Spilling Guts

Part 67 - Throwing Punches

At Louis' insistence, Will went first.

Probably stalling because he doesn't like BTs. Will stepped in and closed the door, the scanning wands under the chamber's surface vibrated the air. He waved his free hand to Louis and Rachel in the observation room.

It had been a while since he'd encountered a punching bag. Self defense lessons with Megan and Teegan consisted mostly of hack, push, kick, and run. But he had enough emotional fuel for a few good punches.

Especially after the "Billy incident".

Will startled as a black, white, and yellow clapper in front of the cameras snapped shut. Rachel's voice came over the speaker wired into the BT-10 chamber. "Test round one, Agent Rowe, six punches, go."

My pleasure.

Will shifted his left foot forward, lifted his glove-clad right arm, pulled back, and then let loose towards the bull's-eye on the plate.

Boong!

Instead of a delicate tink of bell being struck, the pressure plate clanged under his punch, like a bell ringer on their first day unsure of how hard to pull the rope. Even without a baseline Will knew he hadn't done his best.

"1,828 newtons," said the automated voice.

I was off, reaching too far. Like the first time I punched Louis; a glancing blow. Will inched a bit closer, and again-

Boong!

"1,996 newtons."

Better. Straighten up. Put something behind that punch. Billy.

Boong!

"2,088 newtons."

I'm not going punch Beni and Reese. They got "clever" with my desk. I'll have to be clever back.

Boong!

"2,162 newtons."

And after I bought them doughnuts.

Boong!

"2,299 newtons."

Seriously. Billy the Kid?

Boong!

"2,271 newtons."

They deserve a special kind of punishment.

Boong!

"2,139 newtons."

After the first few punches, Will had gotten a rhythm. Swing, pull, let his fist fly. But even with the cushioning of the glove and the impact dispersed along his arm instead of focused on his fist, Will felt fatigued.

Or you're still tired.

Sweat dampened the back of Will's neck and he let the gloved arm fall like a dead weight to his side. "That enough?"

"That'll do," said Rachel. "How does the glove feel."

Will ripped the Velcro strap and slipped his hand out. His forearm ached, bones vibrating like a chime. "My palm stings a bit. Too much and I might rub it raw. But my knuckles are fine."

"Good to know. I'll set aside an ice pack just in case. Reset for round two. Louis."

Louis jerked up from contemplating the glove on his left hand. "Hm?"

"You're up. Put in the Sprecht."

Will and Louis switched places; Will resting in the observation room while Louis stepped into the BT chamber like a cat avoiding a bath.

Rachel pushed a button at the clapper in front of the camera snapped down. "Test round two. Agent Patriarch. Six punches. Go."

Looking frustrated, agitated, and just plain uncomfortable, Louis swung and hit the plate with a muffled knell. Will whistled at the data readout.

Boong!

"2,309 newtons."

Louis pulled back again and Will focused more on his partner's form than the data readout. The graceful rise of the shoulder, turn of the torso, and slight bend at the knee as the glove hit the plate. Louis had far more practice at punching; the ringing and the numbers evidence to experience.

Boong!

"2,421 newtons."

Imagine that fist going against a face.

A rolling ache went through his belly; a gurgle of hunger. The edges of Will's vision darkened; and for a moment he could imagine that punch coming towards him. Splitting flesh, rending skin apart. The same kind of punch that nearly laid him low in an alley in San Francisco.

Will jolted back to reality with the next bang of the pressure plate.

Boong!

"2,478 newtons."

"That loud?" asked Rachel.

"A bit," admitted Will. "I'll be fine."

Boong!

"2,560 newtons."

Boxing as a gentleman's sport indeed.

Boong!

"2,625 newtons."

Wow, okay, got it. You can punch better than me. Tone it down a bit.

The view from the observation room consisted of the one pane of thick glass, and four cameras focused on different parts of the person punching at the plate. When Louis punched, his muscles stretched the material of the jumpsuit at the shoulders and ass. The godly shoulder to hip ratio.

Boong!

"2,749 newtons."

I really need to think of something else, especially with my tired mind wandering where it shouldn't. Focus on the next part of the test so we can get it over with sooner.

Yes, focus on the fact that in a few minutes you are going to swallow that godly shoulder to hip ratio.

A blush heated Will's cheeks better than hot tea. His mouth went dry as his hand inched closer to his abdomen.

...okay this physical infatuation needs to stop. I'll bring it up with Balcuwitz next session.

So Will ignored the rising numbers being called out and fiddled with the SkySprecht until Rachel called for the next reset.