Phillip Graves loved heading home after jobs. The shift from dry air recirculating air of the plane to the moisturizing soup that passed for oxygen in the south east of Texas was the first sign he could relax.

The second sign often was his sister's incessant calls to his phone as she circled the airport waiting for him. Lillian hated waiting for her little brother. She complained he took an excessive amount of time to escape the airport despite him never checking a bag and having the skills and leg length to stride past hordes of others attempt to escape the liminal hell that is the airport.

If ever you meet a powerful man and want to be reminded he is no more than a man, you should see him with his family. They do not care if their brother can topple governments. He is just a person who flinches when his sister points a wooden spoon at him too aggressively. He can't forget the times it connected before.

The third sign that Phil had arrived home was the smell of BBQ drifting into his nose. The owner of the food truck had found a perfect spot to set up three times a week; the parking lot of a local gym. Stupidly smart businessmen.

Phil could hold himself back from many things. Fall off the bone ribs after a hearty work out could never be one of those things.

He has noticed you inside the gym. Of course he did, it was his job to notice. You were strongly built, a feast for his eyes.

Phil had learned dainty was never going to pull him in quite like the ability for a woman to lay him out if he mouthed off. Or tie him down and edge him to hell, whatever her prerogative happened to be. Mmm his last girlfriend hadn't been interested in strapping him to the bed and fucking him within and inch of his life. Yeah, that's what he needed on this leave—days without leaving the bedroom and a woman who would fuck him like she hated him.

Simon didn’t go to this gym. He was thinking about using it, but it wasn’t his current gym. Leave sucked. He didn’t have fun things or family to fill his time. Only doing physio. His sergeants had cajoled him into trying when he complained that he had to wait for weights at the gym closer to him that had machines and treadmills and stairs and the like.

The space had been designed with lifters in mind. Benches dotted the space, they had more than a single bar, and rack and racks of different types of weights. Simon wouldn’t admit it in front of Johnny and Kyle but he might come back. His eyes flitted over everyone. The space had variety. From muscle mommies to college gym rats to retired folks trying to lift away the reaper the space had room for everyone.

Sounds traveled in the open room. Not really a problem since everyone used headphones or used voices only loud enough to carry over the clicks and thumps of weights. Except nearing on twenty minutes ago now there had been an argument in the corner.

You and a man who had tried to intimidate you with the muscle mass he had amassed drew eyes. Whatever cutting words you used had stung. He left. You returned to your workout; lifts more aggressive than before.

Now, Simon didn’t mean to interact with you. He never really means to interact with women he isn’t paying but it happens.

Having finished his reps Simon set his weight down. The cleaning solution and towels lived in a central location on, what he assumed, was a structure supporting pole in the middle of the space. Standing, he heads for it.

John rubbed tiredly at his face. His feet pressed in turn to the rotating belt of the treadmill. He did not want to be here.

Base doc told him he wouldn't be getting clearance to go back on jobs until he got is cholesterol down. He, wisely, did not question how his cholesterol could be high when the only things he consumed were cigars, toast, and coffee.

Having tried the base gym a few times he found it...full of distractions.

If he could be found on base he had everyone, including the devil, showing up at his side. If it wasn't questions, it was paperwork. He fucking hated paperwork.

Gym etiquette said to, when possible, leave a machine open between you and the next person over on treadmills. You had already been on a machine when he arrived. John walked with no music. Oppositely you jived and mouthed along with whatever you were listening to. He appreciated that you didn't sing as you walked. Soap's of kilter voice drifting from the showers was more than enough.

John lifted a brow at the young man who stepped onto the machine between you and him. The man didn't spare him a glance. John shrugged. He maintained his pace, eyes fixed on the news. Damn he should start bringing his glasses. Those subtitles were stretching his limits of vision.

"Come on, just talk to me already!"

The man beside him shouted. John turned in time to see the man hit the off button and step off the treadmill. Glancing at you he his concern rises. Tight jaw, nose flaring wide as you suck in breaths, and white knuckles gripping the arms of the machine tell him a lot.

When the man appears before your treadmill John is already reaching for his off button. He's a bastard. His ex-wives agreed on that, but this was unacceptable behavior.

You surprise both men when you rip your headphones off.

"I know you don't listen to your mother either, but let's see if your kindergarten teacher was right about you being a good student." A look of disgust adds sting to the words you whip at the man. "If a woman is ignoring you, she's busy. When a woman gives you a closed mouth smile after you attempt to flirt she is uncomfortable but won't say so because she doesn't want to be raped or murdered in the next alley over. Now unless you have something of value to provide to society as a whole, you will get out my face."

All that said without you missing a step.