The room is dark, with the only light source being an ancient lamp suspended from the ceiling. The bulb flickers every few seconds, shadowing the forms of the two people sat on separate sides of a wooden table.
On one side sits a man. His body is stiff and he holds a sort of self-importance in his stature: straight-backed and with a tilted head so that his jaw line is clearly defined by even the dull beam of light that shines over his head. He wears thick rectangular frames and pauses in the scrutiny of his company to push them up the bridge of his nose with the tip of his forefinger. He is a soldier in every way: proud and arrogant and recklessly brave. The other person knows all this, and more.
On the other end of the table is the man's opposite. She – for when she speaks, the pitch of her voice is high enough so that you can appreciate her gender – is seated casually, slumping slightly in her chair, her two booted feet placed precariously on the edge of the table. Half of her face is shrouded in a black material and it covers her head, too. Only a few wisps of red hair coming from her headscarf are illuminated. Her eyes are visible, bright inquisitive green orbs that scan the man in front of her as if she knows exactly what he is thinking.
Behind the dark fabric, her mouth opens. "So," she begins, her voice like a harsh bullet tearing through the almost tangible silence, "You're offering how much, exactly?"
The man cocks an eyebrow. "Miss Evans –" He starts, but is interrupted.
"Lily." She puts in, "Just Lily. There is no 'Miss Evans', General Potter, I've told you that already."
He inclines his head. "As you wish. I'm not offering you money, Lily. I'm offering you safety."
Her eyes crinkle and he knows that she is hiding a wry smile behind her scarf. She lets out a mirthless laugh. "Ah, General," Lily says acerbically, "How could you possibly ensure my safety? I have survived many years without the help of you and your so-called army. Do not think that the new turn the war has taken is changing that."
"That's James, to you," He replies, and across his lips a smirk unfurls, stretching until he says, "And I am not offering you safety in the form of men. I'm thinking safety in anonymity, Miss Evans."
She knows he's said it to irritate her, so she doesn't mention the use of her surname again. Instead, her brow puckers and against her own will, she inquires, "How so?"
"I have experienced hackers, Lily Evans. They've found your identity, and if we could do it, so can the other side. I can tell you every single little thing you've ever wanted to hide. I know your past, and I'm willing to obliterate it – if, and only if, you work with me."
"For you, you mean." She sends him a flat look.
"With me. Co-workers, if you will." A dimple appears in James' right cheek. Lily narrows her eyes.
"Not how it works, Potter," She mutters with a heavy sigh. Then, "Just how much do you know?" She hides her nerves behind a glare.
He exhales noisily and leans back in the crooked chair, moving his hands to his messy hair so that they support his head. "I do wish you'd listen when I threaten you, Miss Evans. To put it simply: I know about your family. I know where they live. I know where you were educated, where you learnt to fight, who you first killed. I know about Snape, Miss Evans, every last detail –"
He breaks off at her snarl. Lily is blooming a bright shade of crimson, fury glinting in her eyes and James can tell that behind her mask, her teeth are gritted. In a swift motion, she stands. Her hand is on the handle of her gun, and momentarily, James doubts his previous decision not to disarm her.
Slowly, she stalks towards him, moving around the table like a lion on the hunt. Disguising his apprehension, James rises from his chair and faces her. They are chest to head, her line of sight focused on his medals. She tilts her head up and her eyes narrow at him dangerously, daring him to step a toe out of line.
He looks down at her and smiles lazily. When he speaks, it is easy-going and almost inaudible, and his breath fans over her face. She does not flinch. "Are you going to kill me, Miss Evans?"
There is a pause as she considers his words. Leisurely, her right hand moves from her tight grip on her gun and instead, she pokes her forefinger sharply at his sternum.
Unblinkingly, she shakes her head, refusing to break eye contact. "I will accept your offer, General Potter." She says, and James feels a little relief run through him. He is not afraid of Lily Evans, but he is in awe of what she can do.
"Good." He whispers, the sound travelling around the room and echoing in her ears. He lifts a calloused hand and it hovers between their bodies, a symbol of the deal she has agreed to.
Firmly, she shakes his hand. His is larger than hers, much larger, but no stronger. In a fight, Lily supposes that they would probably be equally matched. She slips a finger down to his wrist and becomes hyperaware of his increasing pulse. A moment passes and she releases her grip – or does he? – and slowly, she removes the scarf from around her neck and head. The material floats to the ground.
Lily moves her hair, which is held together in a long, wavy ponytail, over her shoulder. For the first time, she smiles at James, albeit with an air of defiance. He returns it, a cocky smirk again gracing his features, although he is rather stunned by this sudden reveal of her good looks.
"Colleagues, then?" He suggests.
She smiles devilishly and he knows that he should not trust her, but he can't help but fall for her daring magnetism.
"I'm a mercenary, James Potter. If I get a better offer elsewhere, I will take it." She taps his chest again, softer this time. Playfully, but still with that edge of a threat: "You'd best remember that."
