The Liechtensteininian was a pain.
(Was it even "Liechtensteininian"? Maybe it was "Liechtensteinite" or "Liechtenstine". She was irrationally angry at him for being from a country that was so difficult to pronounce, as if he had endeavored to be born there solely out of spite).
Training had officially ended an hour ago. The other agents had disappeared into their locker rooms, and then to the pubs. She didn't join them because she wanted to put in extra effort; every day was its own competition and she knew that as a woman, she couldn't lose, not even once, or else she'd be written off. When Minerva had written her cover letter, she had warned her: "In the career you are pursuing, a man who fails is having bad luck; a woman who fails is a failure". As always, Minerve had been correct, and Hermione worked twice as hard to be taken half as seriously.
The other factor, of course, was that there was only one locker room, which she hated using with them, and that she was not invited to the pub with them. She was disappointed but not altogether surprised by the amount of subtle sexism in the agency. It was easier to just stay in the gym and keep working out.
Liechtenstein frequently ruined that. He didn't actually say anything - he hardly spoke to anyone in fact, not just her- but he had a very stupid, smug face. They all did, actually - smug, handsome faces, because they knew they were handsome and fit and smart and had been told that since they were in diapers and their primary achievement was making it to the toilet.
So without any verbal evidence, she had a deep-seated suspicion that he was staying to show her up, and put her in her place, and remind her that she could stay an extra hour but he could stay an extra two, and that he would always be the strong alpha male who could have gone to the Olympics for rugby when he was 17 and instead chose to pursue traditional academics and eventually found himself in the EU Security Committee. (She did not know this from personal research but because the other agents teased him relentlessly about it because they were all secretly jealous. She had almost looked him up but didn't want to give him the satisfaction, although she never would have told him either way).
"Vould you spot me?" He asked, and she suddenly realized she had lost count of how many leg lifts she had just done.
"I'm almost done with this set, just a second," she said, trying to sound cool and not at all flustered but also refusing to help him the second he asked on principle.
He drank some water while he waited and they avoided eye contact while she did 12 more which felt like the appropriate arbitrary number to seem that she had been in the middle of a set.
He already had his bar set up and so she just stood awkwardly over him. She actually hated spotting. She knew it was necessary for safety of whatever, but the other agents had taken their music off the speaker when they left, so she was just standing six inches from him in relative silence, listening to him grunt and pant, smelling his sweat, and trying to avoid eye contact but also be vigilant enough to make sure he didn't die.
He did his set and then offered to spot her in return and no she didn't want to but she also couldn't figure out if it would be worse if she passed or if she did but had to adjust the weight… by a lot. Either way, he had won.
"No, I think I'm done for the night," she deferred. "Unless you want me to spot you on anything else before I head out."
"No, but tank you," he replied. "You haf a good work ethic," he added awkwardly. He seemed genuine, and not like he was being sarcastic or making fun of her because she was leaving before him, and she didn't want to be an asshole and probably it was awkward partially because English was not his first language, and thinking he was an asshole because of that was xenophobic, but it just was awkward.
"Oh, well, thank you," she said, trying not to blush. How he managed to fluster her so often with so few words was honestly impressively. She tried not to think about it as she left.
This idea came to me very vividly in a dream last night. I don't really have time to write, so obviously I will anyway, but I am giving myself 500-700 words per chapter, so each one is barely a scene. I may also change the title and summary but I didn't want to give too much away about some very interesting developments yet to come.