Chapter Text
For the last five weeks, Zoya had been unable to get the chief of MBCC alone. The frustration was growing, building up from a small ember into a blaze within Zoya. Every mission with Chief would involve other Sinners tagging along. Invitations to eat together didn’t work since the woman was skipping her meals. Stopping Chief outside and inside her office for a chat was always accompanied by her adjutant. What was Nightingale? Chief’s shadow that was literally stuck to her? She didn’t have to be so protective. It wasn’t like Chief was going to get kidnapped at MBCC… Unable to sleep, Zoya turned over in the bed of her cold cell. Okay, maybe it could happen. It was Chief after all. Catnip to kidnappers.
Zoya sighed, sat up, and reached for her prisoner jacket hanging over the back of a chair. She hated it. Red. Blacks and purples were more her style. The small digital clock on her bedside table showed 5:57am. Three more minutes. Three more minutes and the training rooms would be accessible to the Sinners. She really needed to punch something.
#
All but one of the training areas were empty. The sound of someone kicking the shit out of a punching bag emanated from the room at the far end of the corridor. It was definitely kicks and not punches since the only person who made a habit of training so early was Cinnabar. She’d be perfect for a bout of sparring. Zoya considered it for half a second before stepping through the sliding doors to an empty room. She wanted to be alone for a bit. Cracking her knuckles, she stalked over to the closest punching bag in a row of many.
It was perhaps an hour or two later, after Zoya worked up a sweat, that she heard Chief’s voice greet her good morning. Zoya wasn’t surprised. She’d heard the doors open, footsteps from behind, before Chief neared. She’d even had a gut feeling telling her it was Chief. The annoyance Zoya had been experiencing made her thrust her fist out with extra force, slamming into the punching bag with the sound of a gunshot. The bag flew backwards, ripping part of the ceiling off by the attached chain. Laying in a small dust cloud was the torn up bag with its sand and cloth stuffing sprayed over the floor.
Zoya ran a hand through her hair and turned to Chief. ‘Morning.’
‘Wonderful greeting that,’ Chief said, eyeing the damage. ‘I came to do a quick inspection only to find you breaking things. Please don’t destroy equipment. The financial situation here isn’t what I’d call fantastic. Finance has been a nightmare to deal with, and I don’t want to have to explain to them why the Sinners keep misbehaving.’
‘If you need punching bags, Legion can offer you plenty for free.’
‘That’s not the problem. I need you to show some restraint, Zoya. So they know you’re in full control of yourself and your powers.’
‘I am in control. Well, you’ve shackled me, so maybe you’re the one in control.’
‘That’s not what the shackles are–’
Zoya waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Forget it.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Chief asked, folding her arms.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re acting strange. Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?’
It’s not like I can tell you that I’m pissed off, because you’re always busy, Zoya thought. Me, Legion, Zoya annoyed that I’m not getting your undivided attention. How ridiculous does that sound? Pathetic. Weak. Zoya sighed. ‘I need a sparring partner.’
‘Cinnabar’s–’
‘Spar with me.’
Chief raised a brow. ‘I don’t want to die.’
‘I’m not going to kill you.’
Chief nodded at the destroyed punching bag.
‘I’ll go easy.’
‘One hand, non-dominant?’
‘How about no hands? And I’ll even just stand still.’
‘Zoya, that’s not sparring. That’s just turning yourself into a punching bag. You do know that if you’re a masochist, you could just look for Macchiato, right? I’m sure she’s–’
There was a dull throb in Zoya’s temples as she shot Chief a glare. ‘I’m not a masochist.’
Chief gave her a blank stare.
This woman was insane to think that Zoya was a masochist. Although… maybe loving Chief was a little masochistic with how impossible the woman was. Zoya just wanted to spend some time with her, alone. They were doing that right now, but they weren’t exactly doing anything together. Chief had received plenty of invites not just from Zoya herself but other Sinners and MBCC staff. Yet Chief had been oblivious to the motives of the people around her. How could she be so dense? The chief of MBCC was supposed to be smart and discerning, right?
Chief continued to stare, and Zoya felt herself die a little inside. ‘I’m not a masochist,’ she repeated, folding her arms to mirror Chief’s pose.
Silence. Then, Chief chuckled. ‘You’re so serious. I was just joking.’
Zoya shook her head to herself. Why do I like this woman again?
‘But you know that if you are, it’s okay, right?’ Chief continued. ‘I won’t judge. Much.’
Right. Zoya liked Chief because she was exactly like this. Do I have piss-poor taste in women or fantastic taste? I can’t tell.
Slipping out of her long grey coat, Chief folded it and put it aside. ‘I’m not sure if I can spar with you, but I can do a little bit of morning exercise or something.’
‘Sure.’ Zoya smiled. ‘Let’s–’
‘HEEEY FUCKEEERS!’ Hella skipped into the room. She froze from Zoya’s glare. ‘Uh… I thought it was just Chief and Ninety–are you guys, like, in the middle of something?’
‘No,’ Chief said. ‘We’re just getting some exercise in. Why are you so early for once?’
‘Got hungry, and I’m looking for Ninety-Nine. Guards said she wasn’t in her cell.’ Hella flicked her eyes between Zoya and Chief as if they’d been doing something suspicious. ‘You sure this isn’t some secret meeting or something? I’m getting weird vibes from you both.’
Chief glanced at Zoya. ‘No, no. Why would we do that here where anyone could barge in?’
‘Huh… Okay… Well, I’m gonna dip!’
Good, Zoya thought, relieved that she would have some more alone time with Chief.
The doors opened, and Ninety-Nine stepped through with Demon and Demolia.
‘Wait,’ Hella said. ‘I guess I’m staying for a bit.’
Perfect, Zoya thought, exhaling a deep breath. Fucking perfect. Energy pulsed through her. She struck out at another punching bag. All eyes in the training room darted to her and the equipment obliterated to smithereens.
‘Could someone spar with her?’ Chief asked, taking a step back from Zoya and the purple lightning that crackled off her skin. ‘We really can’t afford to replace things every single day.’