She met him again as he was walking away from the boss's office. Doubtless the last of such formalities as there were in their end of the business had been concluded. On the next day his specialist training would start, and for some of it she would be his tutor.

He'd finished his growing during the intervening years. It was a man who stopped and stared at her. She watched the memories surface and coalesce.

"Ensign." The single pip gleamed beside the maroon piping on his uniform.

"Major." He recognized her MACO ranking and came to attention automatically, though the blood had drained out of his face.

"Welcome to the Section," she said mildly. "Stand easy."

'Easy' wasn't quite the description for his demeanor. For one thing, it didn't apply to his eyes, which showed all too clearly that the pieces were falling into place. It didn't need the IQ of a genius, just all the facts and the intelligence which his Starfleet reports had consistently noted as extremely high.

Recognition became incredulity. Incredulity became realization. Realization became rage. Rage became intention.

"Permission to speak freely, ma'am." His profile had mentioned the rigid discipline of his upbringing. Starfleet training had reinforced it. The Section could benefit from it, and would, when he'd had the last of the necessary molding applied.

"Granted."

"One day, ma'am, I'll kill you with my bare hands for what you did to me."

She nodded easily. "Perfectly understandable, Ensign. And on the day you're skilled enough to do it, I'll let you. But in the meantime, I'm sure that ambition will be a powerful motivator for you to excel at your training here."

"It won't be a motivator, ma'am. It will be the motivator. And one day the tables will turn."

She laughed, and flicked his cheek with a careless finger. "I'm sure of it. And by the way, I enjoyed the dinner; I was just sorry I couldn't stay for coffee. Perhaps we can try again some time. If I promise not to bring my jacket, of course."

Her long experience in these things told her he was already half way to ceasing to feel; reports from his time in the Academy said he was as promiscuous as a feral cat, resisting any attempt at closeness with a hiss of naked fear and menace before he fled back into the dark. Now he was older, he might well try to form relationships, but she knew, even if he did not, that his ability to do so was now fatally flawed. Still, in the meantime he and she were joined by circumstance like binary stars, a relationship of mutual physical attraction in which liking had no part whatsoever. They could share a bed and use each other with calculating expertise, and probably would, many times. That fact would count for nothing, when the time came for him to make his bid for revenge. But it wouldn't be just yet, and a flicker of heat woke in her groin at the memory of his skills.

"There's no time like the present, ma'am. Are you doing anything this evening?"

Laughter bubbled up in her. Whatever else he lacked, he certainly didn't lack nerve.

"Why, I don't believe I am. Do you have any suggestions, Ensign?"

"Well, there's a restaurant down town that I've heard good reports of. I believe their wine list is particularly impressive. And if it's not counter to Regulations I might even invite you back for coffee."

"I believe that on this particular occasion we might ignore the regulations," she said, smiling. "You're a section operative now, Ensign. You may have to acquire a certain … facility … for ignoring the regulations from now on."

"But never in a better cause, I'm sure." His English accent had never faded. His slight nod was courtly and enchanting. If she hadn't known better, she wouldn't have had an inkling of the utter hatred behind it.

Yes, that evening in his flat had certainly paid off. Bitter, solitary, intelligent, skillful, unscrupulous – the latter, certainly, not natural to him, but then if he wanted to murder a superior officer with his bare hands it was one he was going to have to acquire and cultivate. All traits that the Section could hone, and train, and use. There hadn't even been any major repercussions to her actions back then; an agent in England had been stabbed a few weeks later in an unexplained incident that was supposed to have been an attempted mugging, but the surgery was successful and he was back in the field a month afterwards – both sides being aware that the incident was a don't think we didn't notice kind of thing, even though MI5 was officially quite above playing games of tit-for-tat. The panic attack that had ended the new recruit's Royal Navy prospects had made him of limited use to the SBS too, so they wouldn't have felt it appropriate to make too much of a fuss; still, honor would have demanded some kind of retribution.

"It's a date, then. I'll meet you at the 602 at eight."

He nodded and saluted – even his salute was still English. With the same drilled precision he about-turned and walked away down the corridor.

She watched him go. He still had a cute ass, though the standard Starfleet coverall didn't show it off quite as well as the pants had done.

Damn, she was looking forward to this.

TBC

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