The woman who steps into the gym looks a little familiar, and then again she doesn't. She is wearing grey sweatpants and a white tank top over a white sports bra; as the door closes behind her, she stands near it with her hands folded and watches Bryce.
She attacks, her fist driving for Bryce's face. She does not intend to connect, but she is fully committed to the movement until the very last possible opportunity to break away.
"Sorry," she says, rather too cheerfully but nevertheless sincere in her own way. "I wanted to find out if you were better than you want me to think, and you are."
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There is a pause, a balanced moment.
She attacks, her fist driving for Bryce's face. She does not intend to connect, but she is fully committed to the movement until the very last possible opportunity to break away.
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They both end up on the floor, Sherlock on her back, Bryce straddling her and pinning her wrists.
The whole thing has taken the space of a few breaths.
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"Did somebody send you?"
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"Nothing and no one but my own curiosity."
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"Satisfied?"
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She is completely relaxed, not a hint of stress or struggle, as though she chose to be pinned here and chooses to remain. In a sense, both are true.
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Still watching her closely, Bryce rolls off of her and releases her wrists, clearly poised to counter-attack again if necessary.
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