Blowing off steam [open]

There were days when it felt like the walls would collapse in on her. Days when she felt so suffocated by life she couldn't breathe anymore. Being around people just made it worse--more like forcing herself to be around people made it worse.

It was days like this that made her feel like picking a direction and vanishing into the sea of people that made up the world's population. She could disappear very easily, if she wanted to. She even still had her "go-bag" locked safely away in her room. All it would take was a trip down the hall, an exit of the base, and Sarah Yadin would never be seen again.

Tempting.

Sarah took a deep breath in and wrapped her hands.

And where would she go? She had no one except Elijah. He'd probably find her quickly and drag her back. She didn't really have an interest in anywhere in particular. Maybe once she'd dreamed of retirement in a nice vineyard either in California or Greece--somewhere quiet where she could spend her days in peace.

Like that would ever happen.

Reality was that even if she lived to retirement in Mossad she would probably either die of a heart attack from all the years of paranoia, or one of her enemies would find her little sanctuary.

Reality was cruel.

So this was probably as good as anything she could hope for. She supposed it could be worse.

Sarah finished with her hands and then took to the mats for her before-dawn Ti Chi stretching.

She might look quiet and introspective, but on the inside she was screaming.

As per usual, Jonathan was awake before most of the base, besides those who were supposed to be awake. Mostly a combination of PTSD induced insomnia and the inability to sleep in the almost complete silence of the base. Generally he founded most silence to be unnerving and nearly deafening. No sounds in the wilderness usually meant something was about to happen.

Instead of bottling up the effects his 'ailment' had on him like usual, Jonathan decided to work it all out in the gym with his Marine Corps workout routine and maybe a run through level 21 to work up a good sweat. As he arrived in the spacious room devoted to the Gym with his workout bag, he noticed the Middle Easterner that had a serious attitude problem that he met on his first mission doing what he guessed was probably Tai Chi, though he only had movies as a references.

He walked quietly to where a set of benches lined the wall before dropping his bag to the floor, probably loud enough to disturb Sarah. He gave Sarah a quick smile before raising his hand and apologizing to her for the disturbance. Then without another thought to the disturbance he may or may not have caused, he unzipped the dufflebag before pulling out a ballistic vest, tactical gloves, and a kevlar helmet. The bag was far from empty as he zipped it closed. Normally he would do the workout without his combat gear but he felt like possibly getting a heatstroke from the workout. Of course the ballistic vest wasn't like the one he war in Afghanistan and Iran but it would have to do.

After putting everything on, and making sure his boots were tied, Jonathan went to the heavy bag. He gave it a few playful punches before getting his routine going. He started out with simple three hit combinations. Without a sparring partner he wouldn't be able to practice any of his MCMAP.

Sarah jumped slightly at the bag being tossed on the ground. The Marine was lucky. If it had been only a month earlier she likely would have ripped his spleen out his eyeballs. But she was much better with being startled now.

She slipped effortlessly into her own brand of yoga and smiled with slight bemusement at the heavy training. She trained with hardcore military types before. She'd been one--of a sort. She'd always found equipment burdensome. It could be because she had such a lithe frame. It had its uses, and she certainly wouldn't want to be in a war zone without it.

She'd had a few days to come down from the post mission hype--and the meat grilling Crichton had given her. Sarah knew she deserved it and she knew why.

"Marine."

She didn't remember the man's name, but she wanted to do this all the same. She wasn't naturally a bitch, it was just the face she'd had to use to survive in that particular situation.

Sarah had gone out too soon, and she knew it--but mistakes were mistakes and she'd already answered for them.

"I don't play well with others--but you did good out there. Todah."

Yeah, now she felt awkward.

She never used to go shy.

Sarah put her attention back into her yoga stretch pulling her left leg over her shoulder and resting in a position meant for cats not humans.

The sound of his hands thudding against the heavy bag was all that Jonathan heard until he heard a voice at the back of his head. At first he thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown right there on the spot until he realized that it was the woman that looked Middle Eastern. After recognizing her voice he turned to her and listened to what she had to say.

She definitely didn't have the attitude of most military personnel that he'd ever seen. Even the rebels he helped train in Iran never got mouthy with the Americans or their officers.

"You did good too, miss. Seems like you know how to handle yourself in the field."

It took Jonathan only a second to realize that Sarah probably didn't want to talk anymore so he turned back to his heavy bag training. He took a couple more swings at the bag before catching it with both hands and turning his head towards Sarah.

"So what are, miss? From what I can tell you seem like a spook. MI6 or CIA."

Sarah rolled out of her stretch and lay back on the mat, a soft smile on her lips.

"Me, CIA? No."

She arched herself into a bridge and then a slow flip, landing with Olympic grace.

Her head inclined toward him in greeting, though she made no move to shake his hand.

"Sarah Yadin--Israeli Mossad."

She sat cross-legged on the mat and started to wrap her feet for kickboxing.

It was kind of strange being in a place where she could tell people who she really was. Before now only family could know her profession, and that only because hers was a family of spies. Her mother knew she was Mossad simply because she herself had been in the Soviet resistance, and the Nazi resistance before that. She couldn't lie to her mother. Her uncle knew because he was her boss. Her brother knew because he'd chosen the same path. Her father knew because he knew everything, whether she wanted him to or not.

She pulled the wrappings tight, got up, and walked over to the hanging bag.