Sorry Deadlock, not likely to happen. Unless you scuff her up and add some dents but that requires more of that being nearby and touching stuff unfortunately.

Flashpoint can almost feel the air thicken between them as the moment stretches on, the potential for violence hanging in the palpable space between them. Their systems make a discordant chorus of sounds, poised and uncertain, the moment stretching just past awkward before he releases her.

He seems to pass some kind of test though, because she relaxes and her optics flick back down to the datapad, systems making a shivery ex-vent that's not exactly born of relief. The tension is of a different sort now: she's resisting the sudden urge to follow the draw of that wild EM field as he pulls away, to crush herself against it and be burned by his fire, to feel alive again in that sweet pain.

Flashpoint swallows roughly, her own EM disrupted now, the husky hitch in voice hopefully explained by the still tingling press of his palmplates that's a hot memory on her throat.

"I was a mod technician. Did upgrades and rebuilds. ... Never made the grade for medic." It's a little piece of her history, offered like a strange sort of gift, left out there for him to take or leave. "That was a long time ago though."