I really wasn't expecting to update this often.

If anyone's interested, I have a fanmix I've made for this 'fic. PM me for details.

-Chapter Three-

It took every ounce of her willpower to appear calm and collected during the meeting with the admiral. She was all-too-aware of John, even though she had put the desk between them. It was difficult to concentrate on the discussion between the two men, though their obvious tension did keep her mind from drifting too far afield.

Marcus was pleased with the design of the torpedo. "Get it put into production, as many as our guys can produce. And get back to the Vengeance, I want it ready by the beginning of the year."

John's grey eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Yes, Admiral."

Marcus took his leave, without even looking at Anthea.

"That man is so irritating," she said, after he'd gone. "So imperious. And with obviously no clue what it takes to do what he wants."

"The men in command rarely do." He rolled up the torpedo plans and stuffed them in a plastic tube. Sighing, he braced his hands on the desk's gleaming surface. Though he was normally rock-steady, his hands trembled just a bit.

"You can kill him later," she joked. "Experimental warp core inspection in Terminal B."

"Yes, yes. Thank you."

She followed him across the complex to Terminal B, where a team of engineers were building a core to be put into the USS Vengeance. Anthea didn't know how they'd test it here, or how they knew that it wouldn't blow the ship to itty bits the first time they brought it online. That was why she was an administrative assistant, and John was the brains.

The inspection didn't take long. Mostly, he checked to see that they were on-schedule with the build.

"How long did you say I'm free 'til?" he asked, as they walked back to his office.

"1400."

"Cancel it. I want the rest of the day free. If I do not have a break, I will kill something."

Anthea made a few notes on her PADD, pushed a notice through to the relevant parties. "Done. What now?"

"Now, we get out of here."

He donned his long, dark coat and led Anthea to a building not far from the archive. It was older, and the flats inside were small and rather spare. His was no different; the walls were pale grey, the carpet a shade darker. The windows didn't open and the view was dismal.

"This is where you live?" she asked. "Good heavens, no wonder you're at work all the time. I would be, too, if I had to live here."

"It is what Starfleet pays for. I do nothing here more than sleep."

"Right. This place makes me depressed. We're going somewhere else."

He arched a brow. "Where? We require privacy. This is suitable."

Anthea scoffed. "Hardly. C'mon. My place. Now."

Her own home was on the other side of the city, located in a centuries-old section of brownstones and walk-up flats. Anthea owned an end unit with a view of a little park. It was three floors, narrow, with a few modern conveniences installed; but for the most part, it was as originally built in the 1800s.

"This . . . is charming," John said, as she led him into the foyer. He ran a hand over the red paint on the front door. "Actual doors. Wood flooring. No turbolift?"

"Nope. I get around the old-fashioned way. C'mon, I'll give you a tour."

The first floor consisted of a parlour, a teensy guest bath under the stairs, the dining room, and a kitchen with an attached conservatory that extended into the small back garden. On the second floor, another bath, her study, and two small guest bedrooms. The top floor, not counting the little attic, was the master bedroom and bath, and a balconied terrace that offered a view of the London skyline.

The difference between their residences seemed a galaxy apart.

"This is a wonderful retreat," he commented, as they settled in the study.

"Thanks. It's a bit to keep up, since it's so old, but I enjoy it." She sat sideways on the sofa, facing him. "So . . ."

"So." His light eyes searched her face. "I hope you don't think I was out of line this morning. That was something I have resisted for some time."

"Was it? I know that, technically speaking, workplace romance is forbidden by Starfleet protocol, especially since you're my supervisor, but . . ."

John made a small noise of amusement. "Your employment hardly hinges on me. As two consenting adults, I hardly think it anyone's business but our own what we do."

She licked her lips. "So you . . . have intentions of pursuing . . . this?"

"I have thought of little else since last night, Anthea."

She had to smile. "I thought it was just me."

"No. It is not just you. I admire you a great deal." He shifted on the sofa and caught her hands, pulled her effortless into his lap. "You are beautiful, Thea, not just in body but in mind."

"No need for flattery," she whispered.

"Mm. You're right."

He lowered his mouth to hers.

After lunch, in the spirit of taking the rest of the day to goof off, Anthea talked John into going for a ride on the London Eye, which had been built in 1999 and was, miraculously, still standing and operational. He'd confessed he had never been on it before, so she dragged him into one of the large cars and they rode to the top.

"Seems a bit silly, I know, since there are such larger wheels around the world, but I've always been fond of this one. It's the oldest standing Ferris wheel in the world, you know."

"I had not paid any attention," he told her. Gesturing out the glass before them, he said, "You can see where the archive is from here."

"Hey, you can! Good eye."

Towards evening, she observed, "You don't get out much."

"My work is my life, unfortunately."

"Let's go out and do something, then."

"Do what?"

"I dunno. Dancing. Dinner. Something."

He eyed her skeptically. "I am not one for dancing."

"Bet I can make you."

John gave her a faint smile. "You're going to hound me until I accept, are you not?"

"You are smart."

For their first official date, Anthea wore a dark-blue-and-gold jacquard top, paired with a gold-sequined miniskirt that Lindy had insisted she buy, one she'd never worn. It showed off a lot more leg than she was used to.

When John came to pick her up, he'd changed into black trousers-big surprise-and a collarless grey shirt that shimmered slightly in the light.

"Is everything in your wardrobe shades of black and grey?" she asked.

"For the present."

"Remind me to buy you something really bright for your birthday."

"As long as it isn't eye-hurting yellow like that woman over there is wearing."

Anthea looked over and winced. Eye-hurting was right.

They went to dinner, but she didn't get him talked into dancing. When he dropped her off at her brownstone, she said, "One of these days, Commander, I'm going to get you on the dance floor."

"You can try," he purred.

"I'll give it my best. Sure I can't invite you in for coffee?"

"Another time," he promised. "I have to get back and catch up a bit, since I took today off."

"Okay." She rocked up on her toes and kissed him. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Good night, Thea."