"Get upstairs," Hera snapped as she ran past him and turned off the light in the hallway. After having worked together for three years, Alex knew her every movement, her slight sighs and gentle giveaways, so he waited for her to look over her shoulder and nod to him.

After checking that the hallway was clear, and looking across the hall to see that none of her security alarms had gone off, the girl in the thin linen dress turned her head to face her ex-partner and nodded.

Alex ran ahead of Hera and took the stairs two at a time. As he made his way up the cream, spiral staircase, he glanced, in glass frames, pictures of Hera as a child. A picture of her and her mother in bathing suits, Hera had grown up to look like her…tall and slim, with those shocking eyes and chocolate hair. The only difference was Hera's skin colour. Bright blue eyes flashed past him and the old spy felt disgusted with himself that he was getting out of breath. He approached a landing and jumped out of the way in time for Hera to sprint past.

"Third door on the right." Hera pointed down a dimly lit corridor and Alex followed her directions. He glanced back to see her pull a painting away from the wall, like a door, to reveal a safe. She must have had weapons planted throughout the entire house and, holding her sheet to her body, she typed in the code to the safe which swung open to reveal her weapons rack. Alex looked away, he found it a strange sight; she looked so delicate and elegant in her white bed sheet and mess of chocolate hair, seeing her with a blade in her hands seem to ruin the picture.

The boy with the blonde hair sneaked through the hallway seemingly unnoticed; checking every room as he went. Eventually he came across the third door and peered around the corner.

"Jesus," he whispered and lightly hit the back of his head against the door frame as the feeling of utter awkwardness rose up inside him. His best friend was sitting in his jeans and shirt, on the edge of what must've been Hera's bed, his back towards Alex. Alex braced himself for the most uncomfortable conversation he would probably ever have to endure and with a deep breath he-

"Third door on the right." Hera said loudly as she walked up to Alex and shut the door in his face. Alex caught the quick flash of Tom turning to the door before he was blocked from view. The spy put her back against the door and stared up at him defiantly.

"Sorry." Alex said after a moment and turned to the door opposite them. Hera took a breath and closed her eyes in frustration. "This one?"

"Yes." She said even louder and grabbed the door handle or her bedroom to stop Tom from coming out and making this more embarrassing than it needed to be. Alex turned the door handle and walked in before looking back at her. The two stood in stony silence and looked directly into each other's eyes. There were so many strange feelings floating through the air between them. "This isn't the time." Hera spoke suddenly and for a moment Alex was going to argue. They knew they needed to talk, they needed to know where they stood in each other's lives. He thought again and agreed to take a rain check with a small nod. The emotions of embarrassment, lust, frustration and nostalgia were too intense, too much for this moment- right now they needed space from each other, they needed time to think. "Shut the door." Hera said, they had not broken eye contact. Alex tried not to think too hard as he pushed the door so it swung shut.

Hera tilted her head back against the cold, hard wood of the cream coloured door- she didn't have time for this. Turning the crystal doorknob, eyes fixated on the place she last saw Alex, she let herself back into her bedroom.

"Hey," Tom jumped up from the bed as he heard her enter. Hera ran a hand through her chocolate hair and walked over to her cupboard, accidentally ignoring him. Tom stood still, an air of unease filled the room as Hera grabbed what appeared to be a black corset from her wardrobe, turned to the bed and let her bed sheet fall to the floor. She began to dress with lightning speed and Tom watched in utter bewilderment as she put on her undergarments and then reached into a draw for a black dress and a gun. "Hera?" Tom said, hoping he hadn't somehow invited his own murder. Hera tied up her hair roughly and walked over to him. She threw the gun on the bed and flung her arms around his neck before kissing him. Tom wasn't sure what was going on but he knew that a kiss from Hera couldn't be a bad thing. He ran his hands down her sides and felt the fabric of her corset beneath the dress. Hera pulled away from him quickly.

"Someone is on Alex's roof; I have to take care of it." She fluttered her eyelashes up at him and smiled. "I'll be back before you know it." Hera winked and Tom was completely lost for words; for a trained killer, she sure dressed well for work. With another quick peck on the lips, Hera removed herself from his embrace and made her way out of the room.

"What's with the corset?" Tom asked suddenly and Hera smiled.

"It's bulletproof," she said at the door and reached into the drawer of her bedside table to retrieve a knife and strap it to her thigh. "I designed it, do you like it?" She asked innocently. Tom frowned.

"I think I need a second look to form a solid opinion." He said smoothly. With a wicked smile, Hera walked from the room, grabbed a pair of plimsolls from her shoe cupboard and ran out of the house. Tom left the room after her, hoping to get a glimpse of her hair flowing behind her as she ran. Unfortunately he bumped into someone else.

"Alex?" In the hallway, Tom found Alex peering down the stairs.

The climb to Alex's roof was tough; these London houses had windows so large Hera could barely get her footing right. Her arms were straining with her own weight as she was trying to pull her whole body past windows that were almost as tall as her. She cursed herself for becoming distracted with Tom and not preparing for this kind of encounter. It was stupid, utterly foolish, but lucky for Hera, she had busied herself with her anger than she didn't realise she had climbed the back wall of the house within a few minutes. Free running was one of Hera's favourite activities but she often preferred to be going down as opposed to up. Didn't matter; she was perched with her feet on tiptoe, on the highest window, her head ducked down below the roof, reading to strike. She had seen the figure up there when she had come out of her own house; waiting for her. She could barely make out a silhouette and was preparing for anyth-

"It's taken you seventeen minutes to get out here since you saw me." A soft, silky, pompous voice spoke above her and her eyes widened with surprise. "That's appalling." Hera looked up to see a man she had known for just over a year now. She gasped and reached up to take his outstretched hand. The elder man helped to pull her up onto the roof and smiled down at her as she almost fell into his arms. They held each other at arm's length. "Hi, baby." He said kindly, leaving Hera speechless. The man was six years older, with dark shaggy hair and an equally dark eyes, he appraised her with nothing but affection. His name was Daniel Goodchild. He was the newly appointed leader of Swallowtail.

"What…what are you doing here?" The girl said with a wry smile.

"I came to see you; I heard what happened with Molotov." He replied with a stern look. Hera shook her head in disbelief; she couldn't comprehend why this young millionaire would fly out to see her because she had received a few small scratches.

Hera was not blind to the fact that Daniel was completely infatuated with her. She never returned his affection, she belonged entirely to the world of her old partner, but it did not stop him. Daniel embraced her and marvelled at how tired he was after coming straight off a plane to see her, knowing that their conversation would end up being about Rider. It was a small price to pay; as he held her the smell of sweetly perfumed hair rose up to him, he knew this was as close to her as he'd ever get, so he may as well make the most of it.

A few days ago, in Blunt's office in MI6 headquarters, Hera had told him that she had refused to kill Alex Rider. What she had not mentioned was that she was the one who suggested capturing him instead.

-One year ago, Rome-

Hera walked with silent determination down the corridor of Parco Deri Principi, a hotel in the heart of Rome. As she walked down the warm, mirrored corridor, beneath the golden arches and in the dim candlelight, she began to remove the maid outfit she had stolen from a woman she had met two days ago. The woman was now unconscious in her apartment a few streets away. She'd be that way for a while.

The scent of oranges and coconuts filled Hera's head as she continued to walk swiftly, removing her white gloves, apron and then her dress. It slipped to the floor as she walked to reveal a black t-shirt and shorts she had on underneath. She didn't care very much about being conspicuous- everyone was downstairs at the party. It was the perfect opportunity to sneak up on Mr Goodchild before he went downstairs, and slit his throat. As she thought about her task she instinctively felt her right thigh to check her blade was still on her.

The mission had gone smoothly so far, no hiccups. Well, there was the incident in the town square with the tourists at the Coliseum, to which Blunt had phoned personally to tell her off. The thought just made her smile; she liked annoying him, it was a good way of reminding him she was not completely under his control. Besides, she was growing tired of...Hera stopped walking and looked to her right. It was a portrait, it took up an entire wall and had an antique gold frame. It was a painting of Umberto II of Italy. He served as the last king of Italy in 1946. It wasn't the painting so much that made her stop, more what it made her remember. History. She liked history, she'd been good at it at school and Alex had always appreciated that part of her. He asked her to recount stories of wars from thousands of years ago. He fell asleep in her arms once, when he thought he was dying he asked her to talk about something...she couldn't remember what it was but she remembered looking down at him, telling him the tale and feeling him slip away into sleep. History. That's all he was.

The young spy shook herself out of it and continued her walk. Everywhere she went she became distracted, it was ridiculous. Before she knew it she had reached his room. Goodchild was in here somewhere. She was stood before a floor-to-ceiling, red velvet curtain. She grabbed her knife with her right hand and put her left hand on the curtain. Hera could feel the adrenaline running, burning through her veins, making her hungry for the intense excitement that would come-

"And what do we have here?" Hera froze with her left hand on the curtain, waiting to rip it back and reveal her victim. Her eyes widened with surprise but then softened; she had heard he was good but this was ridiculous. How could she be outsmarted by a criminal? Clearly she had misjudged something. She could sense the coldness radiate from the blade he held at the base of her neck but could still gather that he was tall, strong, and fast. Years of working in this field had allowed her to sum up her opponents without even looking at them.

"Mr Goodchild," Hera said smoothly in an almost office-voice and lowered her right hand which held her knife and let it dropped to the floor. As the metal clanged against the marble she cocked her head back in an arrogant manner, waiting for him to make the first move. She let her lips open and took in a sharp breath as he leant forwards and smelt her neck.

"Hello, Hera." He whispered to her. "Would you like some tea?" She bowed her head and smiled.

"I'd love some." His weapon dropped to the floor and she turned quickly to him. For a split second, in fact, it wasn't even a second, not even a heartbeat passed between them and Goodchild saw what it was that caught everyone off guard when it came to her. That silent, cold, beauty that she didn't even know about; she was deadly and stunning, it almost made him falter. Almost. But he was Daniel Goodchild, nothing surprised him. Hera blinked twice at him and took in the dark chocolate eyes and brown, shaggy hair. He was what she thought people would refer to as "dashing," but she didn't see how the confident, handsome, skilful, millionaire, could be enticing. To him she was a body that was alive and one of those two things needed to change.

"After you," he gestured to the curtain and she nodded with a smile.

"Thank you." Hera entered the living room of his suite and walked to the window. She looked out onto the quiet, midnight streets of Rome and loosened her hair so it fell lose. She hated having her hair up.

"So," Daniel Goodchild began and Hera turned to him. He was stood next to one of the largest fireplaces Hera had ever seen, with tiles of deep red that were gold rimmed and a mahogany frame. He looked quite at home in his dinner suit, stood beneath the painted portrait of some old politician. "What are we going to do?" He asked quietly and walked to the little glass table that was between them. Goodchild loosened his bow tie and reached for the small tea pot on the table. There were two china cups; he knew she was coming. He sat down and indicated for her to do the same thing but she did not budge. He had heard Hera could be stubborn but he was only trying to be polite. It didn't matter; she was at his mercy now.

"I hear business with you is going well, Mr Goodchild." Hera said in a soft voice and took a seat opposite him. "Cream and sugar?" She asked him and reached for the small jug of cream. He nodded.

"Thank you." Goodchild ran a hand through his hair and smiled. "So good in fact that the British government want me dead?" It was Hera's turn to smile as he reached over and grabbed the sugar bowl, brushing her arm with his fingers as he did so.

"No." She surprised him with this answer. "The British government want you stopped. I want you dead. No sugar, thank you." Hera looked up at him and smiled sweetly, he returned it with equal sincerity. The reason the two were being so civil with each other was very, very simple. They were even. He could kill her, she could kill him. Rather than fight to the death the two decided discussing the matter over tea would be far more pleasurable for the both of them. They both sat back and eyed each other up. Assessing weaknesses and strengths of each other.

"Let's not fuck around Hera-"

"Fine by me-"

"Obviously, we need to come to some arrangement-"

"Obviously: my freedom for your dead body." Daniel laughed. He was genuinely amused by her statement; not many spies liked chitchats before death but she seemed to relish conversation. His laughter subsided and he looked to her once more.

"Work for me." Silence. Hera drained her tea in one un-ladylike go and threw the cup at him. Daniel moved his head but an inch and the china smashed into the back of the fireplace and fell to melting pieces in the flames.

"Good enough answer?" She spat at him and he nodded.

"You may leave." He gestured to the door. She stood and smiled briefly.

"Thank you for the tea, Mr Goodchild." Hera walked past the table and got to the door before he called out to her again:

"The mission I ask of you is one you have always wanted to carry out." With this simple statement Hera's mind was flooded with a million questions. It meant he knew a lot about her, about her past, her wants, her skills...it was a dangerous position to be in. She turned back to him and shut the huge oak door. "I want Scorpia dead." It was Hera's turn to laugh.

"Scorpia?" She asked in disbelief. "You want me to take everyone in Scorpia out?" Hera laughed again. "I'd have a better chance of taking them out for dinner than killing them." Silence.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you couldn't do it." He said plainly as her smiles stopped at once. Those diamond eyes found his dark ones and she sighed. "Look me in the eye," he stood up as he raised his voice, "and tell me that the raw hate you feel for them isn't enough?" He shouted at her and she looked away. "Look at me!" He screamed. "Tell me what your father did doesn't still burn at your insides, begging you to make everything right; to see every single one of those bastards with their throats slit?" His voice lowered, Hera looked to him and he took a deep breath. "Tell me you don't want bittersweet revenge?" He was satisfied when he saw her tongue dart out of her mouth and lick her lips.

"What are the terms?" And it was with that phrase that the two strangers became inseparable. The cold-hearted, harsh-tongued, older millionaire became an open, warm, kind, generous and almost loving human being. It was the first time Daniel Goodchild could remember being happy; when he was alone with Hera. She changed when with him to someone only Hera's old colleagues would remember; the polite, sweet, adorable, almost childlike teenager who was incredibly funny. He liked that best about her; she could make him smile so easily. And she was bloody intelligent. The two had a strange grief between them; Daniel's attraction to Hera was more than obvious and she was blatantly not interested in him in that way.

Slowly, over the next year, mission meeting plans in his office turned to calling her out to another country just to have tea. She would phone him at ridiculous hours of the night simply to tell him she found a nice top in Harrods that day. They became completely comfortable with each other. She never slept with him, Hera couldn't do that; she belonged to someone else. It pissed him off because it was weirdly attractive to have someone so deadly, so attractive, so untouched, but not be able to have them completely. But along with the attraction came affection and genuine care; if she did not want him they he was fine to stand by her and protect her.

-6 months later-

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean

"You love him?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Fuck off."

"Don't tell me to fuck off-" Daniel threw a pillow over to the other bed and Hera flattened herself on her blankets so the pillow flew over her. They both lay down and stared at the chandelier on the ceiling, the chandelier's crystals swung to and fro from the movement of the boat. They had turned the lights off and had one lamp on Hera's side of the room, on. The dim light cascaded around the room and illuminated the spy and criminal's belongings. They had walked into the room, threw their suitcases on the floor and Daniel began to teach Hera the art of using a Katana. The samuri sword he had brought her had a wide blade, double grooved, mahogany sheath and gold plated handle. It was beautiful, like her, deadly, like her and it hurt him, like her. They had an intense lesson which involved the destruction of their room before they both collapsed onto their beds.

"Oi, beautiful?" Daniel called to her and she opened her eyes and looked across to him. "Come here," he beckoned her with a nod and sat up, "bring your sword." Hera stood wearily and swung her sword to show off as she walked to his bed. He liked her white dress that hung loosely about her frame and that way in which she smiled so happily and proudly when she waved her sword at him. She sat down on the bed next to him and Goodchild reached over for her blade. "Lay down." He instructed her and she knew to listen to her teacher so lay by his side. They both stared up to the sword. Daniel tilted the blade and run a finger down the middle. "I had it engraved." Her blue eyes narrowed on the blade.

"Revenge is sweeter than flowing honey." She whispered and averted her eyes from the weapon. "It's very true." Daniel put the sword on the floor and lay on his side so he was looking down to her. After minutes of just staring at her and pushing her hair away from her face and looking into his deep brown eyes. Daniel sighed and spoke again:

"I love you."

"I love you too." She replied. They meant it in different ways completely. Together they made up a powerful and ruthless team, their one weakness was this strange feeling of protection they had for each other. "I got my mark last week!" Hera suddenly remembered and seeing her smile made him laugh.

"Really? Let's see then." She turned away from him and pulled the sleeve of her dress down to reveal her left shoulder. The small swallowtail butterfly, black and fragile looking, was burnt into her skin. "You're one of us now." Hey didn't speak for a while, just lay there while Daniel outlined the butterfly with his finger. "You know what this means?" Hera turned to face him again and her brow furrowed. "It means it's time." The planning of the future death of Scorpia began.

Hope you enjoyed it. Please review!

As I'm re-writing it I was debating where to go with Daniel and Hera's relationship, I think the place they were at the first time I wrote this was fine- feel free to give me your thoughts. I remember someone saying they prefer Daniel and Hera as a couple actually…food for thought!