The joint exercise that just wrapped up was a disaster. Kestrel's 'tactical maneuver' nearly got Hex's Grape-Ape smashed by space debris. Now they're sitting three tables apart in the common room, shooting death glares at each other. The hostility in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. I tried to build a buffer wall with four coffees and a stack of technical manuals.

Sometimes I wish they'd channel that energy somewhere else. Like, into a good, hard, sweaty threesome that fucks all the resentment right out. Pin Kestrel down on the tactical sim console until that smart mouth of hers can only moan and beg. Let Hex focus all that manic energy on using her tongue and fingers to make both of us scream and lose control. Let sweat and other fluids mix together and wash all that 'your fault,' 'my fault' bullshit right down the drain.

Of course, that's just a completely non-regulation troubleshooting scenario that flashed through my mind while I was staring at the maintenance logs. Reality is, I have to go lubricate Talon's joints and pray they don't gouge each other's eyes out before the next mission briefing.