"If that's how you feel about it," Teisel said, with false nonchalance, "I certainly won't cry over losing an ally like you, turncoat." He snickered. "Don't play dumb. Or, well, dumber. You know what I meant."

For as flinchy as Van was (and seeing him cringe when he'd been faked out had been satisfying), the commander was really shit at dodging. The blow didn't land square, but it hit the side of Van's face hard enough to leave an ache in Teisel's knuckles. That felt damn good.

Shaking his arm out, Teisel plastered a manic grin on his face. Any nurse that caught sight of them would hopefully see a smile and assume they were sparring, because he wasn't ready to stop yet. Oh, no. This had been building up all week, every moment of helplessness, of confusion-- six days' worth of frustration was going to work itself out on this son of a bitch. "That all you can do, Mr. Military?" A thready giggle slipped past his teeth, high-pitched and nasty.

If Van didn't get serious, he was going to get hurt.