with every step I took; threatening to suffocate me as I took the ultimate walk of doom.

My heart sank as I stopped in front of her door, giving a muffled cuss as I reached out a hand and led it to the doorknob, knowing that there was no way back now. My look went over to the door to my left; the door that would lead me to the office of Soarin; Spitfire’s deputy and -as far as I was concerned- the best thing that had happened to my platoon ever since we had joined.

Soarin was a real bro. Sure, he was an instructor, and he would make sure we obeyed our orders. He would even raise his voice eventually if somebody would step out of line repetitively, but he was far more understanding and in no way comparable to the cruel, unforgiving fury I was about to face.

My thoughts went back to my drill instructor and the feeling of pleasant relief slipped from my mind. Why did I have to do this? Why Spitfire? Why couldn’t I just get my disciplining from Soarin instead? Hell, for all I knew he might end up offering me a beer and a talk about yesterday’s football match.

Instead, I would probably be yelled at, insulted, and treated like the piece of dirt that -according to my instructor- all recruits were. For a second I really wondered what I was still doing here - why I didn’t just quit and live my life the way I wanted to live it, but I quickly shook my head. I had an aim; I wanted to be a Wonderbolt, and if enduring a rubdown from a human-turned fury was what it took to get there, then I would go ahead and face my fate with my head held up high. If I would go down, I would go down fighting!

With that resolution in mind, I took in a long breath, knocked against the door and, after receiving a curt, sober, “Come in.” opened the door and stepped inside.

Straightening out my back and pushing out my chest, I stepped through the door into a plainly furnished office. Images and posters of the Wonderbolts and various medals and ribbons adorned the walls; two big windows filling the wall opposite of me flooded the room with the light of the bright afternoon sun and shone right onto a big wooden desk where, sitting on a surprisingly basic leather chair, was…

I swallowed. There she was. Dressed in her ‘official’ uniform - a white shirt, a black tie, and a navy blue coat that was plastered with badges, medals and Wonderbolt pins. Her arms were resting on her desk, supporting her head. Her eyes, an equal mixture of amber, orange and brown, were resting on me as I entered.

Despite of what dark fate lay ahead of me, I couldn’t help but to let my eyes slip over her body for a few seconds, unable to hide the amazement about her look. True, I was sure Spitfire was easily fifteen, maybe even twenty years older than me, but despite that and what I assumed was an exhausting, stressful life on the fast lane, her body still looked … pretty impressive.

She wasn’t the tallest, and her frame wasn’t what one would call sturdy, but from these rare occasions where she would wear her blue and yellow flight suit (or this one occasion during the swimming-part of the Wonderbolt fitness test where she had worn a black one-piece swimsuit - a sight I wouldn’t forget for the rest of my life) I could tell that her body was still amazingly toned. Toned and … in some strange, taboo way … sexy.

For just a second I caught myself undressing her in my mind, wondering what sort of panties she was wearing today, if she was wearing a bra under that -unexpectedly tight- white shirt, if she lived up to her name or actually swallowed, and … other things.

But I quickly gave the part of my mind that was thinking these thoughts a slap. I wasn’t necessarily proud of it, but perverted thoughts were nothing new for me, and I would lie if I would say that this was the first time I had these thoughts about my instructor, but the fact still remained that this was probably the wrongest of all places to have these thoughts. And that, no matter how attractive she might be, Spitfire was still a bitch. And she was about to show me just how much a bitch she could be.

Shaking my head, I cleared my thoughts, noticing that she still had her eyes locked on me.

I could feel my heart speed up at the eye contact, but didn’t want to give in to that overwhelming feeling of respect and awe just yet, so I pushed my chest out even further and cleared my throat. “You, uh, wanted to talk with me?” I asked, making an effort to make my voice sound as strong and manly as possible.

Spitfire, seeming completely unimpressed by my efforts, kept her face straight as she dryly remarked, “You’ve been taught how to properly enter a superior’s office, rookie. Get out and try again.”

Aaand there went my poise. And with it went my self-confidence, my resolve and most of my pride. I opened my mouth to protest, not wanting to let her defeat me this easily, but she beat me to it.

“That’s an order, recruit.” she remarked soberly, and with that the submissive part of my mind took over again and I found myself giving a curt, apologetic nod, turning around on the spot and walking out of Spitfire’s office with quick, nervous steps, almost tripping over my own feet in the process.

I stepped outside again, took in a deep breath and shook my head. “Come on, you can do this!” I whispered to myself as I turned around again and, in a second attempt, raised my hand to give the door another knock.

“Come in!” the invitation that didn’t sound like one came after only a second and I opened the door, this time stopping in the doorframe.

“Permission to enter, ma’am?” I recited what I had been taught in one of those rare classes my platoon received from Soarin.

“Granted.” Spitfire barked at me, and I stepped inside and closed the door behind myself. Finally relaxing now that I got it right, I turned back around and, addressing my instructor, said, “You wanted to talk with me?”

But once again, the girl with the orange hair weakly shook her head. “That is not how you approach a superior, recruit. Try again.”

I could feel the muscles in my arms tense, clenching my teeth at the realization that this counted as my free time and that my comrades were probably in the nearest bar, sharing a beer together - it was Friday afternoon, after all.

However, realizing that the more I would resist, the longer I would be in here,and the shorter my weekend would be, I gave a short, defeated sigh, walked back to the door, opened it, positioned myself in the doorframe and once again said. “Permission to enter, ma’am?”

“Granted.” Spitfire replied, and by the unfazed expression on her face I could tell that she probably played this little game at least once a week.

Once again straightening myself up and raising my head, I walked up to her, raised my right hand to the side of my head in a salute and said, “Captain Spitfire, reporting back as commanded.”

“There we go.” she finally said and took her arms off her desk, sitting up in her chair. “Stand at ease, recruit.”

At the command, I finally relaxed and assumed a more eased standing position.

“Take a seat.” Spitfire instructed me, pointing at a chair standing opposite her desk. I obeyed without protest and sat down, still wondering what had made her summon me here - and mentally preparing myself for the rubdown of the century.

True, she seemed calm, relaxed even, but I knew Spitfire - and I knew that her temper was like a raw egg: one wrong word and she could explode.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked me, and I noticed how her voice was slowly but steadily moving from rough but relaxed to menacingly tense.

“N-no, ma’am.” I forced out, feeling my throat getting tighter - any thoughts or plans of not letting her intimidate me seemed forgotten. In fact, it cost me all of my concentration to not wet my pants at the sight of her sitting opposite of me, looming over me like a wildcat about to strike.

“I’m sure you do.” Spitfire explained dryly, then slowly arose from her chair. “I’ve been controlling the cots earlier this day, and there is something you might want to know.”

And as she went higher up, arising to her full height of 5.2 feet, I sank deeper into the chair with every inch. She remained silent like this for a moment, looking down at me, seeming to enjoy the fear radiating off of me.

However, before she could say anything further and possibly cause me to slip through that small gap between backrest and seating surface, the door behind me got opened and I could hear someone walking in, bringing in a much-needed breeze of outside air.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding now that the lecture had been delayed, if only by a few seconds. And for some reason I was even more relieved as I saw that the one who had interrupted this interrogation was none other than Soarin.

“Hey Spitty! How’s it going?” he greeted his comrade with a cheerful smile, apparently not noticing me at first, “I got these papers you-” he cut himself off as his look met hers and he noticed the death laser-beams shooting from her eyes. Split seconds later, his head shot around and he spotted me, looking a picture of misery, sitting on the chair.

“Oh.” he said ruefully and the smile slipped from his face. “Uh, I-I mean…” his body straightened up abruptly and he saluted his comrade standing at the desk, “Captain Spitfire, Lieutenant Soarin reporting back.”

Spitfire gave a soft sigh, lowering her head and pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “At ease, Lieutenant.” she commanded him softly, and Soarin relaxed.

“Put the papers on the table, then leave us alone.” Spitfire said, her look never leaving him, “I have something to discuss with this recruit here.” and with that her look darted back from Soarin to me and I couldn’t help but wince ever so slightly.

“Yes, ma’am.” Soarin affirmed and put a brown paper envelope he had been carrying onto Spitfire’s desk, before turning around. Our eyes met for a second as he turned back, and that look he gave me made my heart sink. “I feel with you, buddy.” I could literally hear him say from the look of sympathy in his eyes, and replied with a weak, appreciating nod.

“Now…” Spitfire started over as Soarin had left and closed the door behind himself. “Since your memory seems to be lacking some things, how about we help it along, huh?”

Without me needing to say anything (or being able to say anything, for that matter) she opened up a drawer in her desk and pulled out another plain white paper envelope.

“Do you know what this is, recruit?” she asked menacingly, locking eyes with me.

I swallowed nervously, “That, uh … looks like an envelope, ma’am.” I started a weak attempt.

“Don’t play dumb!” the reward came promptly in the form of the envelope being thrown onto the desk and sliding into my direction. “Go ahead. Open it!” Spitfire snapped at me, leaning over her desk and glowering at me like a predator about to strike.

Slowly, I reached out a shaking hand and picked up the un-sealed envelope, reaching a hand inside. I got hold of three small snippets of paper, and I could feel my heart sink as my mind counted one and one together and I realized just what she had been implying by telling me about controlling the cots earlier.

My heart rate skyrocketed, my hands began to shake, and cold sweat broke over my forehead as my grip tightened around the papers and pulled them out of the envelope. I could feel my face assume a deep shade of crimson as I looked into the seductive, half-lidded eyes of my instructor who was laying on a heavenly soft-looking red king-size bed in a sultry pose, dressed in nothing but her birthday suit, revealing her soft, tender backside.

Even without looking at them, I knew that the set included two more photos of a similar content - one showing her presenting herself on the same bed in a set of black, lacy lingerie, the other one depicting her standing in a derelict alley, wearing nothing but a way too small white tank top that left little to be imagined, and a set of dog tags.

Spitfire had found my porn stash.

Well, not necessarily porn, as these photos didn’t reveal too much and didn’t involve any sexual acts whatsoever, but I was fairly sure the reason why Spitfire had called me here wasn’t because I was hoarding suggestive photos under my pillow, but because I was hoarding suggestive photos of her under my pillow.

“Uhh…” I stuttered numbly, “I can explain.”

“Yeah, you better start explaining right now!” Spitfire roared, leaning even further forward on her desk, her face now only inches from mine, “What is this!?”

Hesitantly, I opened my mouth to give her an answer, but she cut ahead of me, “No. I know what it is.” I could see her facial muscles tense even further, “But why do you have this? How did you get it!?”

Again, I swallowed, sinking back on my chair. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if she would just shoot forward and bite my face off or something - looking at her face contorted in barely restrained fury, nothing seemed impossible.

“Uh, the internet … ma’am?” I tried timidly.

“Where? Who!?” Spitfire probed furiously, and I was sure if I would give her a specific name that person would be six feet under in not even a day.

“I don’t know!” I affirmed truthfully, holding my arms up in defense. I had indeed found these images on an anonymous file-sharing website a few months ago, way before I had enlisted. I had never really cared too much about these, but when I had joined and found out that this cute, attractive girl on the photos would evolve into probably one of the harshest, strictest people I had ever met, these photos had gotten a whole different value to them. Because all lewd-ness aside, it had something fascinating to it seeing a person who normally was so strict and unforgiving looking so … innocent; so pure.

And yet, the fact that Spitfire had found these well-hidden under my pillow left little to be imagined about their actual purpose - a realization that was now reflected in an all new wave of outrage and anger sweeping across her face.

I could tell that she wanted to say something; that look on her face left no doubt that there was something on her mind she wanted to share with me, and the veins starting to show on her angry red forehead suggested that whatever it was didn’t involve thanking me for sharing her natural beauty with the world, let alone spanking the monkey to sultry pictures of her.

But she remained silent, at least for now. All she did was stare at me with that death-stare of hers in a seemingly eternal silence - a silence that I wasn’t enough a fool to break.

Finally, my superior lowered her head, giving a growl that sounded more like the roar of a grizzly bear than anything else.

“You know I could have you thrown out, right?” she finally said, her voice sounding surprisingly smooth. “You’ll be given a dishonorable discharge and never would be able to join the military again if I only so much as say the word.”

Slowly, I nodded my head. “Y-yes, ma’am.” I actually wasn’t entirely sure about this. After all, I had -as far as I could tell- not broken any sort of law, neither civil nor military, and I was fairly sure the captain of the Wonderbolts, no matter how great and powerful she might be, could ban me from the armed forces, but I had enough reasoning in me to not contradict her in this case.

“Look.” she started over, fixing me once again with that all-pervasive stare of hers. “I don’t even know how you managed to find these. They were taken eight years ago, and never meant to be published.”

Acting against my good sense, I broke eye contact with her, looking instead at the photos again which I was still holding in my hands. These had been taken eight years ago? Sure, my captain looked a little younger and, in lack of a better term, fresher in these photos, but I couldn’t believe that these were eight years old already.

“I don’t know where you got these from,” Spitfire continued threateningly, making me look up from the photos and back at her, “But if you think you can use them against me; blackmail me with them or something…” she paused for effect, leaning forward and putting her face right in front of mine, “You will regret it. Because I will make your life a living hell.” she said slowly, threateningly.

“D-don’t worry, ma’am!” I hastily sputtered out, “I would never even think about using these against you!” That was actually true - I had used these for … purposes, but it had never crossed my mind that these might hold some value against her. And the fact that she had not yet realized what I had really done with those did relieve me to some extent.

“In fact, for what it’s worth...” I continued, trying to save an obviously lost cause, “I’ll just dispose of them right here, right now.” With that, I grabbed the photos in my hands and tore them in two, then in four, and finally in so many pieces that I was sure nobody could ever guess what had been on them.

But my instructor seemed unimpressed by that. Keeping a straight face, she moved back and stood upright again, turning away from me and looking out her window. “I’m not stupid, recruit.” she huffed dryly, “I know you have these saved somewhere else. Your phone, your computer or something.” She shot back around again, fixing me once again with that freezing glance, “And I don’t care! I know I can’t make you delete these entirely, but do know that if I should ever catch you with these again…” and she was back leaning over her table and staring at me, “I will end you.” she growled at me.

I replied nothing to that for a few moments, just looking at her in awestruck silence. Then, finally, I gave a curt nod and affirmed, “Understood, ma’am.” Once again, I raised my arms in defense, “But I can assure you, I never had any intentions of sharing these - with anyone. These were for personal purposes only.” It took my mind a second to catch up with what my mouth had just proclaimed. My eyes widened and I forced my mouth shut, but it was already too late.

“Then what are you…” Spitfire began, but cut herself off as she, too, understood what I had just implied. Her eyes narrowed and I pulled my head in, bracing for the impact.

“Oh you dirty little pervert, you.” Spitfire said, slowly shaking her head. “And here I thought you actually were up to something.” she turned away, and I was sure I spotted the ghost of a grin on her face.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am.” Still waiting for her to pounce onto me in some spontaneous fit of rage, though in lack of anything better to say, I apologized, “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Spitfire replied, turning back around again. If there had ever been a grin on her face it was gone now, “And my point stands.” she continued, “If I should ever catch anyone with these photos, you will be held responsible. Got that, recruit?” she asked dryly and I quickly nodded my head.

“Good.” she said briefly, giving a confirming nod in turn. She paused for a moment, then focused me again. “Dismissed.” she commanded me curtly, “Get outta here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I replied back and arose from my chair. I was just about to walk back towards the door, but stopped dead in my tracks. Had I forgotten something? Was there some sort of formal farewell I had to bid to her?

Deciding to rather be safe than sorry, I straightened myself up again, turning towards her, and said, “Permission to leave, ma’am?”

“Just get out.” Spitfire replied dryly without looking at me, sitting back down on her chair.

“Yes, ma’am.” I affirmed once again, turned around on the spot and walked out of her office.

As I closed the door behind myself, I couldn’t help but to feel … strangely relieved. Sure, the realization that she knew about my secret was a little unsettling, but nevertheless, I still had all my limbs attached, my head was still safely atop my neck, and my pants were dry - what more could I ask for?

I let go of the door handle and was about to turn away and be on my merry way, but found myself hesitating.

Despite everything, I couldn’t deny that tiny little bit of guilt in the back of my head. I felt … dirty. Ashamed, even. I couldn’t put my finger on it; I couldn’t explain it, but there was this voice in the back of my head that told me to go back in there and apologize. Sure, she hadn’t seemed too affected by all this, but I still felt guilty for having her find out about this.

Was owning sultry photos of someone without their knowledge considered to be rude? Spitfire was, as far as I could tell, one of the most confident, assertive and strong women I had ever met, so for all I knew she might actually like the idea of people enjoying this sort of body art if it involved her.

But really, could I be sure about that?

I bit my lip, but couldn’t get myself to turn around and walk away like this. I had to go back to her; at least apologize for what I had done. Not because she was my instructor, but because she was a person like anyone else.

I turned back around again, facing the door, and raised my hand to knock, but hesitated as I heard her voice from inside.

“Really had it in you back then, didn’t you?” I could hear her chuckle dryly. “Back in these days…” She gave a heavy sigh and I heard her chair creak as she sank back onto it.

“Fuck.” she cussed after a moment, followed by another sigh. “Fuck fuck fuck. What happened to you? So many years, and what happened since then? Made it big? Achieved anything? Done anything that’s gonna last?”

To my very surprise I could hear a sob come from her room and a sound that must have been either her head or her fist hitting her desk. “They all hate you! They’re scared of you! It’s been years and you’ve achieved nothing! Nothing!” Another, heavier sigh followed. “Don’t think of your sister.” I could hear her whisper, “Don’t think of your sister, don’t think of your sister, don’t think of your- Shit!”

A moment of silence followed, then I could hear her chair creak as she leaned back and one of the drawers of her desk being opened.

“You really shouldn’t be doing this.” I whispered to myself. Spitfire had spared me once already - god knows she wouldn’t let me off the hook this easily if she would catch me eavesdropping on her.

And yet, I couldn’t get myself to walk away. I had a hard time believing that this was really happening - was she kidding? Was this some sort of staged prank? Or was she actually serious? Could this be? One of the strongest, most independent and generally untouchable personalities in the whole academy, acting like this?

I shook my head, stepping back from the door. I shouldn’t be doing this. This was wrong on so many levels! I should have never stayed to listen to her! If she would find out that I had been standing here all this time, I was sure she would-

“Get in here.” The dry, slightly hoarse command coming from the other side of the door almost made me jump in surprise. Standing stiffly like frozen to the spot, I remained silent, hoping that she was somehow referring to someone else and not me. A ghost, maybe? A higher deity? An invisible comrade who was trying out a new stealth suit or something?

But my hopes went down in flames as another, more assertive command came from inside. “You heard me, recruit. Get your sorry ass in here.”

I swallowed nervously, but knew that walking away now would only make things worse. Knowing that I would have to swallow this bitter pill, I hesitantly put my hand back on the doorknob, opened the door and stepped inside.

Captain Spitfire was still sitting at her desk. Her face was red, though not from anger this time, and she was holding a paper tissue in her hand which she used to quickly cleanse her face of any tears that might have been left.

“P-permission to enter ma-”

“Just get in here and close the damn door.” she growled at me, and I obeyed without hesitation, closing the door behind myself and slowly walking over to her desk. I stopped a few feet away from her, unsure how to proceed from here. Was she expecting some form of apology? Would I get my ass whipped for eavesdropping on her?

I could feel my mind drift off for just a second at that last part, but quickly shook my head. Wrong time. Wrong place.

“Sit down.” she commanded me in a voice that wouldn’t allow any backtalk, and again I obeyed without hesitation.

She placed her arms on the table, leaning forward and stretching her head into my direction, shooting me a serious look.

“You. Heard. Nothing.” she told me without any ambiguity. “Understood?”

Again, I quickly nodded my head. “Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am.”

“If I hear anything from anyone, I’ll have you scrub the toilets with your toothbrush for the rest of the year. Understood?”

“Understood … ma’am.”

“Good.” she replied briefly, never breaking eye contact with me. “Now get out of here. And leave this time!”

“Yes, ma’am.” I obeyed and got up from my chair, walking once again towards the door, fighting to contain that one sentence that had formed in my head the second I had heard her talking to herself earlier.

It had been out of instinct, really. I would say something like this to most people I would meet in such situations, though with her, I knew it wouldn’t just be a nicely-formulated lie to cheer her up. No, if I would say this, I would be serious about it.

But I couldn’t do this. Whatever lucky streak I had to thank for her not tearing me apart twice was now clearly at its end, and I knew that pushing my luck beyond this point could and would probably just end in a catastrophe.

I stopped in front of the door and reached for the handle, but hesitated again. I shouldn’t say this. She would probably take it the wrong way and really make me clean the toilets with my toothbrush.

I pushed down the handle. No, I really couldn’t. I should listen to my common sense for once and not get in any bigger trouble than I already was in.

Shaking my head and putting a mental tape over my mouth, I opened the door.

“You still have it in you, though.”

Damn you, mouth! Damn you to the deepest depths of hell!

I pinched my eyes shut, hoping that through some miracle of the universe, Spitfire hadn’t heard that last comment and would simply let me go.

But no such luck for me, it seemed. The loud, more surprised than outraged “What!?” I received in return made me wince and seriously consider running out the door and starting an attempt to escape.

But I couldn’t; not even if I had wanted to. I was thunderstruck; like petrified as I stood there, waiting for her to come pouncing on me like a lion on a gazelle.

“N-nothing!” I hastily started an attempt to backpaddle - an attempt that was promptly met with a harsh and unambiguous “Close the damn door, recruit! We’re not done yet.”

Giving a defeated sigh and hoping for the ground to open up and swallow me, I did as I had been told, closed the door behind me for the fourth time that day and turned to face a rather pissed-looking Spitfire.

Silence filled the following moments - silence I once again didn’t dare break.

Keeping my look focused on the wall behind her to avoid eye-contact by any and all means, I could feel her gaze looking me over, her eyes seeming to scan every inch of my body, and couldn’t help but to feel like she was contemplating which part of my body tasted the best. The rump, maybe? How about a nice slice of belly with a bit of coriander? Or just a good, healthy bite right from the collar, all fresh and bloody.

“What’s your deal?” Spitfire finally asked, interrupting my thoughts about being cooked, cocking an eyebrow at me and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“W-what do you mean?” I asked her, partly because I really didn’t know what she meant, partly because I dreaded the talk that was about to start and wanted to delay it for as long as possible.

“I mean what I said.” Spitfire elaborated soberly. “What is your damn deal, rookie? You just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

A long period of extremely awkward silence followed, with the two of us just blankly staring at each other. Then I finally lowered my head, forced my mouth to open and brought out a muffled “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Spitfire’s reply came within less than a second. She still hadn’t released me from her stern glare.

“For having these photos without your permission, for not telling you about it, and for eavesdropping on you while you clearly wanted to be left alone.” I finally put all my thoughts into words, and let out a noticeably relieved sigh as I finished.

Again, Spitfire replied nothing at first. For almost a whole minute, she just sat there, looking at me in silence. For all I knew, everything was possible in this moment.

Then, finally, she leaned back on her chair, and said some of the most relieving, yet at the same time surprising words I had heard in my career. “I won’t get you in trouble - for any of that.” she clarified soberly. As I just stared at her with wide eyes, she elaborated, “I already warned you about these photos, and whatever you heard while standing in front of my office never happened.” she lowered her head, giving me a serious look,” Understood?”

Feeling relief wash over me, I replied with a happy nod and a spontaneous salute, accompanied by a cheerful “Aye, ma’am.”

I could see that she wasn’t pleased with my sudden outburst and inappropriate usage of military jargon, but instead of admonishing me like she did most of the time, she just rolled her eyes and dryly replied, “Yeah. Dismissed, soldier.”

Giving her a genuinely grateful nod of my head and a smile, I arose from my chair and was already halfway to her office’s door when I was stopped by her speaking up again.

“One more thing though…” Spitfire said, making me turn back around again. Her anger about the prior events seemed forgotten for the moment, and that almost ever-present grim expression on her face was now replaced by a sly, almost cocky grin. “What was that part about me still having it in me?”

“Uhh…” I stuttered, not sure at all how to handle this unexpected twist. I could feel my hands tense up, hoping for her to say that she was just playing with me and let me off the hook.

But she wouldn’t let me go without an answer.

“No, go ahead.” she said with a devious grin, “I’m listening.”

“You, uh…” I started hesitantly, “You said, uh … I mean, I accidently overheard that you thought you didn’t have it in you anymore.”

“And?” Spitfire questioned, raising an eyebrow. She seemed to be enjoying this little interrogation, though despite her apparent change of mood, I still was convinced that any word I said could decide about my doom or success - success being the ability to walk out of this office with my limbs attached and my pants dry, and doom being … well, doom.

“You…” I could feel my face turn red, my discomfort slowly but steadily turning into a physical pain, “You … still do.” Was all I brought out before forcing my mouth shut again.

“Elaborate, recruit.” Spitfire commanded, fixing me with a serious glance, “What do I still do?”

“You…” I started another attempt, but fought with myself. Could I really say what was on my mind? It felt like this was exactly what she was aiming for, but knowing her, she might just end up holding it against me later on.

I took in a deep breath, forcing my eyes shut, well-aware that I had to say something now.

“You still are as attractive as the day these photos were taken, and I’m sure if you would take photos like these again today people would enjoy them just as much.”

Well, shit. Now I had said it. My heart sank, and I braced myself for the impact.

To my very surprise, however, all that came was a curt chuckle. A chuckle that soon turned into a full-grown laugh.

“You sure have nevers, recruit.” she finally said, still chuckling lightly as her laughter faded. In lack of anything better to say, I hesitantly joined in and forced out a few weak, tense chuckles as well.

“Got the hots for me, huh?” she asked as her laughter finally faded and I could feel my breath catch in my throat. Again, Spitfire just smirked, “Who could have known?”

“Tell you what,” she said as she slowly arose from her chair, “If you really think so, come to my room at nine tonight. Then we’ll talk. Alright?”

W-what? I mean ...what? What? What!?

Feeling dumbfounded, like thunderstruck, I looked at her with an empty gaze, wondering if I was dreaming or something

“Good. I’ll take that as a yes.” Spitfire said with a pleased smile, “And now get out. You’re dismissed.”

“Uh, y-yes, ma’am.” I affirmed with another weak nod, then numbly turned around and walked out of her office - for good, this time.

Act 2

“What exactly am I doing here?”

This was a question I hadn’t asked myself in a while. To be fair, there had been occasions when this sort of question had popped up in my head, mostly during some of the harder times basic training in the Wonderbolts involved. But I had always answered these sorts of questions with the same answer: I was going to be a Wonderbolt. That was all there was to it. I wanted to be a Wonderbolt, and whatever I did in the academy I did to get a step closer to this aim, no matter how hard, annoying or excruciatingly demoralizing it might be.

Now, however, that answer didn’t seem to apply. It was Friday night; I was officially off duty, and yet I was still in the academy, instead of having joined my comrades in the nearest bar for a beer or two.

Yes, I really didn’t know what I was doing here, walking up and down the corridor of the instructors’ barracks, waiting for the hour hand of my watch to finally jump to nine.

I still hadn’t completely digested what had happened earlier: she had found my secret smut-stash and thus had summoned me into her office - that I could understand. She had told me about it, but -contrary to my expectations- had not torn my head clean off, giving me a simple warning instead. I had left, had involuntarily eavesdropped on her drowning herself in self-pity, she had caught me, called me back to her, had still not torn my head off, I had more or less confessed that I had the hots for her, whereupon she had told me to come here.

So much for the theory. What she wanted from me - no idea. Whether she was now going to give me the merely delayed punishment for my transgressions - I didn’t know. Or, maybe, in a world where everything was possible, was she going to … ?

I could feel a sheepish grin form on my face at that thought. I definitely had watched too much porn. Yes, ‘commander calling recruit into her private quarters after he admits having the hots for her’ did sound like the opener of a trashy 90s porno film, but … seriously, this was just ridiculous. She would have a talk with me about personal space, respect and the likes and then let me off the hook. I didn’t know why she hadn’t done that in her office earlier, but maybe she needed some time to get her words out ready.

Wiping that lewd grin off my face, I checked my watch again and, seeing that it was 9pm sharp, stopped in front of the door with the name ‘Spitfire’ written next to it in plain, black letters.

Yes, we would have a short, inspirational talk, she might yell at me once or twice, make me feel like the perverted piece of shit that I was, and then release me into the night. That was all there was to it, and all that would happen.

And while that condom safely hidden in the back pocket of my pants was telling a different story, I did my best to not let it show as I raised a hand to knock at the door, and was met with an unexpectedly casual “Yeah?” coming from the other side.

Taking in a deep breath and bracing myself for what would happen when I would enter her room -because really, anything seemed possible at this point- I pushed down the handle and stepped inside.

My jaw dropped.

Not gonna lie, I had pictured this moment in my mind before. I had spent many hours thinking about what Spitfire’s room would look like. Immaculate cleanliness, unconditional order, and a floor that could very well be eaten off - this is what I had been expecting. A room as organized and well-arranged as her office.

This, however, wasn’t what I had been expecting.

In fact, I felt a strange sense of deja-vu, as if I were standing in my old room back in my parents’ house again.

Worn, crumpled-up clothes, both official and civil, were littering the floor; the air was humid and filled with the pleasant smell of a rather masculine shampoo, and I was greeted by an old The Offspring-song playing on a stereo next to the door. Dexter Holland singing about having no self-esteem seemed strangely appropriate in my current situation.

“Oh, hey!” an orange-haired girl sitting on Spitfire’s bed, dressed in comfy-looking sweatpants and a faded black Nirvana-shirt greeted me with a casual grin, picking up a remote from next to her and making the music die down. “Just in time! Seems like I at least managed to teach you something.”

I stared at her for a long moment, wondering if I had accidentally traveled back in time and stepped into the dorm of one of my college friends or something. In fact, the only thing setting this room apart from the aforementioned college dorm was the lack of weed being in the air.

“Uh, hello.” I finally forced out, my look wandering over the room, then resting on her. From the scent in the air and her still slightly wet hair that, not being styled in its usual manner, loosely hung down her head, I concluded that she had showered shortly. And to be frank, that, in combination with that easy-going grin and the casual apparel, made her look more comfy that I could have ever imagined her.

“Come on in!” the girl that looked like a college-ified version of my instructor invited me in, making me take a slow, cautious step inside and close the door behind myself. I contemplated asking for permission to enter, but was afraid that bringing up subjects like order or the chain of command might cause her to snap back into Captain-mode again.

And I really, really didn’t want that.

“Here, want one too?” she asked, her hand reaching for a sixpack of beer standing next to her bed and tossing me a bottle, which I missed by a hair, catching it only inches above the wooden floor.

I straightened myself up, skeptically eyeing the brown bottle in my hand. Instinctively, my mind went back to when Captain ‘sadist’ Spitfire had found an empty beer bottle of the same brand under the bed of a recruit. ‘Possession and/or consumption of alcohol, tobacco, marijuana or any other drugs on Academy premises’ was, as she had unmistakably let him know, and as none of us would forget after the intense fitness-session in full gear that had followed, illegal according to rule number 9 on page 12 on the small paperback each of us had been handed on our first day.

“What’s the matter, rookie?” she asked me casually, tapping a free spot on her bed next to her, “Come on, have a seat.”

Still preoccupied with the fact that my instructor had just personally handed me something that could cause me to get banned from the academy if she would catch me with it, I slowly started walking towards her, and let myself sink onto her bed.

What was this, some sort of prank? Candid Camera or something? Was I about to get a bowling ball in the nuts and be laughed at by Johnny Knoxville?

But I shook my head. If this were Soarin’s room, I might have considered something like this, but Spitfire was pretty much the last person I would take for a prankster.

So what was this then? Had she showered too hot and was now taking me for an equal? Had she drunk too much of the -at closer examination still mostly full- beer? Or was this just another dream?

I would lie if I would say that I had never had any dreams set in Spitfire’s private chambers, but I -and more importantly she- was still wearing way too many clothes for it to be one of those dreams.

“Come on, the match is just about to start!” Spitfire spoke up again, holding a black gamepad ready for me, and impatiently punching my shoulder with her free hand.

It was by then that I noticed the small, black flatscreen standing opposite her bed, as well as the console that was hooked to it. Apparently she was in the middle of a heated Call of Duty-session and had, probably expecting me to come in time, added me as a second player.

“W-what!?” I asked, my mind still busy catching up with everything that had happened, but instinctively obeyed and reached for the controller, placing the still sealed beer bottle on the ground between my legs.

“Come on, you’ve had shooting practice before.” Spitfire said, shooting me a sly grin as the countdown started, “Only that now you get to kill all the bad guys, without any pesky talking.”

“Uh, yeah. … Sure.” I muttered dumbfounded, tightening my grip around the gamepad and focusing my attention on the screen as the match began.

What followed was a ten minute-long tragedy of virtual me fighting alongside ‘Pieman89’, shooting up all my ammo reserves within a few seconds, falling to my death too many times to count, and generally serving as not much more than cannon fodder for the enemy team.

I’ve never been good at shooter games. I could stand my ground on the actual shooting range -one of the few things Spitfire could not give me hell for- but was more a racing game type of person, and hadn’t touched a first-person shooter in a while.

To be fair, Spitfire wasn’t the best player I had ever seen, but she managed to stand her ground, and actually ended up being the second best player in our team - in spite of us getting thoroughly powned by an enemy team that, I suspected, consisted of blood-thirsty Navy SEALs, crazy Russian hackers and 40 year-old virgins.

“We’re gonna need to practice some more, recruit.” Spitfire said teasingly as the match ended, but any worries about her snapping back to her normal self were blown away as she shot me a smug grin and chuckled, “Not gonna impress anyone like this.”

“H-hehe, yeah.” I forced out a chuckle as well. “I-I’m as nooby as they come!”

Her laughter faded, and she gave me an inspecting look. “What’s the matter, rookie?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at me, “You’re looking nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!” I affirmed her with wide eyes. It was a blatant lie. I was very nervous. I was hellishly nervous! I had no idea what had gotten into her; whether this was a sudden change of mind or if this was what she actually was like in private. Either way, I was skeptical, and I was fairly sure she would go back into full Captain-mode and tear my ass apart for being in her room, drinking beer and engaging in ‘prohibited entertainment media’ any second now.

“You can tell that to the marines, rookie. But we’re Air Force.” Spitfire retorted soberly, putting down the gamepad and making herself comfortable on her bed. Giving me -as surprising as it was- something that almost looked like a caring smile, she asked, “Now come on, what’s on your mind?”

I looked at her in silence for a long moment, all of my internal Admiral Ackbars piping up, informing me that this was probably a trap set up by her to make me say something she could hold against me sooner or later.

“Uh, n-nothing, ma’am!” I hastily assured her, making her sigh and roll her eyes.

“Drop that ma’am-shit, will you?” she said dryly, “I’m off duty now, so it’s just Spitfire to you, okay?”

Quickly, I nodded my head. “Yes, ma- I mean … yes, Spitfire! S-sorry, Spitfire!”

But instead of pacifying her, that just made her roll her eyes again and facepalm.

After a moment, she looked up again and, giving me a dry look, asked, “You’re about to wet your pants, aren’t you?”

This was, as much as I hated to admit it, more or less spot-on, and knowing better than to lie to my instructor, no matter how casual and ‘it’s cool man’-ish she might be, I hesitantly gave a curt nod.

“Ah fuck’s sake.” Spitfire cussed, picking up her beer and taking a long sip.

“Oh well…” she said as she lowered the bottle, giving a soft belch. “At least I can say that I tried. Maybe Soarin is gonna leave me alone now.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” I couldn’t help but ask, long before I could think about the possible consequences - digging into her private life definitely wasn’t a wise decision.

But Spitfire just replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes. “You realize this is not how I normally am, right?” she asked me dryly, “Not with the recruits, anyway.”

Slowly, I nodded my head. “Y-yeah, I guess.” I agreed with her, but was unable to contain the question that had now popped up in my mind. “But why? Why all this?”

My instructor looked at me for a long moment, seeming to think about something. Then, finally, she focused me with a stern look and asked, “Do you enjoy lessons you receive from me? Does anyone in your platoon like having me around?”

I swallowed, hard, giving her a look that seemed to betray just how uncomfortable I was with this question.

The truth was, I didn’t like having her around - not as an instructor, at least. Her lessons and general behavior still were a pain in the back, and while she seemed rather affable right now, she had proven to me on more than enough occasions just how insufferable she could be when in full Captain-mode.

And it was no secret that I wasn’t the only one with that opinion. For all I knew, nobody in the entire academy, safe for a handful of other instructors, liked having her around, least of all the new recruits. And I had a bad feeling that exactly these thoughts were written all across my face in that second.

“Don’t lie to me, recruit.” she warned me sternly, seeming to sense that the answer I was about to give her was not entirely true.

“Uhm…” I muttered, hesitating. “Well…”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, in all honesty…” I began, fighting with myself, but then gave a defeated sigh and dropped my head. “No.”

“See?” Spitfire said with a dry smirk, “You’re not the first one to think like that. And to be honest…” her smile faltered, and she looked away, “I know it. I’ve always known it. And I’m sick of it.”

“Uh-huh…” Was all I could bring out at that. To be honest, her thinking this way was no real surprise to me, but the fact that she knew all about her infamous reputation and still seemed to accept it without any remorse still felt a little odd.

“And … that’s why I tried to change.” Spitfire explained, and her expression got a little bitter as she continued, “Hell, look at Soarin.”

As I just cocked an eyebrow, she gave a dry laugh and said, “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. You all love him. How could you not? He’s great at what he does. He does his job, he’s respected by all of you, and still, he doesn’t need to shout or insult people or…” she cut herself off, sighing, “Point is, you all love him, but still respect him. You’d follow any of his orders, without him having to raise his voice - ever.”

I wanted to say something, but just managed to nod my head in agreement. She … actually had a point. In fact, she was entirely right - about everything she had said.

“So I tried to be like him for once.” She continued to explain and almost looked a little shy as she lowered her head, looking down at her bed. “When you were in my office today and Soarin came in, I thought about how he would act, and tried to do what he would do.”

Again, I nodded in agreement. This would explain her rather extraordinary behavior, and above all the fact that she hadn’t flayed me alive yet for something that could have gotten me in big trouble from just about anyone else..

“And when that didn’t work, seeing how you were still looking a picture of misery and probably this far away from wetting your pants … Well...” She gave a shrug, her look wandering over the clothes laying on the floor, the beer bottles and the game console hooked to the TV. “I thought I’d try again.”

“So this is … not how you normally are?” I drew the logical conclusion, though I felt a little stupid for asking like this, as it seemed pretty much obvious.

Though, as stupid as the question might have been, it prompted a slightly amused snort from my instructor as she looked back up, focusing me with a grin. “... Sometimes I am.” she admitted a bit sheepishly, “Sometimes I chill with Soarin in his room, pretty much like this. The beer and Playstation are his. … But most of the time, no.” And with that, the grin slipped from her face, “And looking at you, I guess there’s no point in trying to be like this anyway, since it seems you people are afraid of me no matter what.”

I drew in a breath to contradict her. I was, after all, not nearly as afraid as she probably thought I was, but was cut short as my instructor turned her head away from me entirely and gave a muffled cuss.

“Fuck.” she hissed, and I could see her face turn red, “Fuck, I never wanted this. Any of this!”

“W-what do you mean? What’s wrong?” I timidly chimed in. I knew that this was thin ice I was stepping on by probing into what seemed like private matters, but after this exposition she had given me, I had a feeling that, maybe, asking her about it would actually lead to a talk instead of a sucker punch to the guts.

Spitfire turned her head towards me, her crimson face giving me a look that betrayed an inner struggle - possibly about whether she should continue talking or just cut her losses and throw me out.

But deciding that she had apparently already said this much and now could go further, she gave another curt sigh and softly admitted, “I never wanted to be a Wonderbolt.”

Okay, now she was pulling my leg. She had to be! There was no way she was serious about this!

I looked at her, giving her a ‘yeah right’-grin and cocking an eyebrow.

But her face remained bitter, and only by reacting quickly did I manage to wipe the grin off my face and give her a serious, moderately surprised look as she looked up again and locked eyes with me.

“What!?” I asked, legitimately surprised now.

“Yeah.” Spitfire replied with a stony grin, giving a non-comedic chuckle. “Didn’t see that one coming, huh?” She let her head drop, letting out a long sigh. “But seriously, I never wanted this. I never wanted to be in the military, I never wanted to be an instructor, and god knows I never wanted to be the one bitch-captain everyone either hates, fears, or both.”

Well, that was a mouthful. I … honestly didn’t quite know what to say to this. Sure, I should have told her that not everyone hated or feared her, but this revelation was so overwhelming it literally left me speechless.

“Pick your jaw, rookie.” Spitfire commanded me with a light chuckle, “I know you must be surprised to hear that I don’t enjoy being hated by you recruits, but contain yourself, will you?”

“B-but why!?” I finally managed to bring out. For someone who didn’t want to be a Wonderbolt, she had made it surprisingly far on the career ladder. Not to mention the fact that she had always seemed like one of the most passionate people in the entire academy.

My instructor turned her head away, letting her shoulders sink as the grin vanished from her face. “You really wanna know, rookie?” she asked me ryely, but didn’t make it sound like she really cared about my answer.

“Well, yeah.” I said with a shrug, but then, realizing that this might have sounded a little too casual, put on a serious look and added, “Of course I do.”

“Well…” she began, leaning back on her bed with a careless expression, resting her head on her hands and looking at the ceiling, “You see, when I was young … I used to be a mope. A loser. A good-for-nothing, if that’s what you wanna call it.”

“Hmm?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. I … hadn’t seen this coming. For some reason I had expected her to be a high flyer back in school - a successful, attractive and confident jock with dozens of friends and even more admirers. One of these people that get everything they want handed on a silver platter - may it be good grades, girls (or in her case guys … or both?), or money.

“Yeah.” Spitfire admitted with a dry grin. “I never cared too much about school, safe for PE. I was great at that, but all the other crap like Math or Chemistry or…” she shook her head, clearing her thoughts, all the while keeping her look directed at the ceiling, “Yeah, I didn’t like school. And once High School came around, I simply started cutting it entirely.” she admitted, getting another confused look from me. If I had taken her for anything, she really didn’t seem like a truant to me.

“And nobody cared back then, really.” she explained with a shrug, “My dad…” the smile vanished, “...died in a car crash when I was young, and my mom was so caught-up in her job that she didn’t even notice me drifting off. She only had eyes for my little sister, and didn’t really care about my shit. I forged her signatures on the letters they sent to her, told her that school was doing just fine, and spent most of my time hanging out with my frie-” she wanted to say, but cut herself off mid-sentence, shaking her head, then correcting herself, “I spent a lot of time around the wrong kinds of people. Did a lot of shit, got in a lot of trouble. Nobody cared.”

She gave a short sigh, sitting up cross-legged, focusing me and rolling her eyes as she proceeded. “Enter my step-douche. My mom met him during a christmas party or something, they fell for each other like in some shitty romance-novel, he moved in, and started making my life a living hell. Butting into my life, telling me that I should go to school, that what I was doing was wrong, and…” she hesitated, but then gave a dry chuckle, “In retrospect, basically trying to save my sorry ass from ending up in the gutter.”

She paused, taking in a long breath and giving me a chance to throw in a comment, but to be honest, I didn’t know what to say to this, just staring at her with wide eyes. I didn’t know if sharing such intimate details of her life with me was part of her ‘trying to be more like Soarin’-campaign or if she just needed to share this with someone and I just so happened to be available, but either way, she had my attention.

“We got in a lot of fights over the years. Some more serious, some less. He was an Army veteran and sorta forced this whole ‘military discipline’-lifestyle onto me and my mom - one of the reasons why I swore to myself that I’d rather die than to be in the military.” Spitfire continued to explain, a strange mixture of both, sorrow and happiness in her eyes.

“He said he wanted to help me, I told him to fuck off, same old story.” she said bluntly, “I still skipped most of my classes, and with finals coming around, and knowing that I had no way of passing these, I started getting more and more frustrated with my life and…” again, she frowned, seeming to contemplate if she really should go on from here, but then bit her lip and continued, “started doing some pretty bad shit. Alcohol and weed were still among the most harmless things I threw in back then. My mom knew about it, but was too focused on my sister to really act, and step-douche simply didn’t have the balls to kick my ass - not with my mom watching, anyway.”

Her eyes started glazing over, and her face assumed a dark shade of red as she turned her head away - I suppose she was nearing tears. “I … would have really needed her back then. I think I might have stopped if I had known that she cared, but she only had eyes for her.” she said bitterly.

She fell silent, lowering her head and taking in a long breath. Focusing me with a serious look, she slowly added, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my little sister, it’s just that…” she hesitated, looking to the side, “She was always the better one. She had the prettier smile, the bigger boobs, the better laugh, was better in school, had better friends … hell, she was elected school representative three times in a row!”

“I see…” I commented in an attempt to say something productive and not just sit here like a nodding dog. “So, basically, she was the family’s prodigy, and you were-”

“The underdog? The spoiled kid? A shitstain on my family’s patchwork? Yeah, you could say that.” Spitfire explained with a careless grin that didn’t manage to hide just how much saying these things still hurt her.

I stared at her with wide eyes, surprised at her … graphic choice of words. Sure, all this had happened probably a decade ago, and I could very well see how she possibly was over all this by now, but still … saying these things about herself couldn’t be good!

“Anyway, things … went on like this for a while.” Spitfire continued, scooting back on her bed and leaning against the wall behind her, “But everything sorta escalated when I found a new boyfriend. He ... really was no good influence for me. Encouraged me to continue what I was doing, fueled my hate for my step dad and simply made my life even more fucked-up than it already was.” she paused, then threw me a knowing smirk and added, “He also was the one who talked me into taking these pictures for him.”

I could feel my face turn red at the mention of that subject. I still felt oddly ashamed for having these photos, and the fact that Spitfire had found them gave this whole affair a strange sort of ‘mother walking in on her son masturbating’-vibe. I bristled at that thought.

“Thing is, that son of a bitch ended up throwing these online.” Spitfire continued after a moment, thankfully not embarrassing me more than I already was. “And when step-douche accidentally stumbled over these, all hell broke loose.” she bit her lip, taking in a long breath and forcing her eyes shut. It took me a moment to notice that she starting to tear up. “We … got in a serious fight. My mom stopped backing me up, and step douche … gave me a piece of his mind.” she gasped again, wiping a hand over her face to hide even the faintest trace of tears - I suppose despite everything, she still didn’t want to cry in front of a recruit.

“I ended up running away, spent a few nights on the street and tried to earn some money by going-” but she cut herself off, closing her eyes and shaking her head, “It wasn’t a good time back then. And I swear I would have bitten the dust if I hadn’t met him.” she said, and her face promptly brightened up as she turned her head towards the wall next to her where an old photo of a mature man was hanging. I was fairly sure I had seen this photo before, recognizing the brown aviator jacket and the gray hair, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

At my questioning look, she explained, “Colonel Wind Rider. One of the most legendary members of the Wonderbolts. He saw me standing by the road one day, begging for money, and offered me a ride and a hot shower.” Even before I could say anything, she shot me a half-serious glare and interjected, “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Coming with a strange old man I’ve never seen before. But I was desperate, okay? And believe me or not, but being homeless and without any perspective whatsoever makes you re-think your priorities. Besides…” she grinned, “Even then I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I could stand my ground, and I would have known how to defend myself if things would have gotten rough.”

I gave her a soft nod, not wanting to contradict her on that, and the smile found its way back onto her face as she continued, “But fortunately they didn’t. He ended up taking me in and helped me get back on my feet. I cut the ties to my friends, did a rehab, finally got my high school degree, then enlisted in the Air Force. Partly because Wind Rider was so fascinated by it, partly because…” she gave a dry shrug, shooting me a careless grin, “Honestly, nobody else but the military would take a formerly drug-addicted school dropout.”

“Eyes on the path, not the horizon.’ is what he used to always tell me. Stay focused on what lies ahead of you, not where you might be in ten years.” she added, her eyes glazing over. “I wanted to impress Wind Rider; thank him for everything he’s done for me. So I gave it my all during basic training, got accepted into the Wonderbolts Academy, eventually got promoted to Sergeant, then Lieutenant, and finally Captain, and ... I guess…” she finished, giving a dry chuckle, “somehow turned into the bitch I am on the way.”

That … was a mouthful.

As her words faded away and silence filled the room, all I could do is stare at her in awe. This … was unexpected. And while there were a thousand things and a million questions running through my mind, it was surprisingly easy for me to open my mouth and say the only thing that was appropriate in this moment.

“You’re not a bitch … Spitfire.”

The orange-haired girl fixed me with a smirk, and her profound, almost melancholy mood seemed forgotten in an instant as she said, “Way to turn on the blarney, rookie. But I’m not blind. I can see the way you recruits are looking at me, and to be honest, it really is my fault.” she admitted, sounding slightly amused, “I only ever got this far by doing my best, staying focused gritting my teeth and pushing through.” she explained, keeping her eyes locked with mine, “And it’s this mindset that I want to pass on to my recruits. Because it’s this sort of attitude that saved me from the gutter, that made me the person I am today, and that will turn all of you into great soldiers one day, one way or the other.”

Again, her words were followed by a short period of silence in which she looked at the photo of Wind Rider with a touched expression, but then shook her head, gave a short chuckle and said, “Okay, enough with the endearments. I never meant to tell you all this anyway, but now that-”

“Hey Spitz, how’s it-” She was cut off as the door to her room was torn open and somebody came walking in with quick steps. As my head spun around to face the intruder, he turned out to be a light gray-haired girl dressed in a plain green bathrobe. A girl that was now looking at the two of us sat on Spitfire’s bed like a deer in the headlights.

“...oh.” she said, and I was sure that was a grin forming on her face as she asked, “Am I … interrupting something?”

“What is it, Fleetfoot?” Spitfire asked, noticeably annoyed about the sudden disturbance.

Fleetfoot looked at me for a long moment, her look revealing all too clearly what thoughts were going through her mind in this second - clearly, she had seen too many trashy 90s porn movies as well. “Could we maybe …” she pointed over her shoulder at the open door, “Go outside?”

Spitfire, rolling her eyes, gave a long, annoyed sigh as she arose from the bed and, throwing a curt “Be right back.” at me, walked after her comrade and out of her room.

I looked after her as she left, but then turned my head back, my look coming to rest on the mess of clothes lying sprawled out in front of me. So she had deliberately messed up her room, gotten a console and a pack of beer, just to show me that she wasn’t that uptight, strict instructor I had come to know her as?

Well, I … honestly didn’t know what to make of this. Had this whole ‘making me come to her room’-thing been a spontaneous decision or had she planned this in advance? Had she planned to tell me the story of her life? Could it be that she needed to tell it to someone and I had been the first one to bring up the subject? Or was it somehow related to her wanting to be like Soarin? To be fair, now that I knew what she had gone through, her strict behavior did make a little more sense to me, so perhaps this was her way of testing the water?

But again, why me? Why had she chosen me to be her test subject for her change of behavior? And more importantly, had I already failed? She had seemed under the impression that, even when she tried to be the human, casual and easy-going instructor, people (read: me) were still afraid of her, and that changing had little to no effects at all.

But maybe it wasn’t too late yet! Maybe if I would convince her that changing her attitude would actually make people like her, she would actually pull it through!

With that resolution in mind, I looked up again, just in time to see Spitfire come back through the door, that ever-present sober, grim expression back on her face again.

“Anything else?” she asked, stopping behind the door and putting a hand on the handle, ready to shut it.

“No.” Fleetfoot, who had followed her, said with a cocky grin on her face, shaking her head. “I think I better go now, and leave you two some privacy.” Throwing me a teasing wink, she cackled, “Have fun you two.”

“For the last time...” Spitfire piped up, planting herself in front of her comrade, “We are having a serious talk in here - and nothing more. It’s none of your business what we’re doing here, and I suggest you better leave now.”

“Hey, calm your tiddies, Spitz!” Fleetfoot defended herself, raising her hands in defense, “I was just wondering, you know, after that thing with Soarin-”

“That’s none of your goddamn business!” Spitfire snapped, legitimately angry now, “And you better work on your tone, Lieutenant Fleetfoot, or you’ll have to face the consequences. I’m still your superior, and if you think you can fuck with me, you better think again. Got that!?”

I could hear Fleetfoot swallow loudly. Now reduced to what looked like half her size, she gave a curt nod and a half-choked, “Yes, ma’am.” before Spitfire slammed the door in her face without any further comment.

She remained standing in front of the now closed door with her back facing me, and gave a long sigh before turning around and locking eyes with me.

I didn’t know what exactly my face looked like in that second. Saying that I was surprised would have been wrong - I had seen her in Captain-mode more than enough, and this short outbreak was still way below average, compared to what sorts of havoc I had seen her unleash. No, I suppose I felt … disillusioned. Disenchanted, so to speak. For some reason, that other, softer and -in lack of a better word- human side of my instructor I had gotten to see over the course of the past thirty minutes had been so overwhelming that I had completely forgotten about how she normally was.

Oh, and by the way she was looking at me now, I probably looked like I was about to wet my pants as well. I blame it on the force of habit, as her speaking in that tone normally entailed some form of physical or verbal punishment for stepping out of line.

“See?” she said dryly, her face going back to its ever-grim and emotionless expression. “That’s what I mean. Wherever I go, whenever I show up, all I see are faces like yours.” she shook her head, a half-serious frown on her face as she asked, “Seriously, do I look like I bite or something?”

To be fair, sometimes, when she was extremely miffed, she did look like she wanted to bite someone, but most of the time her face looked rather neutral, with only her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth sitting about half an inch too low.

But of course, I knew better than to break it to her like that, so I opted for the most natural response and said, “Of course you don’t.” all the while working on a genuine smile.

“Then why the fuck are you looking at me like that!?” Spitfire snarled, “Is there something on my face? Am I wearing some sort of invisible ‘I eat recruits for breakfast’-shirt or something? Or is it my voice!?” she asked me with eyes wide in a sudden anger which I couldn’t quite relate to.

I couldn’t help but to flinch ever so slightly at that last part. Spitfire was, indeed, known across the academy for her loud, reedy voice - a questionable reputation, to say the least. I could see why she needed it to make herself heard, especially with the recruits, but sometimes it seemed like she couldn’t quite tell when talking like this was appropriate and when it wasn’t - like for example right now.

Slowly, Spitfire walked over to her bed, dropping herself onto it next to me in a fair distance. Giving a long sigh, she leaned forward, letting her head drop into her hands. “Seriously, I don’t know what else to do. I thought I could do something about the way you guys see me by going easier on you with the disciplining and showing you that I’m only human as well, but as it turns out…” she gave a curt sigh, “That didn’t work out either. Guess I’ve reached a point where I’m so deep in the bitch-swamp that I can’t get out anymore.”

I had to fight with myself for a second to not grin at the term ‘bitch-swamp’, but then cleared my thoughts and leaned forward, but hesitated as -almost as if by instinct- my arm rose, moving towards her shoulder.

Could I really do this? I knew I wanted to, and it didn’t seem like she would mind, but … still, what if that would take things too far? What if she would snap out of whatever trance she was in and go back into full Captain-mode?

I hesitated, letting my eyes rest on her for a moment that felt like an hour, and all of a sudden it became clear to me.

I wasn’t looking at Captain Spitfire, neither was I looking at a human-turned fury or a female version of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman.

No, all I could see in this second was a lonely, distraught girl at the end of her tether.

And in the second I realized just that, I didn’t need to think any further. I just did what I hoped was the right thing. I scooted over to her, put a hand on her back, and said, “Come on, don’t say that.”

For some reason it seemed like -intentionally or not- I was starting to crack the hard nut that was my instructor, as in the second I said that, she gave another sob, and while her face was still buried in her hands, I was fairly sure that she was crying.

“Fuck man.” she sighed after a moment, her voice weak and quavering, “Why does life have to be so goddamn hard?”

I swallowed, my mind tripping over that first part. Had she really just addressed me as ‘man’? No ‘rookie’, no ‘recruit’, no ‘piece of shit’?

But before I could think any further about this, she bitterly continued, “Seriously, I thought joining the Wonderbolts would bring me forward in life! Now it’s been years, my job is my life, I don’t have any friends outside of the academy, I’m hated by more people than I can count, and my sister keeps shoving her oh-so great life into my face whenever possible!” She lifted her head, turning into my direction and focusing me with tearstained, red eyes, “Seriously, so what if she married her childhood love? So what if they moved into an oh-so great house out in the countryside? So fucking what if they’re already expecting their second child by now!” she shook her head, focusing me again with her red eyes torn wide open, “Seriously, do I look like I give a shit!?”

She … actually did. I most certainly wasn’t an expert when it comes to understanding girls, but even I could see that she had just presented her predicament to me - on a silver platter, with blinking lights and wailing sirens.

And yet, even I wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud - this time, however, not because I was fearing punishment from a commander, but because I didn’t want to hurt the feelings of someone I was starting to truly care about.

“N-no you don’t.” I hesitantly brought out. The correct answer, it seemed, as she let me off the hook with a weak “Yeah, right.” and turned her head back, letting it hang low again with a deadpan expression on her face.

So she was jealous? I mean, of course she was, any fool could see that, but … why? She had always seemed rather pleased with her job, and I had never been under the impression that she was a family person, but… I hesitated as another thought crossed my mind. Was she worried about her biological clock? Afraid to run out of time and die a lonely, loveless death?

But … could that be? Sure, for all I knew, this was a phase most women would go through once in their life, but … was she really this old already?

I cocked an eyebrow, looking at her, fighting with myself. Of course I could just ask her, but ...

One of the few things my father had told me about women was that this was the danger zone of all danger zones, and I was fairly sure that I was about to make the mistake of my life, as I opened my mouth, drew in a long breath and hesitantly asked, “I-if you don’t mind me asking … how old are you?”

That … had been a mistake. A devastating realization that was now echoing through my mind, as time had slowed down to a crawl as my instructor slowly lifted her head, focusing me with a stare that made it clear just how dangerous it was to step on thin ice - and that I had just danced a full polka on said ice.

She opened her mouth to say something, and I braced myself for another storm of Captain Spitfire, but she cut herself off, closing her mouth again before it could come out. Again, she just stared at me for another few moments, then finally opened her mouth and asked, “What do you think?”

Aaaand I was back on the ice again. Very, very thin ice.

To be honest, based on the way she acted around us recruits, the well-filled story of her life she had told me earlier, and the fact that she seemed jealous of her little sister who had her whole life sewn up already, my best guess was that she must have been in her mid-thirties to early forties.

Of course, saying that to her face would have probably resulted in that long-in-coming punch to the guts, so I reduced my guess by a few years and carefully began, “Uhm, e-early thirties, maybe?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

I had screwed up, hadn’t I?

“You should leave.” she said slowly, threateningly.

Ayep, screw-up it was.

“Okay, wait!” I tried to defend myself, once again raising my arms in defense, but already arose from her bed, knowing better than to disobey one of her commands. “Let me try again.” I started an attempt of reconciliation, standing in front of her “L-late thirties, maybe? Early forties? … M-mid-forties?”

“Leave!” And now Captain Spitfire was back - and she was angry. “Get your ass out of my room!” she commanded me, her face red once again, though unfortunately with anger. “And you better hurry up before I change my mind!”

“I’m sorry!” I started another attempt, already walking over to the door before she would kick me out, “I just thought that … you’re not that old yet … are you?”

“I’m fucking twenty-six!”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Each and every inch of my body was shouting at me; yelling at me, telling me to get myself out of the danger zone, but … I couldn’t. I was frozen in place; thunderstruck, like glued to the spot.

Time seemed to stand still for a few moments as I stood there in the middle of her room, and only began moving again as I turned my head towards her and, with an unbelieving stare that echoed the chaos in my mind, asked, “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” she replied bitterly, throwing me a death stare, but fortunately still sitting on her bed and not chasing after me - though I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the beer bottle in her hand that looked like she was ready to throw it my way any second now.

The following seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. In retrospect, it must have been only a few moments, but it felt like a whole day that passed as I stood there, staring back at her with my jaw laying on the floor in front of me.

She was … twenty-six? She was only five years older than me!? And … she had made it to Captain with only twenty-six years?

All these realizations were floating through my mind in this second, making me want to sit down in silence to get my thoughts sorted out. However, drowning out all this chaos was another realization that hit my mind like a semi crashing into a wall: I had taken her for way older than she actually was - a realization that was not only written across my face, but also reflected in the expression of anger on Spitfire’s face.

But anger quickly turned into frustration, frustration into gloom, and gloom into sadness.

Slowly, her hand holding the beer bottle sank, along with her head.

Keeping her look directed at the ground in front of her, she sighed softly, then muttered, “Seriously, you should go. It’s Friday night. Don’t waste your time sitting here and listening to my ramblings.”

Once again finding myself at a loss of words, I did the first thing my worryingly submissive mind suggested and muttered a timid, “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know what I was sorry for. Maybe I was sorry for guessing her age wrong, maybe I was sorry that she was still in her twenties and already behaving like a forty year-old spinster. Or maybe I was just sorry that my words had hurt her like this. For all I knew it might have been all of these together.

“Damnit rookie, you’re never gonna be a soldier if you keep apologizing all the time!” Spitfire snapped at me, but then gave a sigh and leaned back on her bed, adding. “Seriously though, you shouldn’t be sorry.” she added after a moment. “You’re not the one sitting here and defrauding a recruit of his much-deserved weekend.”

“Don’t worry about that.” I said with a smile that I hoped looked casual, “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do anyway.”

That actually wasn’t all that wrong. Of course, I was fairly sure I was missing out on a great evening of boozing with my comrades, but for all I knew, I might be writing Wonderbolt-history in this second, being the first recruit to not be shouted into the ground by Captain Spitfire.

But more importantly, I might end up helping her out of whatever crisis she was in right now, and that, I was sure, was worth more than any sort of reputation whatsoever.

“Really?” Spitfire locked eyes with me, and for a moment I was afraid she wouldn’t buy it, but then gave a dry chuckle and nodded her head. “Well then…” she said, reaching for the sixpack next to her bed, grabbing a bottle and tossing it over to me, then grabbing a bottle for herself. “Two losers with nothing to do on a Friday night, might as well make the best of it, right?”

She reached into the pocket of her pants, pulling out a lighter and opening it with an audible ‘plop’.

“You smoke?” I couldn’t help but ask as she tossed the bottle cap into a nearby trash can, then passed me the lighter which I caught with my free hand.

“Nah.” Spitfire said with a curt shake of her head, “I know Wonderbolts are supposed to live fast, die young and all, but with all the shit I’ve done I’m pretty sure death is gonna come for me soon enough.”

“Fair enough.” I replied, focusing my attention back on the beer bottle where I fumbled with the lighter. I … wasn’t necessarily an expert when it comes to opening beer bottles with anything other than an opener.

Spitfire watched my struggle for a few moments, but eventually decided to intervene. “Come here.” she said, scooting forward on her bed and reaching for the bottle in my hand. She put hers around mine and grabbed the lighter in the other one, opening the stubborn bottle cap with ease, but also making our hands touch in the process, and gaining a barely suppressed gasp from me in return - I barely noticed the flying bottlecap hitting me and ricocheting off my forehead.

I didn’t know why I hadn’t noticed it before, but her hands were … incredibly soft. And their touch around mine, so soft and tender … I would have never expected that anything from her could be this soft.

However, the unexpected contact was over as fast as it had begun, and before I knew it Spitfire was back sitting on her bed again. Raising her bottle into my direction with a bitter smile, she said, “To life. Let’s just hope that it won’t fuck us over all at once.”

“Cheers.” I said, surprised at her simple but fitting choice of words, and raised the bottle to my mouth.

Only with difficulty could I stop myself from retching. I surely wasn’t a connoisseur when it comes to beer, and this one might have actually been a decent brand, but seeing how it was room-temperature and was barely carbonated, I guess it was no real surprise that it tasted like used rinsing water.

But regardless, I did my best to not let it show and forced a grin onto my face.

“Come on.” Spitfire invited me with the thinnest of smiles on her face, tapping the free spot on her mattress next to her, “Have a seat, rookie.”

Feeling my heart beat just a little bit faster, I obliged and lowered myself onto the bed next to her, my mind already trailing off and going to all the wrong places.

“So,” Spitfire began, taking another sip from her bottle, “Now that I’ve told you the whole story of my life, anything you wanna get off your chest? Any troubles at home? With your comrades?” shooting me a teasing wink, she added, “Or with girls?”

“Yeah I’m having lewd fantasies with my instructor.” A voice in my mind spoke up, but I quickly shook my head, trying to ban these thoughts from my head once and for all. “Nah.” I instead put her off with a wave of my hand. However, as she just looked at me with a raised eyebrow, indicating that she wasn’t quite satisfied with that sort of reply, I thought about it for a moment, then truthfully added, “I’m … glad we could talk like this.”

“Really?” my instructor asked, raising her eyebrow in genuine surprise this time.

“Well, yeah.” I said with a shrug. “To be honest, I never thought I could talk with you like that. Without you … yelling at me and all.”

“Yeah, I know.” she said with a heavy sigh, “I can be pretty obnoxious, can’t I?”

It took me a second to realize that I was once again back in a literal minefield. She could be indeed, but I’d be damned if I’d say it to her face like this, though I didn’t want to lie to her either. But in the end I just shrugged with a brief, “Eh. I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh, really?” Spitfire asked, raising an eyebrow, probably knowing that I hadn’t, but then released me from her look and shook her head. “Seriously though, I’ll try to be better, okay?”

I turned my head towards her at that, thinking, and -for a brief moment- wondering if changing was the right thing for her to do. I certainly didn’t enjoy being yelled into the ground by her day after day, but I hesitated as something else occurred to me.

Sure, she could be pretty hard to endure from time to time, but god knows the last thing the academy needed was a fabric softener-instructor handling everyone with velvet gloves and preaching about sunshine and rainbows - even I had enough foresight in me to see that.

For all I knew, asking her to change might actually cause her to end up losing all of her fighter-attitude and become a literal cotton ball - definitely not the sort of person to be instructing future elite-pilots.

So what should I say to that?

I remained silent, looking around her room for a second, then back at her, and our eyes met.

And in that second, it became clear to me.

Yes, she was sick of being hated by everyone, and yes, she would try to change. She would probably end up changing, but looking her in the eyes, I realized that, no matter what would happen, deep down she would always remain herself. There was a fire in these orange eyes of hers that I knew couldn’t be put out, no matter what would happen. She might smoothen a bit, but she was a fighter, and would always be.

And with that conclusion in mind, I smiled, gave her a curt nod, and said, “Yeah. Just don’t change too much, okay? I like you the way you are.”

“Yeah, right.” Again, I could see that grin on her face. That half-serious grin that told me that I had just applied a little too much cheese on my words.

This time, however, the grin vanished after a few moments, giving way to a genuine, serious, touched smile.

And what happened after that caught me so off-guard it took me almost a whole minute to understand what was happening.

Captain Spitfire, my instructor, one of the harshest, roughest and generally most insufferable people had I ever met, put her arms around me, and gave me a hug.

“Thank you.” she spoke up softly. “That was what I needed to hear.”

Too overwhelmed with what was happening, struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that she had really just hugged me, I just gave a weak nod and an equally soft, “Uh-huh.”

We remained like this for another second or two -seconds that each felt like a whole eternity to me- until my instructor broke the hug and leaned back on her bed, looking me over with a casual, friendly smile I had never before seen on her face.

And since apparently my mind could not even once give me a break, the way she looked at me was quick in giving me all the wrong thoughts about what would happen next. I had to give myself a mental slap across the face to once again convince myself that this was indeed not a porn movie.

With that in mind, I looked back at Spitfire, locking eyes with her, and could feel my heart speed up as it seemed like she was fighting with herself. As if she was … tempted. Was she … could she … could she be thinking what I thought she was thinking? Could this … could this really-

“You should go.”

My thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Spitfire spoke up with a soft, almost caring smile, and arose from her bed.

“Wouldn’t want to keep your friends waiting, right?” she continued, smirking as she walked over to the door.

It was by then that I noticed that my mouth was still hanging open. That look she had had in her eyes earlier … could it be that … in some strange, taboo way … she liked me too?

Only with a serious effort could I fight back that lewd grin that was about to form on my face from that thought, and quickly arose from the bed myself.

“And by the way…” Spitfire said as she opened the door, keeping it ready for me. “I guess I don’t have to say that if you tell anyone of the recruits about this here…” she tilted her head into the direction of her bed where my half-empty beer was still standing next to hers.

“Toilets and toothbrush?” I asked with a half-serious grin as I stopped in front of her.

“You got it.” she said with a brief nod, and I could feel my pulse once again rising as her eyes rested on mine a little longer than what would have been considered normal for most people.

She quickly, unceremoniously licked her lips, and I had to control myself to hold back a gasp. Could this be? Was she really going to … ? I could feel my legs going weak at the thought of her pouncing onto me, throwing me onto her bed, holding me down, tearing my clothes off my body and…

“You waiting for an invitation, rookie?” The teasing question from Spitfire interrupted my thoughts, making my face turn red as I muttered a curt, “N-no.” and stepped through the door.

Of course she wasn’t going to. I was just seeing things. No way she had looked at me like this. No way in hell.

Keeping my look directed to the side to avoid eye contact, I turned around and meekly said, “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Spitfire said with a thin smile and reached for the door handle.

I turned around and was about to walk away, but stopped as my instructor spoke up again.

“And rookie…” I could hear her say behind me and turned around to see her leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin on her face. “About that thing in your back pocket…”

I cocked an eyebrow, wondering what she was-

Oh.

Oh crap.

How in the world had she seen that? Had it slipped out or something? Instinctively, my two hands went to my pockets, searching them, but finding nothing.

Shooting me a grin that let me know just how well she knew about what was going on in my mind, Spitfire raised her left hand, where the condom was firmly tucked between her index and middle finger.

Feeling my face turn red in mere split seconds as the ground seemed to slip from underneath my feet, I opened my mouth, tripping over my own words as I sputtered out excuses as to why I had had it in there, but she silenced me as she raised her hand.

“Eyes on the path, not the horizon, rookie. Pass the basic training and become a real Wonderbolt.” she said with a sly grin on her face, snipping the condom into my direction and shooting me a very, very meaningful wink. “Then we’ll talk.”

The contraceptive flew, right past my hand, ricocheted off my stiff in shock body, and fell to the ground.

Had she … had she really just … ?

Looking at my petrified form and giving a curt chuckle, she stepped back in the door. “Good night, rookie. See you on Monday.” she said, before softly closing the door and leaving me standing in the darkened hallway.

For almost a whole minute, I just stood there in silence, my mind reeling as I tried to digest everything that had happened.

Then, slowly, I bent down, picked up the condom off the ground, stored it back in my back pocket, and turned around, walking away.

Had she been serious about that last part or was she just messing with me? No idea. Was she really going to change after that talk we had? No clue. And was this evening going to have any effects on the way she saw me? I really, really didn’t know.

What I did know, however, was that I had a free bar stool next to my friends and a cold beer waiting for me just a few minutes away.

And out of all the things in this world, these were probably the ones I needed most right now - take some time to unwind and relax, then think about what would happen in the future.

Eyes on the path, not the horizon, right?