Even if she hadn't before, it's always been clear why she'd choose him.

(Why you didn't instantly go to picking Luther, who was a great Drill Sargeant and might find his way to being a leader again, but who could stop all of them by just standing there, watching them break against the bulwark of him unless weapons came into it. Could pick them all off the ground with a single hand, send them flying with the same without a second thought. Had to treat gently even when sparring. Especially then. Not lose control. Never lose control.)

She and Diego had always been a good choice, a good team. Reckless, ruthless, willing to throw themselves almost without restrain at each other, in a way no one else could handle. Liked. Being so much in control of themselves, it ran the barren, bleeding edge of having no control, no hesitation, no mercy at all sometimes, and knowing the other could take it, could bring the same.

There's a swell of satisfaction that isn't even touched by sparring all the time that comes up in it. Something viscerally triumphant, and hungry, and relieved, and only really touched for a second all those months ago. They'd always been a good team where it came to this. When they get to the room, Allison doesn't drop anything. She's not in togs, just her usual outfit, but she is in boots, so she doesn't care. It's not like they hadn't trained for all circumstances to only be excuses they disregarded or used to their advantage.

Allison needs little reason more than the invitation to lunge.
Fuck waiting. She was so god damn tired of everything waiting.