When Michael's inbox sounded the 'Priority' ping, he knew right away what the message was going to contain. It had been almost three months since Erin's death, and his superiors had decided it was time he was assigned another operative. He wasn't so sure, himself. Losing an operative was always hard?all the case officers he'd spoken to had said the same thing?but it was even worse when the lost operative was your first.

He didn't really have a choice, though. These were Orders, not Suggestions. He sighed and reached over to key the message. Yup, he'd guessed right. An operative who'd come to the attention of Sub Rosa had been assigned to him. He leaned forward as he read further. The operative had just been involuntary recruited from the Committee. That wasn't so unusual?it was how they got most of their operatives, in fact. No, what was unusual was that the name of the operative was familiar. Rebekah Savage. Where had he heard that name before?

He stared off into space for a moment, trying to remember. Suddenly, it hit him. The gorgeous courier he'd met on Garsem-3. His last mission as an operative. He smiled, remembering having dinner with her in his safe house. She'd been so interested in hearing about his life as an operative. Smart, too. He'd had a feeling she was going to do well, and it looked like he'd been right, if Sub Rosa was bringing her in. They were very picky about their recruits.

Why the hell were they sending him to Mars to meet her? Mars was practically deserted. The only people living there were a bunch of scientists working on better ways to terraform inhospitable worlds, and a very minor Fleet presence to protect them. In short, there was nothing of interest that he could see. He couldn't imagine why it had been chosen for their first meeting. Well, second, technically. He supposed it would all become clearer later, when he received more orders. He closed the message and stood, going to the small closet in his quarters. He always kept a case packed and ready to go. Good operatives learned to be prepared. He wanted to be on Mars before Rebekah arrived. The first meeting between an operative and his or her case officer was a delicate thing, and he didn't know what her mood was going to be. She would probably be confused, curious, and maybe kind of worried. Being sent to Mars sounded like a punishment to most people.



Rebekah had just arrived back at her apartment in Novus Angelus after a six-month tour aboard the Miles, one of Fleet's most advanced warships. She'd used her cover as a Fleet Lieutenant to turn an asset and had just delivered him to the Committee's HQ. When she went to collect her mail from the building's mail room, she noticed a plain white envelope with just her name and rank on its face. No post mark, no return address, nothing. It was strange enough to be receiving actual paper mail, let alone something as anonymous as this. It intrigued her as well as worried her. The last time she remembered getting paper mail was when the letter arrived from Fleet to inform her mother that her father?s ship had been blown up and that he was feared dead.

Taking the small bundle with her up to her fiftieth-floor apartment, she threw the rest in the incinerator and sat down on a sofa that faced the huge floor to ceiling windows that gave her an amazing view of the sprawling metroplex of the Capitol City of the Human Empire. It was a staggeringly beautiful view, one that she so rarely got to enjoy.

Normally after returning from a tour in space, she spent at least an hour just staring out at the buildings and streets and parks. Today, though, she was more than a little distracted by the envelope. She tore into it and two things tumbled out; one was a piece of paper with shuttle information and the other was a business card with nothing but a twelve digit number on it. It could be a comm number, she supposed. It could also be an intelligence clearance number. She'd start with that and if nothing came from that, then she'd try reaching someone on the comm with it.

Using the tablet on the coffee table in front of her, she connected to the Committee's mainframe and ran the code through its clearance engine. It came up as Omega Level 5. "Holy sh-t," she whispered and disconnected immediately. Seconds later, as she expected once she'd seen the top level clearance information pop up, her personal comm rang. She answered it and a robotic voice relayed which spaceport and what time she'd need to arrive in order to catch her shuttle. The message was repeated twice and then her comm went dead. She'd have to be at the Angelus Terminus tomorrow morning at 0830 to catch a shuttle to the Mars Scientific Commune. Oh, joy. An 18-hour shuttle ride. Just what she wanted after spending six months in space.

Two and a half days later, she was checking into her hotel room on Mars, which was located smack dab in the middle of the touristy part of the Cerberus region of the planet. When she looked out the window, she could see green grass and trees, blue sky and clouds. But beyond that was the film of the bubble that kept precious oxygen contained and screened the land from the harsh sun and killer dust storms that ravaged the planet outside the bubble.

There had been a message waiting for her when she'd checked in. Again, it was just a twelve digit number that proved to be another Omega level 5-encoded message. This time, though, the robotic voice left a hotel room number and then hung up. No meeting time, not even any information about which hotel. She hoped it was this one and that she could go any time she wanted. She really needed a shower, a nap, and some food that hadn't come out of a small bag.

Soon after, rested, cleaned, and fed, she arrived at the door of room number 4631 and knocked. As she waited, she reviewed what she knew of unarmed combat?don't stand directly in front of the door, instead stand to the right of it since most shooters are right handed and will naturally cover their left side. Her hand was in her pocket, wrapped around the handle of a lead-weighted sap, her favorite concealed weapon since she'd discovered it a year and a half ago on a trip to Centauri Prime.

For a moment, there was no apparent response. Then a click sounded from within the door, like the sound of a lock disengaging. It did not open, however. She instantly went on alert, her ears straining to hear any further noises from inside the room. If it came down to a waiting game, she could virtually guarantee she would not lose. She'd once waited for 48 hours inside a cargo container just for a single one-minute meeting with a potential asset. She'd successfully turned that asset, too.

Several minutes passed without another sound from the door or from the room itself. Then a light blinked on above the door, and a voice?distorted and scratchy from the cheap speaker under the light?spoke. "Come in, Lieutenant."

She withdrew the sap and held it down against her leg, hiding it from casual view. She took a step forward and shoved the door open a couple inches, still listening intently. Before moving inside, she checked the floor at ankle-level for trip wires, scanned the door frame for sensors and the floor itself for pressure plates.

Light spilled out of the room when she opened the door. No traps were visible, even under careful scrutiny. When she didn't move inside after several seconds had passed, the voice came again, this time warm and human-sounding. "It's not a trap. Promise."

Excuse her if she didn't quite believe him...whoever 'him' was. She pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside, glancing around. The room looked like a carbon copy of her own...with the exception of the man in it. "Oh, wow," she said. "No way."

He grinned a little. "As your case officer, I have fairly broad discretion over what I can and can't share with you. I'll tell you whatever I can."

"Would you do it? I mean..." She shook her head. That wasn't the right way to ask. Of course he'd do it. He was sitting right there, wasn't he? She sucked on her bottom lip for a moment and then decided that honesty might be the best policy. "Is it worth it? If I say no, will I be reinstated? Or am I gonna have to check my front door for bombs every morning for the rest of my life?"

His expression grew serious. "Your orders are already sealed and recorded. Refusing now would mean discharge from the Committee and Fleet permanently." He didn't mention the partial mind-wipe she'd almost certainly undergo, as well. His face lightened up some as he continued. "But yes, in my opinion it's worth it. The work you'll be doing for Sub Rosa is more important than anything you've ever done for Fleet, or the Committee. The rewards are greater, too, even if the price is complete anonymity."

She blew out her breath in a great rush of air. If Michael Kennedy said it was worth it, well then, maybe it was. She nodded slowly, more than half-way to agreeing to the new assignment. "What will I tell my friends? My mother?"

"We'll create a cover for you. Private security for one of the new planets in the Confederacy maybe. We'll work together on it?you'll have input on the cover?and come up with something workable that will let you talk to them now and then, but that they'll understand will keep you away often." He smiled. "Don't worry, we're not going to cut you off from your family."

She was honestly more worried about losing her friends than her mother. "Oh, crap," she said sadly. "I'd just started seeing someone, too. Guess that's over." She waved this off. "But whatever. Okay. I'm in. You're my handler now. My life's in your hands." She said it as a flip comment, but they both knew how serious she really was.

"An operative's life is a lonely one," he said. It was said in the same half-joking-but-really-serious tone she'd used. He reached out, offering her his hand. "Welcome to Sub Rosa, Rebekah. I'm glad you're with us."

She took his hand and shook it firmly. "Holy crap," she whispered. "I can't believe...well, I guess my life isn't really my own now, but still... No more tours!" She grinned excitedly at him and did a little dance in her chair.

He laughed, patting her hand with his free one. "No more tours. No more putting up with Fleet bullsh*t, either. You outrank anyone under Admiral now, at least when it comes to mission parameters."

"Really? Wow. From Loot to Admiral in, what, five minutes?" She chuckled softly. "My father would have been proud."

He grinned. "Just don't expect to walk in and take over a starship. Your clearance is real, but its application is limited to when you're out on a mission."

"Aye-aye." She snapped off a regulation salute and then rose from her seat. "So what now?" Strangely, despite having spent 6 months on a starship patrolling the newly opened up far reaches of the Confederacy's boundaries, she was anxious to get started on another mission. Though it was always that way with her; she couldn't stand down time.

"Now," he said, standing up, "We get to work on building you a cover identity and start preparing you for your first mission, which is going to be here on Mars."

"Oh? What am I gonna be doing?" She glanced out the window and saw that his view was far superior to her own. She could see Mons Olympus lurking in the background far in the distance.

"Before I tell you what you'll be doing, let me tell you a little about Sub Rosa."

"Yeah, you're right. How about over a drink or maybe you box?" She wanted to get out of the room and doing something physical.

He shot her an amused look. "I've been known to put on the gloves before."

She grinned at him. "Perfect. They've gotta have a ring around here somewhere, right? Lemme run down to my room, change, and then we can go look."

"There's a full gym in the basement," he answered, grinning back. "I'll meet you there in 15?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod and a smile. Then she left his room and went down to her own room on the 17th floor, changed into her Fleet PT uniform, grabbed a roll of athletic tape, her gloves, a towel, and headed to the gym in the basement of the building.

He leaned back, avoiding the blow rather than blocking it, then circled to the left around her. "It's a secret organization. Clandestiner. You're not supposed to have..." In mid-sentence, he leapt forwards and fired off a three-punch combo, high, low, and high again. "...heard of it."

She caught the first two blows on her forearms but the last one snuck past and rang her bell. She danced backwards again to give herself time to recover. "Yeah, but I haven't even heard rumors and you know how scuttlebut is on those star destroyers." She bobbed and weaved, feinting left and then immediately juking right to test her own high-high-low combo.

He was impressed at how well she took the hit?a lot of women were scared of being hit in the face. Obviously, Rebekah wasn't. Unfortunately, his appreciation of her resilience made him a little slow to block her combo and he took a gloved fist to the jaw. He grunted and blocked the next high, twisting sideways to dodge the low blow. He worked his jaw for a second, then said. "We're very careful. No one who isn't part of Sub Rosa hears about it."

"It's kinda..." Five rabbit punches to his torso, mainly his stomach before bouncing away again, "...impressive really."

He danced from one foot to the other, trying to evade the body blows. He was mostly successful, though her gloves caught the edge of his ribs a couple of times, turning his last dodge into more of a stagger. He didn't wait, though, driving forward with a series of hooks coming in from both sides. "We're not a large organization," he said, in between swings. "Don't let that fool you, though. Sub Rosa wields a great deal of power in the Confederacy, even if very few know it."

She stepped into his body, taking the blows on her upper arms and shoulders. While she was inside his reach, she took advantage of their closeness and tried some more body blows, this time aiming for the ribs he'd caught the previous flurry with. "So how long has it been around and what's their purview?"

He stopped those attempts by simply pressing in even closer, ramming his torso into her, using his superior height and weight to force her backwards and possibly off balance. "About fifty years," he grunted in partial answer to her question.

She staggered back a few steps, but somehow managed to keep to her feet. She didn't waste a moment before bouncing right back in, swinging right and left hooks at his head and shoulders. "Fifty years? During that witch hunt?"

He was getting a very good picture of her tenaciousness from this match. She wasn't going to be giving up no matter what. He blocked the swings that came in for his head, either by getting his gloves in the way or just by shrugging his shoulders up and letting the punches glance off of them without doing any real damage. While she was swinging high, he tried to sneak in some low gut-shots, timing them to come in just after she swung her arms, when it would be hardest for her to stop and block them. "Right after," he said. "In response to them." He had more to say about that, but in the current situation, it was a little hard to make complex sentences.

"Oof," she said, taking two of the low cuts right on her diaphragm. It set her back on her heels a bit and made her fight to breathe but she retaliated by juking back in and aiming a few vicious and fast blows to his solar plexus. "So," she said dancing back and putting space between them. "We're policing the Committee, then. Fun."

Now they both had to work at breathing, since he couldn't stop all of those fast blows. He was happy to hang back for a moment and recover. As well as speak. "That was the original idea. A check on the Committee, so it could never be used as a personal tool again. It's grown since then, though."

She managed to nod before she began circling again, looking for openings. "And what are we doing here? What's our mission?" She feinted a dart in and then danced back, just out of reach, a couple of times just to test his reflexes and energy level.

Each time she came in, he surged forward to meet her, throwing stiff jabs at her face. He was quite fast for a man of his size and build. "I'll get to that in a minute," he said, during the circling moments. "It ties into Sub Rosa's overarching goal. It's not just a check on the Committee anymore. We're a check on the whole Confederacy. We protect the Confederacy from external or internal threats. Think of us as the Confederacy's watchful parents, always ready to step in between them and an approaching stranger?or to take the stick away from the child before he hurts someone with it."

She laughed as she ducked under the jabs at her face and aimed some uppercuts at his jaw while she was down. "I've never considered parenting," she said. "I hope I don't suck at it. Like you do with this boxing thing."

"Suck on this," he said, dropping his left arm down to block the uppercuts as his right hand swung up and then straight down onto the top of her head.

She hissed a pained breath through clenched teeth and saw stars for a second. She back-pedaled away from him and nearly went ass-over-tea kettle in the process. "Sh-t! Try to avoid concussing the newbie!"

His first impulse was to bore in and finish the fight off while she was reeling?that was how he'd been taught to fight?fast and vicious, doing anything you can do get the opponent out of the fight as soon as possible. But this wasn't a real fight, and Rebekah wasn't his enemy. So he backed off a few feet and gave her the chance to shake it off. "Sorry," he said, though there wasn't much apology in his voice. That's what she got for saying he sucked!

Forty minutes later, Rebekah wandered into the Green Lounge and rolled her eyes at the decor. They were really playing up the whole little green men thing from the early 20th century. There were kitschy green-skinned aliens in silvery suits, with giant black eyes, no noses, and vaguely egg-shaped heads painted onto the walls and as mannequins standing next to the doors. There was even a silver and green flying saucer over the bar. "Lord," she muttered and yanked down on the hem of her black miniskirt. The bar was one of the only places on the entire planet that required its patrons to dress up and Rebekah wasn't a girlie girl. Still, she did clean up nice when she had to. In addition to the tiny skirt, she wore a cowl-necked raspberry colored top and three inch heels that brought her height to 5'8". She'd also taken the time to fix her hair and put on makeup, too.

Mike wasn't immediately apparent when she looked around, but it didn't take him long to make his presence known?in the form of a loud wolf-whistle. He'd chosen a table close to the back of the lounge, angled in a corner so that two of the seats had their backs to the wall. He looked pretty smart in a pair of black trousers, a dove-grey button down shirt, and a charcoal blazer. He waved her over.

She closed her eyes and shook her head at the whistle. As she moved towards Michael's table, she could feel the eyes of every single man in the place on her back...and on other parts as well. She slid into a seat and grumbled, "So much for keeping a low profile."

He didn't hide the once-over her gave her as she approached, then chuckled at her grumbling. "Well, you picked the clothes. Still, it might work out well."

"How's it gonna work out well? I flash the bartender and we get our drinks for free tonight?"

"That's not a bad idea," he said, grinning. "Not what I meant, though. See, dressed like you are, every guy in here is going to remember the blonde in the bar. They're not going to remember what she looked like?well, not her face," he amended, with a smirk. "And they're certainly not going to remember who she was sitting with. Sometimes, being obvious is the best disguise." He paused for a second, and then had to add, "Plus, I get to sit with a hottie."

She laughed despite herself and nodded her agreement. He did kind of have a point. Instead of working to blend in and be anonymous, sometimes an operative had to be so over-the-top obvious that no one in their right mind would even consider for a moment that they were a spy. "You don't look half bad yourself, you know. Spiffy jacket," she said with a smirk.

"Why thank you." He struck a little pose, grinning again. "Despite appearances, this place has really good drinks. Food, too. It's one of the places where all the visiting officials come to be wined and dined and begged for funding."

"You sound like you've been here before." The waiter approached and Rebekah ordered a dry martini.

"This is my first visit to Mars," he said. "I did some research on the trip in, though. And I've been here a couple of days longer than you." He ordered bourbon with soda water.

"Is that normal for you?" she asked. "Coming early?" She did a roving glance around the room, automatically finding the exits and entrances, people that would have to be subdued immediately, potential threats, etc. It had been drilled into her brain since she was 18 years old and was like breathing now. She even did it on the rare occasions she went back to Terra Cascus to visit her mother.

"Who said anything about coming?" He smirked. "I just like to get started early, and have a good long time to see the...lay of the land." He saw what she was doing, and inwardly nodded approvingly. She followed her training well.

"Is that what they're calling whores now?" She turned her attention back to him and winked slyly. The waiter brought their drinks and Rebekah asked him to put the first round on her bill. Then she ate an olive.

"Hey, it's always a good idea to make friends with the locals." He picked up the bourbon and took a sip. It was smoky and very sharp?he had to fight not to wince.

"What was that you said earlier? 'An agent's life is a lonely one'? Or something like that anyway." She sipped the martini and did another sweep of the room. A group of three men, obviously scientists from their pallor and unkempt appearances, had just entered and had taken seats at a table not far from Michael and Rebekah's table. She watched them for a moment and then turned to Michael. "Can you give me the op now or do we wait? Are you going to flash it?"

The next morning, she dressed in PT clothes and headed down into the basement for her morning workout, which consisted of crunches, press-ups, running on an incline machine, and some work with the speed bag and the heavy bag as well.

Less than five minutes after she'd started her workout, Mike came into the gym, wearing the same cutoff shorts and sleeveless tank, a towel hanging over his shoulders. He watched her doing crunches for a moment, taking advantage of the view of her legs, then started his own exercise, running on a treadmill for a while to get warmed up, then moving on to the weight bench.

"Mornin'," she said from her spot at the speed bag, turning so that she could see him. "I got some ideas from the jacket."

"Morning," he answered, going through several sets of pulldowns on the variable-resistance weight bar. "I figured you would."

She chuckled and went silent for a moment, concentrating on her technique. Then she stopped and got a drink before moving onto the heavy bag. "I figure I'll go scout his route to and from work then follow him tonight. Got some surveillance tapes to go over, too."

He paused in his routine, raising a brow at her. She was being awfully free with her words, considering it was a public place. Granted there was no one else with them, but you never knew. She raised her brow back at him and then smirked. "Like I'd speak this freely without being 100 per cent certain we're alone. C'mon. You should know me better than that. Haven't you scoured my own jacket inside and out, upside and down?"

He laughed, nodding. "Of course I did. I needed to hear it directly from you, though. It's not enough to just know the Rules, you have to repeat them until it becomes reflex."

"Right. Kennedy's Rules. You know something?" She paused for a while, working the bag, then stepped away, drenched in sweat and out of breath.

"I know lots of things," he answered, grinning even as he switched to bench presses.

She went to sit down next to him at another bench, blotting her face with the towel and drinking from a water bottle. "Some of those Rules saved my six."

He set the bar down and sat up, giving her a pleased look. "Really?"

She nodded. "Oh, yeah. That one about keeping a courier's uniform handy. Oh, and the one about hiding stuff in places marked 'High Voltage'. Those were great."

"You know, it's pretty damn cool to hear something like that," he said, holding out his hand for a high-five.

She slapped his palm and then nodded. "Yeah, so...thanks for that. Anyway, I'm gonna go shower and help myself to that spread they've got laid out in the dining room. Then I'm off to do a lot of waiting and listening to boring conversations."

He grinned. "Have fun. I'll be here another half hour or so, then my room for a while. Call if you run into any trouble." He waited a second, just long enough for her to start turning away, then added, "Think of me when you're soaping up." With a laugh, he went back to presses.

She snorted as she walked away. "Dream on, Mikey, dream on." She went up to her room and of course, thought of him while she was in the shower. How could she not, since he'd gone and put the idea in her brain? After dressing in unmemorable clothing and pulling her hair back into a tight pony tail, she headed down to breakfast and stuffed herself with fruit and oatmeal and coffee?all of it real and not from a replicator. Then she headed out to the tram route Lindstrom took to and from work six days a week and began riding the trams, getting on and off at every station and even walking the routes from the vehicle parking lots to the stations and back.

Hours later, the front doors of the lab spilled out a bunch of scientists and administrators and Rebekah slipped into the crowd behind Lindstrom. He was chatting amiably with one of the guys she'd seen him with last night and a group of two other women. While Rebekah couldn't quite make out what they were talking about, she did catch a string of numbers, the word 'test' repeated a couple of times, and mentions of hydrogen, as well. She figured they were discussing that day's work.

She followed the group to the tram station and watched as Lindstrom separated from them and caught the tram that would take him back to the habitat area of the dome. She sat in the back of the car just in front of Lindstrom's and watched him out of the corner of her eye, pretending to be engrossed in a broadsheet from Venus. "Michael?" she subvocalized into her comm.

"Here," he said shortly, still annoyed, both at himself for picking the wrong way to question her, and at her for being so touchy about it.

"I've got eyes on him and we're headed back to his place."

"Understood."

"I'll hang out at his house for an hour or so and then head back to the hotel. Wanna meet for dinner or something?" It was her way of making a peace offering.

He accepted it as such, and his voice became less abrupt. "Sure, that sounds good. There's a hell of a restaurant at the top of the hotel." As he spoke, he keyed instructions into his comm, bringing up the closest cameras to her target's home. Just in case she ran into trouble.

"Book us a table? I'll call in again in two hours." She shut off the comm again and glanced at her target. His attention was occupied much the same way hers was, namely with a file he was reading intently. So far, so good. He was like the vast majority of other people?clueless about what was happening around him. It certainly made her job a hell of a lot easier.

When the tram reached Lindstrom's stop, he tucked away the file he was reading and disembarked quickly, glancing at his comm's time display as he did. On schedule, of course. He walked directly to his tiny quarters, not stopping to speak to anyone else. Rebekah trailed along behind, watching him while at the same time looking like a tourist wandering through the habitat zone. She followed him into the building and rode up to his floor in the crowded lift. She walked in front of him past his door and around a corner then waited until she heard the door open and then close behind him. She waited further for ten minutes before heading back downstairs to the large lobby of the building, going to the coffee shop directly across from the lift and settling down with a cup of tea to wait for an hour or so.

The scientist had given no indication of having any idea of her interest in him. Forty-five minutes after arriving home, at exactly 6 pm, he left his room and went down to the building's cafeteria for some dinner. She watched him eating and glanced at her watch. Jeeze, this guy was boring. Everything by the book and on time. Of course, it certainly made things easier on her. Half an hour later, he headed up to his room for the night, but just in case, she remained in the coffee shop until seven and then headed back to her hotel. "Michael?" she said into the comm once she was inside her room.

"Yeah?" He'd watched her watching Lindstrom, finding it only slightly more interesting than she had, and only that because she was much easier to look at than the scientist.

"What's the dress code for this amazing restaurant of yours?" She stripped down to her skin and considered a shower for a moment.

"High-class casual. It's where the dignitaries and ambassadors go to have a relaxing meal with their wives or mistresses, without having to deal with their jobs."

She made a face. "So...like last night?"

"Pretty much. There isn't a lot of variety here, since the only people who ever visit this rock are scientists and the people who fund them."

She headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. "Okay. What time are the reservations?" She switched the comm from throat mic to speaker and slipped it off to lay it down on the counter before she climbed into the shower.

His eyebrows rose when he heard the unmistakable sound of her getting into the shower. A slow grin spread across his face. "An hour and fifteen from now," he said. "Eight thirty." Unable to resist, he tapped a few commands into his comm, remotely triggering the video capability of hers. It wasn't something that could normally be done, but he'd picked up a few tricks in his time. He could see the frosted glass of the shower and the blurry outline of her body on the other side of it.

"See you then," she called out over the spray and then said, "Comm off," foiling his ability to see anything beyond a dark screen.

"Damn," he muttered. He actually knew how to remotely activate the comm, too, but that would be kind of a giveaway. He supposed it was probably for the best, anyway. There was no way he'd be able to concentrate on anything she was saying at dinner if his mind was full of the sight of her naked and dripping wet from the shower.

"You're a stubborn creature, aren't you?" She smirked at him and then went back to studying the room and the view out the window. She didn't bring up her surveillance today or any of the tentative plans she'd made while sitting and waiting for fear of being reprimanded for speaking in public. She discovered another downfall of being a covert op?without talking about the job, she had nothing to discuss. She hadn't read a book or a seen a trid flick or listened to a music disc in months; she didn't really care for art or sports, and couldn't talk about past missions because of the close proximity of civvies. She was at a loss.

"I prefer to think of it as 'persistent, unflagging and tireless'," he replied, giving her his best boyish grin. He took another sip of the wine, watching as she looked around and cast about for something to say. "It's hard, isn't it? You realize that having a conversation like a normal person has become something foreign to you."

She made a little noise, like a mirthless laugh. "I don't think I've ever had a normal conversation in my entire life. I've never had the opportunity." She shook her head with a little regret and sipped more of her wine. He'd seen her files; surely he knew that she'd been a loner her entire life. Being a Fleet brat and moving from planet to planet every 18 months and spending equally long amounts of time on board ships hadn't given her much time to make friends and she'd learned from a young age to be independent and didn't socialize a lot because of it.

"I suppose not," he answered, recalling what he'd read of her childhood. "It's too bad, though. You're sharp and you've got a killer sense of humor. I joined Fleet Marines a couple days after I graduated high school." He knew she'd have read about his career in the Committee, but his time as a Marine wasn't nearly as well known.

"Marines, huh? My dad said you are all out of your minds." Their first course salads arrived and Rebekah stared in amazement at the beautiful vegetables on her plate.

He laughed. "We are. Especially in the Teams." He glanced up at her, waiting to see if she knew what the Teams were. A Fleet brat ought to. He picked up a fork and speared a sugar snap pea, biting into it with a soft but audible crunch. They were perfectly fresh and sweet.

"The teams," she repeated. "Holy sh-t, you're one of them! The nutjobs who fall from a perfectly good ship in a butt suppository to the surface and then pop out like everything's okay!" That evocative description had him practically falling out of his seat with laughter. Enough that several of the patrons nearest to their table turned to look. He waved cheerfully at them and they turned back to their meals. You could almost hear the noses turning up. She cracked a grin at their fellow diners' attitudes. "You'd think laughter was illegal or something," she said to Michael. She took another sip of her wine. "So you were really on a Team? That actually explains a lot about you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone somewhere between amused and indignant.

"You're a little nutty. You're very...regulated. And, I suspect, a bit of a skirt chaser." She shrugged and ate more beautiful green leafy things.

"Only suspect?" He shook his head in feigned disappointment. "And here I thought ops were supposed to be observant." He couldn't help but grin a second later, though. "Chasing skirt is my religion."

She gave him a rueful look and shook her head. "I was trying to be kind." The salad finished, she pushed the plate away and sat back, crossing her legs and tugging her skirt down so the tops of her stockings didn't show. "So tell me something."

"That, my friend, is a very sad statement about your sex life," he said, deadpan. He'd waited until she had a mouth full of steak, too, so she couldn't even shoot back a reply immediately. Her eyes narrowed dangerously while she chewed. Then she lifted one hand and sent him a very clear gesture hidden in the innocent act of scratching her temple. "Is that an invitation?" he responded with a smirk. She swallowed and then cracked up laughing, causing the other diners to react to her in the same way they'd reacted to him. He started laughing, too, ignoring the looks they were getting. This was fun. He liked the back and forth they had going, and after such a short time. It'd taken a while for he and Erin to get close, and, he had to admit, even after a year, it hadn't been as relaxed as this.

"So, you said when you were in the field. What about when you weren't?" she asked after eating half the steak in front of her and finishing her wine.

"Since I've been a case officer, you mean? Or prior to the Committee?"

"How about since the first time, just to make it easy on you. I know how you're getting close to your dotage."

"You want to know my entire sexual history?" He smirked. "Sounds like someone's more interested than she's willing to admit."

"Sounds like someone lives far too high up his own rear for his own good," she shot back with a wicked smile and then ate more of her steak.

"Hey, you're the one asking the questions about my sex life." Then he snickered. "It'd be easier just to show you, you know."

She deliberately misunderstood him with a slightly disgusted look. "You took video? Stills? You're awful!"

"Well, there was that one time...," he mused, looking off into the distance for a moment. "I was thinking more a live demonstration, though."

"I do not want to be any part of that, thanks. You can go and find someone else to watch." She was having a very hard time keeping a straight face throughout her deliberate obtuseness.

"Well, if you like an audience...I'm okay with that." He enjoying it, too, to be honest.

She gave him a long suffering look and shook her head. "How did we even get on this topic? I honestly don't care how many women you've ensnared in your twisted web. As long as I can count on you to be there when I need you and not to give me sh-t, you can bang as many women, men, ferns, whatever as you want."

Oh, she'd walked right into that one. His voice was almost gleeful. "Oh, you can count on me to be right there when you need me. Ready and willing. As many times as you need me. I've got great stamina."

She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously and pushed her plate away, the steak half-eaten, her third glass of wine untouched. "I think I'm going to review my notes and the bug's recordings. I'll see you in the morning." She rose from the table and turned to walk away.

He sighed. "Rebekah. It was a joke, for sh*t's sake. Sit down and finish your dinner. I won't make another innuendo for the whole meal. Promise." She stared at him for a long, long time and then slowly sat down and began eating again. She avoided eye contact and focused instead on her food.

After a few moments of silence, he set his fork down and looked at her. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I thought we were just screwing around. I apologize if I hit a nerve." His voice was very serious, rather uncharacteristically so, from all that she'd seen in the past couple of days.

She glanced up at him from underneath a fan of lashes and shrugged one shoulder. "I should be able to take a little teasing," she said softly.

"Well, something sure turned it from good-natured banter to hurt feelings. For that, I'm sorry. Just tell me to shut up next time, okay?" He ventured a little grin. "I'm a flirter and a teaser, but I'm not an insensitive jerk."

She sighed and set her fork down, her appetite completely gone. "It's not you or anything you've said. It's just...the topic, I guess."

"Okay. I get that. I'll try to tone it down." Unfortunately, it was pretty much his favorite topic. "And, uh...if you ever want to talk about it?or anything else," he added hurriedly, "I'm a good listener when I keep my mouth shut."

"Thanks", she said with a quick smile. She took a sip of her wine and idly looked around the room, her eyes moving swiftly over everyone she could easily see. "I really should go review everything. I'll see you in the morning, okay?" She gave him a soft smile and stood up from the table.

He nodded, standing up as well. "Bright and early." He turned to go, then stopped and looked back at her. "I had fun tonight. Thanks."

"Thank you." She reached out and gently squeezed his biceps before leaving the restaurant and heading for the lifts. That very human moment had him standing there for a moment, watching her leave. Then he blinked and came back to reality. He paid for their meal; using Sub Rosa's creds, of course, then left, heading back to his room at a fast walk. He had a mission.

She sat down in the same exact place she'd been yesterday. "I thought we could review the surveillance and maybe go over the route from the extraction point to the safehouse." She pulled a liquorice whip out of the package and nibbled on the end of it.

He handed her one of the glasses and reached past her to swipe a licorice whip. "Sure," he said. "I don't like sitting and planning by myself, either."

During the next two hours, they listened to the surveillance tapes. Luckily the device she'd planted on Lindstrom was sound activated, so they didn't have to sit through hours and hours of silence. They didn't learn anything exciting, other than the nature of the project. It had little to do with terraforming a planet. Lindstrom's idea was to resurrect a dead star. And from what they could glean by listening to his discussions, it was entirely possible that his experiments would work. It was also entirely possible that if his tech got out of control, someone could easily destroy an entire star system in a very short amount of time by causing its sun to go supernova.

Mike whistled softly. "This is even worse than we thought," he said. "Whole star systems?" He shook his head.

"Yeah, it's pretty awful." She sighed and finished off her second synthale, trying to ignore the fact that she was really quite buzzed now. "Can I ask you something? What's gonna happen to this guy after we take him?"

He tossed down his drink and poured them both a third. There was enough left in the bottle for one more round after that. "I don't know," he said after a few seconds. "We aren't supposed to ask questions like that."

She made a face but nodded anyway. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of. They're either gonna lock him away on Charon or kill him." She glanced at the ale and made another face. "I can't drink that."

"It's easy," he said, taking a drink to show her. "Like that." He frowned a bit. "Yeah...they probably will. He can't just go on working, or he'd just make the damn thing again."

"No, I mean..." She smirked and shook her head. "Never mind." She took a tiny sip of the synthale and then sighed heavily. "Doesn't it... I mean, don't you feel bad? This guy didn't do anything wrong. It's not like he's actively trying to sell his experiments to the Confederacy's enemies. He's trying to do something good. It's not his fault that his tech can be used to destroy just as easily as it can be used to create. Why should he be sent to Charon?"

"To be honest," he said slowly. "I agree. He really hasn't done anything to deserve being put away, especially not on Charon." He started to say something else, then just shook his head and left it like that.

"So can't you do something about it? Lobby for him or something?" She ate another handful of popcorn and dragged the map that they'd used to route their escape from the extraction point to the safe house closer to her.

"I don't have that kind of power," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just a case officer. You know how the CoC works: Orders roll out like depth charges from on high and explode down here with the mere mortals, who scramble about to fulfill them."

She made a sour face and then sighed deeply. "This is an awful situation and it makes me feel...unclean."

"You have to weigh it out," he said. "It is unfair to snatch him and lock him up for the rest of his life. On the other hand, if we don't take him, and someone uses this thing in an inhabited star system, billions of people will die."

"You're right," she said softly and then nodded. "You're totally right. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few." She sat back and scrubbed her hand down her face and released a weary sigh. "If I drink the rest of that, I'm going to fall asleep right here."

He struggled heroically not to make the obvious comment. His jaw muscles flexed as he tried to restrain himself. Damn, this was even harder than he'd thought it was going to be.

"Oh, just say it," she said. "Your head's gonna explode if you don't."

"I don't mind sharing at all," he said all in a rush. At least he'd toned down what he'd wanted to say. It was progress.

"That was weak. And not at all what you meant to say. But I appreciate you dialing it back a bit." She gave him a little half-smile and stood up. "I think I should go back to my room. I'll see you in the gym in the morning."

He got up and picked up the bottle of synthale. "Mind if I hang onto this?"

"Nope. It's yours. Just...don't drink it alone, okay?" She patted him on the arm before picking up all the maps and the surveillance tapes and heading to the door. "G'night," she said and stepped out into the hall, going to the lifts.

"Then stay and share it with me," he called after her half-heartedly. "Not like there's anyone else for me to share it with," he muttered, turning away from the door and setting the bottle on the table next to his comm. There were some reports he should probably get started on?mostly initial evaluations of Rebekah's performance so far.

"Me too," he replied. "What happened?"

"He was...abusive," she said in a flat, emotionless voice, her eyes still turned towards the window.

She'd almost married the guy? He hadn't known that. That kind of detail didn't show up in her jacket. He thought it was best not to let her know that he knew all about John Quinn. Not just yet. She'd take it as a betrayal, a prying into her past without permission. "You left him?"

She nodded. "Yeah, when Committee recruited me. He didn't want me to go. He didn't want me out of his sight where he couldn't control me. I told him to stuff it. When he tried to hit me, I hit him back and then ran." Her tone was still the same flat delivery that she'd had before, almost like she was reading from a particularly boring script.

"Good," he said, more fiercely than he'd intended to. "I hope you knocked his ass out." His hands were clenched into fists again, he realized.

"Not quite," she admitted with the tiniest of smiles. "But it certainly gave him something to think about." She noticed the clenched hands and the look in his eye and wondered about it. Was it simply because he was an honorable?if over-sexed?man?

He noticed her noticing, and forced himself to relax. "I don't understand how a person can hurt someone he claims to care about like that," he said, feeling unaccountably embarrassed by his vehement reaction. He stood, walking over to the replicator. "Want anything?"

"Some Centauri tea? It's good for restless nights. Especially with Terran honey."

He nodded and ordered two cups of it. He handed one to her and sat down, cradling the other in both hands, watching the steam lazily curl up from the surface until it dissipated. There was something symbolic there, he was sure, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Maybe I should go try to get some sleep," she said softly. She still felt awkward.

"We probably both should," he said, nodding. "I know I won't, though."

She stood up and took her tea with her to the door. "I'll see you in the morning. Thanks for this," she raised the cup a bit. "G'night."

"Night," he said quietly, giving her half a smile.

She nodded and stepped into take the hood off his head and to check his pulse. "Okay," she said and stepped back. "He should be out for a little while longer, I think."

"Probably, but we're not going to take any chances," he said. "Our op's not over yet." He turned and walked over to a case he'd left there when they'd set up the safe house, opening it up to reveal several vials and a hypospray.

She raised her brows and watched him curiously. When she saw him with the hypospray, she nodded slowly. "I get it. Knock him out while we go loot the lab. Good thinking. That's why they pay you the big bucks."

He cracked a grin. "We get paid?" He selected one of the vials and loaded it into the hypo, then went back over to the unconscious scientist and pressed the hypo against the base of his neck. It hissed quietly. "All right. He'll be out for six to eight hours now."

She checked his pulse and nodded. "All right. Let's go steal us a sun reigniter thing." She flashed him a little grin and went out to the living area of the house.

They had a second vehicle parked around behind the safe house, since there was always the possibility that the car they'd brought Lindstrom in had been spotted. This one was wheeled instead of maglev. People noticed patterns, so using the same type of vehicle over and over again was a no-no. As they drove away from the safe house, he glanced over at Rebekah. "No more jitters?"

She shook her head. "Nope, I'm just...I don't know. Really amped up. Like someone gave me stims, you know?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I know. It's a rush, isn't it? Some people get nervous and sick when the pressure's on, and your life's on the line. Some are energized by it. As you can guess, the latter kind make better ops."

She gave him a little smirk before she turned back to watch the traffic in front of them. "Go over the plan again. I want to make sure I have it straight in my mind."

"Okay. The terraforming labs aren't open to the general public, so we can't just walk in the front door?which is okay, since it would be dumb to do that anyway." He grinned again. "So, we go through the back door, which, in addition to being much less likely to get us caught, is also an amusing euphemism." He snickered. She rolled her eyes at his sophomoric humor and indicated he should continue. "Bet you wish briefings were this good back at the Farm," he said. "We saw during the surveillance that almost everyone leaves by eight or so, which means the place will be nearly empty. We head to his lab, wipe his notes, and either take the prototype star-igniter-thingy, or destroy it if removing it isn't feasible."

"That?s all well and good, but I foresee four problems." She held up four fingers and then began ticking them off. "Problem the first. How are we gonna get in the back door? Problem the second. How are we gonna get into his lab? Problem the third. How are we gonna access his notes and stuff? Problem the fourth. How are we gonna take and/or destroy the star-igniter-thingy?"

"The first one's not even a problem. There hasn't been a lock created yet that I can't defeat. Hell, you should be able to handle it, too, unless they just stopped teaching B&E at the Farm. Getting into his lab will be even easier?we know his security code, after all."

She nodded. "They still teach B&E there. Probably more advanced than what you learned, back when there were still combustion engines." She snickered.

"Shut it. I'm only a few years older than you."

More snickering. "I guess it'll be easy until we get to the thingie, huh?"

He shook his head. "I don't expect there to be any real problems with that, either. It's got to go, whether we destroy it or steal it."

"Okay. Well, I'm just going to follow your lead. You're the boss in this today. Don't let it go to your head."

"Like it when I take charge, huh?"

She sighed heavily and was relieved to see the building not too far in the distance. "Yeah. You just go on thinkin' that."

He laughed, pulling into an open spot a block or two away from the lab building. He turned off the car, then turned to look at her. "Okay. You ready?"

"Yep," she said, hands slipping into the pockets of her BDUs to check for her lockpick set and sap. "Let's do this." She climbed out of the car and waited near the hood for Michael.

He echoed her curse, pulling the door closed with a tiny 'click', then joined her on the landing, pressing himself right up against her. Who the hell was wandering the halls at this time of night? It had to be a security guard. Just walk the halls, he thought to himself. Don't worry about the door. Just keep walking. Nothing to see in here. "If he catches us," he murmured, "pretend we're making out."

"Oh, bleh," she whispered and shook her head ruefully. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this." She peeked over his shoulder towards the door.

"Maybe I did," he whispered back, grinning at her from just an inch or two away. He could feel the heat of her breath against his face?she was still breathing a bit harder than usual, though whether it was from the danger or exertion, or just being so close to him, he didn't know.

She watched the guard's shadow pass over the window in the door and then waited for another full thirty seconds before shoving Michael away from her. "Never, ever, ever," she muttered and then slipped sideways up to the door, peeked through the window and saw that the hall was well and truly empty now. She opened the door and listened. No footfalls, no jangling keys, no horrible whistling. "Thank goodness," she muttered under her breath and opened the door wide enough to let them through and into the hall.

"Hey, I brushed this morning," he protested. Quietly. Then he followed her out of the door, looking down the hall in the direction the guard had gone. The hall curved down out of sight.

She ignored his whining and proceeded down the hall towards Lindstrom's lab. The door had an electronic lock on it, but as Michael had said earlier, they knew the combination, courtesy of Rebekah's extensive surveillance work. She waited for Mike to catch up and enter the code on the lock box.

He brushed past her, smirked slightly, and entered the code with a little flourish. The ready light winked green, and the door slid silently open, revealing a darkened lab, with only a few instrument panels and buttons casting their feeble glow in the room. "Hand lights only," he said to her, "Someone might notice a change in the power consumption if we use the room lights," he continued, tapping the stud that activated his comm's small but powerful light.

She nodded and followed him inside. It was the first time she'd been in the lab, but she'd studied the schematics so many times she could move around without a light. There were four work stations set up in the main room, one for Lindstrom, one for his secretary, and two for his research assistants. There were two other rooms branching off the main one; one was the actual lab where the tech was stored and tested, and the other room was for storage. "Split up the terminals? Two each? Or do you want me to take the files and you go investigate the thingy?"

"Start with the files," he said. "I'll check the storage room, in case there's backups or anything in it, and then we can move onto the tech room. Sound good?"

"Yeah," she said, sitting down at Lindstrom's terminal. She quickly got to work, hacking into his station and then blowing through the files, nuking everything she came across...until she encountered the actual working files for the tech. With a surreptitious glance towards Michael to make sure he was occupied and not paying attention to her, she slipped a tiny portable memory stick out of her pocket, jacked it into the terminal and copied all the files. Once that was finished, she slipped the stick back into her pocket and completed the nuke and scramble on the scientist's computer.

While she got on the first terminal, he went to the storage room and tapped the open pad, shining his light inside. It was a cluttered mess, to put it mildly. There were open boxes on the floor, the equipment inside them glinting when the light passed over them, several racks of even more equipment, some of it obviously worn out or damaged, and, in the back of the room, a single, older model terminal was perched precariously on a small table. He went to it, flicking it on and nodding. Looked like all it held was an inventory of parts and equipment, and requisition orders for them. He wiped it anyway. Having a list of gear would put someone halfway to rebuilding the project.

She moved quickly to the secretary's terminal, and found nothing particularly useful. It was mostly administrative materials?pay roll, work schedules, letters that begged various governments, rich people, corporations, and even the Confederacy itself for funding. There were also various notes on interviews that Lindstrom had given to the media, a list of the doctor's contacts (Rebekah made a copy of that), and his calendar for the next three months. She wiped it all and went onto the assistant's stations. She copied files there that fleshed out what she already had and then nuked both terminals, erasing everything right down to the operating system itself.

Mike came out of the storage room and crossed the main lab, heading for the door where?as far as they knew?the prototype itself was stored. "How's it going there?" he asked Rebekah as he passed. He saw she'd finished with three of the terminals and was on the last already. That was quick work, even for a simple wipe.

They made it out of the building safely and forty-five minutes after that, were riding the lift up to Lindstrom's tiny apartment. Rebekah bumped the lock quickly and then they were inside in less than three minutes' time. "Wow," she said quietly and looked around the room. "This is even smaller than my place back on Nova Angelus," she remarked, switching on her comm's light and making a cursory sweep of the room.

"It's just a place to sleep," he replied. "The guy lives in his lab." In a place that small, it didn't take long to find his PDA. "Take it and let's get out of here," he said, handing the PDA over. "We can wipe it later. The charge has gone off by now, and they'll be coming here to look for him." This was all true, but he was also using it as a way to gauge what she was going with the data. Would the PDA prove to be too much temptation?

She nodded and slipped it into her pocket, coincidentally the same pocket that the copied files were in. "Okay, let's go babysit," she said with an easy smile before visually going over the place once more. They then left the tiny room and went and to the bank of elevators in the hall just down from Lindstrom's door.

"You drive," he said. "I'm going to monitor the security bands, see what they're saying about the explosion."

"Sure thing," she said, settling down in the driver's seat and waiting for it to automatically adjust to her body. Then she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Did he know about the files? Was this a trap?

He didn't seem to notice the glance, busy tapping out commands on his comm. "They've got the fires out already," he announced after ten or fifteen seconds. "Quick work." He read the scrolling text for a bit longer. "No damage to any other areas of the building, but the prototype is a 'complete loss'."

She smirked a bit and slid her hand carefully, quietly down to her pocket and felt the PDA for its data port. "Wonder if that's the truth or a euphemism? You never know with news reports." She found the data port and slid the memory stick into it, using just the very sensitive tips of her fingers to guide her.

"I'm pretty good with euphemisms," he said, shooting her a little grin. "I think they really mean it this time." He went back to looking at the comm screen. "They're searching for Lindstrom."

She grinned at him, while her fingers moved over the PDA's keyboard. Luckily she was very familiar with this particular model and had taught herself how to do easy tasks like text simple messages, copy data, and turn on the record function while not looking. She copied the data on the stick to the PDA and then sent it to a blind storage cloud for retrieval at a later date.

"The lab complex's head of security just gave a statement that they are, quote ninety percent sure end-quote, that Lindstrom wasn't in the lab when it exploded."

She extracted her hand and left it lie in her lap as though it'd been there the whole time. "Wonder where they'll look for him?" she asked, maneuvering through traffic towards the safe house, always checking to see if they'd somehow picked up a tail.

"His house, first. Good thing we're not there anymore. These guys are faster than I expected. Must be the high-class nature of most of the visitors here." His eyes flicked to her hand for the barest instant, but he made no comment on it. "They'll talk to his neighbors, next."

"How long do you think they'll look for him? Our transport's due in what, 48 hours? Will that be enough time for them to decide he pulled a fade and stop checking outbound vessels?"

"Not likely," he said. "Lindstrom's work is some pretty serious sh*t. It's got major government backing. They'll be looking for a while."

"Well, crap," she said softly and pulled into the garage of the safe house and then sat still for a moment, her hands on the wheel, her forehead furrowed in thought. "Think we'll have to change our plans for extraction?"

He shook his head, giving her a smug little smile. "Nope. I already planned for this possibility. The ship we're going out on is registered to the Provisional Government of Rigel 6." He paused for a second, knowing she'd understand immediately.

"Smooth," she said with obvious admiration. "Very smooth. It'll be nice to travel first class for once instead of the cargo hold of a stinky, gross Sagittarian ship." She shut off the car and climbed out of it, her hand slipping down to her pocket to take the memory stick out and drop it on the ground. She stepped on it, her heel coming down hard and crushing it as she moved to close the door of the vehicle. "When do we leave?"

He smiled happily. "48 hours, like you said. Long enough not to look so suspicious, but well before any chance they might stumble onto the safe house?a remote possibility, but one nonetheless," he said as he got out. He glanced at the time display on his comm. "Still several hours before our sleepyhead wakes up. How about a nice shower? I'll scrub your back," he finished with a grin.

She didn't answer, merely raised a brow at him, and dug the PDA out of her pocket. Her fingers moved over the keyboard, scrolling through the files to access the command lines. Then she erased it, deleting not only whatever the scientist had put on it, but her own use of it as well. "You shower, I'll fix something to eat," she said once the PDA was erased. Then she handed it to him. "There. Now's it's a doorstop or a paperweight."

"Was worth a try," he said, taking the PDA and dropping into a small incinerator. "I'll be right out, then." He went into the bathroom, pausing to glance over his shoulder at her. "If you change your mind, the offer stands..." He winked and swung the door shut behind him.

She flicked a glance over the top of the page again and raised a brow in his direction. "I've done lots of things, Michael. I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific." She was very proud of the way she'd kept the sudden spike of fear out of her voice and off her face. Inwardly, though, she began running through his physical weaknesses, inventorying her weapons and what she could immediately get her hands on to hit or stab him with, how many credits she had access to if he could be bribed, and whether or not she'd be willing to sleep with him if it meant keeping him quiet...or giving her a better opportunity to kill him and escape.

"Come on, Bekah," he said. It marked the first time he'd used the shortened name for her. "At least grant me enough respect not to play dumb. You're no good at it." He ventured a little smile. "Too much going on inside that gorgeous head." He kept his hands open and relaxed on his knees, even though he knew exactly what she was doing. His voice, too, remained quiet and calm as he continued. "I'm not going to report it, so you don't need to try quite so hard to come up with ways to take me out and escape. The one about sleeping with me to keep me quiet is okay," he added, once again demonstrating that he could practically read her mind. "As long as it's not followed by murdering me in my sleep."

She gave away nothing, not in her eyes, not in her expression. She remained silent and still for a long moment, though, just staring at him as the wheels in her head turned quickly. Finally she said, "What do you want?" 'Cause in the end, they all wanted something. Sex, money, power, all three.

He sighed softly, glancing away from her. "Would you believe me if I said to be your friend?"

She snorted softly and shook her head. "No, I wouldn't." Very carefully, she turned off the book and set it aside before sliding to the edge of her chair and putting both feet flat on the floor in front of her. Within reach was a heavy sculpture and a stylus, either of which she could have in her hand in less than three seconds. She could hit him in the head with the sculpture hard enough to knock him out, or she could jam the stylus into the side of his neck, nicking the carotid and internal jugular, and let him bleed out in 20 seconds or less.

"I'm not surprised. I wouldn't believe it if I was in your shoes, either," he admitted ruefully. "Consider this, then. I've known since I saw you pat your pocket on the way out of Lindstrom's lab. If I was going to report you, I could've done it a dozen times by now. I could've shot you in the back on the way to the car. Or when you were taking your hour-long shower."

Her eyes narrowed and she slid further to the edge of her chair, thigh muscles coiling beneath her, ready to rocket her to her feet and to the stylus in three seconds flat. "Is this going to be one of those things you're going to hold over my head for the rest of our working relationship?"

"Only if you actually go for that stylus," he answered, leaning forwards a little. "Or you can accept that I'm not out to get you." He kept his eyes fixed on hers. "Look. I've done the same thing. Every good op knows that information is power."

She didn't quite manage to keep the surprise off her face when he said he'd done it, too. But then her paranoia kicked in and she shook her head. "You would say that," she said, her voice containing a tiny bit of venom. She sprang to her feet and went for the sculpture instead, snatching it up and pulling her arm back to smash it powerfully against the side of his head.

As soon as she moved, he launched himself towards her. His shoulder drove into the center of her chest as she drew back her arm, using his greater size and strength to take her right off her feet. He rammed his forearm into her wrist as they fell, preventing her from swinging the sculpture. When they hit the ground, he was directly on top of her, pinning her to the floor. "I don't want to fight you," he hissed, his face only a few inches away from hers?too far to bite, but close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her face, smell the hint of mint in it. Apparently, he really did brush often.

About half an hour after Rebekah had barricaded herself into her room, when Michael was on his third glass of Aldebaran whiskey, his comm beeped at him. He looked at it, and saw that Lindstrom was awake and struggling with his bonds. At some point, he must have set the comm to warn him if it detected motion in the room, though he had no memory of doing so. He stood, feeling kind of blurry, and started for the scientist's cell, then paused, looking back at Rebekah's door. He walked carefully over to it and called out, "Rebekah!"

She'd heard the beeping so when Michael barked out her name, it came as no surprise. "What?" was her flat, emotionless answer. The gun was on the nightstand next to the bed, within easy reach, though it was perhaps telling that she left it lie there instead of snatching it up immediately.

"Lindstrom's awake."

"So what?" What did he want her to do about it? Take first shift?

Well, so much for trying. He turned away from her door and was halfway to the door behind which Lindstrom was being kept when he slowly realized that had he no reason to go in there. They weren't here to interrogate the scientist, or talk to him at all. He could watch from a screen just easily. He went back to the couch and practically fell into it, leaning back and propping his arm up on the back of it so he could see his comm screen without moving his head. F*ck it, he could watch and relax at the same time.

When there was nothing forthcoming, she frowned slightly at the door. Wasn't he going to say anything else? Wasn't he going to even see to Lindstrom? Give him food, water, a chance to use the bathroom? "Crap," she said softly and stood up, leaving the gun on the nightstand and going to the door. She listened intently, but thanks to the soundproofing in the scientist?s room, could hear nothing from him and Michael was being equally silent. She removed the chair, unlocked the door and stood there for another moment, listening once more. Then she opened the door and peeked out.

He was stretched out on the couch, watching his comm screen in between sips of a fourth Aldebaran whiskey. He caught the motion of her head from the corner of his eye but didn't react to it. Lindstrom was yelling something?probably 'help'?but he hadn't turned the sound on.

She stared at Michael then stared at Lindstrom's door and then stared at Michael again. "Aren't you going to do anything for him?" she asked at last.

"Oh, so now I'm worth talking to, huh?" he answered, an acerbic edge to his voice. "You couldn't break my skull, so you figured you'd give words a try?" He turned his head to glower at her, but otherwise made no move to rise.

"F-ck you, Kennedy," she shot back and went to the kitchen to get the plate she'd fixed earlier, a glass of water, and another hypospray full of whatever Michael had shot the scientist with.

To his surprise?probably hers, too?he let out a loud guffaw. "That's what I've been trying to say all along." His words were starting to slur just a bit as the effects of the fourth whiskey hit him.

"Drunken assh-le," she muttered as she went back to Lindstrom's room and went inside.

"Murderous b-tch," he called at her back in reply.

"Not yet," she said under her breath before looking Lindstrom over. "Are you hungry?" she asked, holding up the plate to him.

The scientist jumped violently at the sound of her voice, his head jerking back and forth under the hood. "Wh...Who's there? Where am I? What's going on here?"

"You're safe, Dr. Lindstrom," she said in her most soothing voice. "I'm going to take the hood off so you can eat if you're hungry, or drink if you're thirsty. I'm also going to free one of your hands, but if you try to get away or try to hit me, I will put you down. Do you understand me?"

"Y...yes. I'm an old man," he quavered, voice breaking. "Please don't hurt me."

She said nothing in response, instead just set the plate and glass down on a small table they?d drug in after securing him in the room, then moved to stand next to him so she could take off the hood. She did so carefully, trying not to hurt or frighten him more than he already was.

The scientist blinked repeatedly in the harsh light of the single bulb, tears leaking from his dark-adjusted eyes. "Where am I?" He asked again. "What's going on?"

She moved around behind him and freed one of his hands. Then she handed him a spoon and slid a small table over closer to him. After a few more moments of blinking and waiting for an answer, Lindstrom seemed to realize he wouldn't be getting one and looked at the spoon in his hand. Then he began to eat, not stopping until he'd finished it all, then drained the glass of water. "Thank you," he said, his voice a little firmer than before.

She nodded and stepped forward, securing his hand again and then removing his plate, glass, and spoon. "Do you need to visit the washroom?"

"Yes, please."

She nodded and stepped out into the hall and brought the dishes back to the kitchen. "He needs to piss," she said to Michael as she washed, dried, and put away the scientist's dishes.

"You just tried to kill your handler for promising not to turn you in," he pointed out. "That's f*cking nuts in my mind."

"Words are empty, meaningless things," she said. "I could tell you that I'm the God Queen of Eridani 6, or that I'm head over heels in lust with you and dream about ripping your clothes off and f-cking you until we're both raw, but that doesn't make either true, does it?" Okay, the last part was a little true.

"Too bad," he managed. "I'd be good with that last bit." His vision was getting a little blurred, and he felt like he was floating instead of lying on a couch.

She sighed unhappily and shifted on her stool. "Do you want me to get a transfer?"

"I can't work with you if you're going to try to kill me," he said, forcing the words out through a growing haze in his mind. "It'll mean my job, though. Two failures; they won't let me have a third.

"I won't try to kill you," she said. "I may just try to beat you up occasionally, though."

"In that case," he said faintly, "don't ask...transfer." His eyes began to sink closed as the potent whiskey finally got the better of him. "...too hot to lose." A tiny smirk curled his lips, and then he was out.

She sighed again and rolled her eyes. "Awesome," she muttered and slid off the stool, going to pull the blanket that sat on the back of the couch over him. Then she checked the cameras on the scientist and went to sit down in the chair she'd been in before the blow-up. She settled in with her book and took both night shifts to give Michael time to sober up.

Eight and a half hours later, Rebekah gently prodded Michael's shoulder with the tips of her toes. "Hey, Mike," she said loudly. "Wake up."

"Huh? Whuzzat? 'm wake," he said blearily, opening his eyes?and immediately slamming them shut again when the far-too-bright light burned into them like a laser. "Aw, f*ck me."

She smirked and retracted her leg, settling down once more in the chair next to the couch in which she'd sat vigil all night, alternately watching Michael and the scientist. "It's your watch. Go get cleaned up."

She hadn't killed him in his sleep, obviously. When he sat up and pain ripped through his skull, he kind of wished she had, though. He groaned, heaving himself to his feet and staggering towards the bathroom.

She chuckled evilly as she watched him for a moment, then rose and went into the kitchen. She quickly made a plate of dry toast, a glass of orange juice with lots of B-vitamins, and a half a liter of water. These she left on the counter and then returned to her chair, watching the scientist again. During the night, she'd taken him for a slow walk around the room to keep his muscles from atrophying, took off the cuffs that restrained his arms and let him move those as well. She'd also taken him to the bathroom once, given him a light snack, and left him without the hood.

In the bathroom, Mike pulled his clothes off and dropped them in a heap on the floor, climbing into the shower and turning it on full-blast, as hot as he could stand it. He stood under the water for twenty minutes, until some of the pain and sensitivity to light drained away. Then he slowly washed up, trying not to make any sudden movements that would jar his head. When he was done, he got out and dried off. It was about then that he realized he hadn't gotten any clean clothes to change into. "Motherf..." He wrapped the towel around his waist and came out of the bathroom, heading for his bedroom.

She whistled and cat-called and made as much sound and was obnoxious as humanly possible while he scuttled half-naked and dripping wet down the hallway. He flipped her the bird, almost losing his towel in the process. Then he disappeared into his room, swinging the door shut with a thump that made his brain hurt. She chuckled and shifted in her chair, rubbing tired, gritty eyes with the heels of her palms. Exhaustion was beginning to creep in; she'd been awake for nearly 36 hours at this point, running on bad coffee and adrenaline for most of it. She was looking forward to lying down and sleeping, even if it was for only 4 hours.

Another fifteen minutes passed before Mike came out of his room. His eyes were red and bloodshot, but otherwise he was dressed, groomed and more or less presentable. He went straight for the food and drink, draining the orange juice in a single gulp. It helped him feel closer to human. "Thanks," he said to her, since she'd obviously put it out for him.

She nodded and watched him silently for a moment. Then she said, "The doc's been fed, watered, walked, and has been to the bathroom. He should be fine if you wanna just leave him alone for your shift." Then she rose and gathered her book, comm, and a small bag that had a piece of yarn trailing out of it.

"Bekah," he said before she could leave. "I never got a chance to tell you, but...you did great yesterday. One of the smoothest ops I've ever been involved with."

"Some of the tension," he repeated.

"Yeah. Some. The only way to relieve all of it would be to f-ck and that's not ever gonna happen. So, yeah. Some," she repeated and turned away from him, intent now on hunting down some coffee. Maybe she had an extra stim tab hidden away in her bag somewhere...

"There's coffee in that pot," he said, pointing. He didn't even know what to say in response to her reasoning. Could she seriously think that it would lessen the tension by giving him a kiss like that and then promising it would never happen again?

"Thanks," she said distractedly and poured herself a large mug full, dropped in two heaping spoons of sugar, a splash of milk, and stirred the whole thing up. Then she went back to her chair and sat down, curled up like a cat with her coffee. As she sipped it, she studied him over the rim of the mug. "Why didn't you sleep with your other agent?" she said after a few moments.

He stared at her for almost thirty seconds without saying a word. "I'll answer that if you'll promise to answer a question in return," he finally said.

It was her turn to stare back at him for an almost equal amount of time. He did say that he wanted her to trust him. Maybe a little tit for tat was in order. Finally she nodded a little. "Okay. I'll answer a question for you."

He nodded. "I had a sister," he said, seemingly apropos of nothing. "She was six years older than me, but we were close. Never really fought like siblings so often do, even when we were young. She was smart. Really smart. Went into medicine and graduated from med school two years early. When I was fifteen, she joined Fleet Med, because the people who really needed help aren't back home. She was on Thompson's Colony when the revolution broke out."

She nodded, a sick, sad feeling in the pit of her stomach. The civil war on Thompson's Colony had been on the news reels, broadsheets, and lips of everyone and everything in the Confederation for a year or more. Many people died, many atrocities were committed on both sides, and many peoples' lives were never the same. He saw the look in her eyes, and nodded. "Yeah. She didn't leave Thompson's. The Drop Team that landed near her field hospital said they found her lying across the door to her IC tent, where she'd stood in front of the armed guerrillas and wouldn't let them in. So they shot her and stepped over her body. The news didn't get back to us for fourteen months, until the whole conflict was over." He looked down at his hands. "Erin?my first op?was a dead ringer for her. My heart about f*cking stopped the first time I saw her."

She frowned softly and reached forward to lay her hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry," she said gently.

Now that he'd let the flood gates open, the words wouldn't stop pouring out. "When Erin died on an op I'd sent her on, it was like losing my sister all over again. I almost gave up right then. They put me on administrative leave, pending a psych evaluation." His lips twitched into a little smile. "I guess I passed it, since they assigned you to me three months later."

Her brows climbed her forehead. "Three months? Your last agent died three months ago?" And I'm the one with the psychiatric problems? she thought.

"Four, now." He shook his head. "Sub Rosa doesn't have enough case officers that they can let one sit around for long." He knew what she was thinking, though. "Guess we're both f*cked up, huh?"

"Speak for yourself," she said with a tiny smile. Then she sat back and made a 'come on' motion with her hand. "I owe you, right? So, c'mon. Give it to me."

"Sh*t," he said. "I don't know if it even matters, now."

"Chicken," she said.

"Bite me," he shot back.

"I do like chicken," she said thoughtfully. Despite the circumstances?or maybe because of them?he started to laugh. She winked at him and finished her coffee. "Well, if you're not gonna ask whatever it was that you were gonna ask, then go away and leave me alone with my book."

"I'm not letting you off the hook that easily. I just need a better question to ask." She rolled her eyes and picked up her book, turning it on and finding her place immediately. She began reading, seemingly ignoring him now. "Why do you keep bringing up sex and the people I've slept with, when you keep claiming no interest?"

She smirked and raised her eyes from the book. "You totally misunderstand me, Kennedy. I've never said that I have no interest. I do. Loads. But... It can't happen."

"Because it's against the rules?"

"Sure. That's one reason."

"Uh huh. Like it was against the rules to copy Lindstrom's data. Only that didn't stop you."

"F-cking you's not gonna guarantee my safety if someone up there, " she meant the chain of command, "gets it into his head to dump me in the toilet."

"Come on," he said, shaking his head. "You're both smart and cynical enough to know that sleeping with me would make it all the more likely that I would fight to protect you. What's the real reason?"

She stared at him for a full minute before looking away, lowering her eyes because she found it impossible to maintain eye contact. "I'm not sure I want to talk about it," she said in a soft voice.

He started to remind her that she'd promised to answer his question, that he'd given her an honest and complete answer to hers, then stopped himself. Pushing her wasn't going to accomplish anything but make her withdraw...or attack, and he'd had quite enough of that already, thank you. "All right," he said instead. "Forget it, then."

"Just because I said I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about it doesn't mean I won't," she said defensively. "I said I'd answer your question, didn't I?"

"If you want to answer me, go ahead," he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "If you don't want to, then don't. I really, really don't want to fight with you anymore."

She continued on like she hadn't even heard him. "It's because it scares me. Sex. Being that vulnerable with someone. All the feelings and wants and disappointments." She shrugged and looked away again, lowering her eyes once more, still unable to meet his steady gaze.

He nodded slowly surprised that she'd admitted that to him. "All right. I think I can understand that. Thanks for telling me the truth." He stood and patted her arm lightly. "I'll go lay down now and leave you alone."

"All right," she said, watching him leave, a strange and complicated feeling rising in her chest. She sighed heavily and shook her head, turning her attention to the monitor. The scientist was still asleep. She went back to reading her book.

By the time he'd turned around, she'd arranged her face into a bored expression and was studying her comm's display screen. She glanced up and nodded, then pushed off her lean against the door frame. "Since this is a starliner, they've gotta have pretty decent mess, right? I could really do with some French toast and some strawberries right about now."

"I'm sure they have all kinds of good food. Diplomatic starliners get better stuff than the rest of us have to suffer with." He brushed past her as he left the room, making no effort to avoid touching her. "Lindstrom's doing fine, I take it?"

"Yeah," she said falling into step next to him. "He looks much better than when he brought him on board. Being out of those restraints has done wonders." She was quiet as they caught the lift down to the mess hall. "Are we delivering him or is someone meeting us at the docking port in Nova Angelus?"

" Someone's going to meet us," he said in reply to her question. "As soon as we leave the ship, he's going to be someone else's responsibility."

"Nice. Good." She heaved a relieved sigh and glanced up at him. "And what do we do? Do we get downtime or do we have another mission right away?" They'd entered the mess hall and Rebekah glanced around, giving the sailors already present friendly smiles.

"Usually, we'll get some downtime, unless there's something really urgent. If they already have another op lined up, they'll send me the information so I can start preparing you for it whenever I feel like you're ready for another one. With Erin, I tried to give her a week of R&R before jumping into briefings for the new op." He nodded to the others in the room. Half of the mess hall was set up like every mess hall on a military ship?long tables with attached benches. The other half, clearly in deference to the diplomatic passengers, was set up more like a restaurant, with separate tables and chairs.

She automatically gravitated towards the side that was like what she was used to on board gunships like the Miles. "So do I get R&R? I'd like to talk to my friends and let my...well, the guy I was seeing before all this know about the...uh...changes."

He nodded. "Unless they tell me to start getting you ready right away, yeah." He paused for a second. "If you do talk to them, make sure they know you're going to be out of contact a lot."

"I will. No worries. I think I'm gonna have to break up with the guy." She didn't seem too upset over this. She moved through the mess line, taking French toast, sausage, loads of whipped maple butter, a bowl of strawberries, and some coffee.

"Sorry," he said, despite her seeming lack of concern, because he wasn't an assh*le. "That's one side of this life I could live without." He was busy filling his tray as he spoke, loading up on pretty much the same things she was, except for bacon instead of sausage. When he judged it sufficient, he lead the way over to one of the long tables, picking the one closest to the wall.

She sat down next to him, rather than across, since she always felt eyes targeting the center of her back whenever she sat with it to the room. "Yeah, sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't be better off living on my own, just...working...for the rest of my life." She spread the maple butter all over the French toast and nibbled on a strawberry while it melted.

"Why do you think I've been with so many women?" He shot her a look of mock-severity. "It's not just because I'm a dog, before you say anything. I've met more than one that I'd love to have been able to, you know, spend some more time with. Have something resembling a relationship. But there was never any chance for it. First the Marines, then the Committee, and now..." He usually avoided mentioning Sub Rosa at all in public. "Never in one place long enough."

"You wanna know something interesting?" she said as she ate a sausage link. "You know what the CIA is?"

"Sure. It formed the basis of what eventually became the Committee, three or four centuries ago."

She nodded. "They used to encourage their operatives to get involved with each other, even to marry within the Company."

"Really? Huh. I didn't know that part. What was the reasoning?" He sounded genuinely interested, twisting on the bench some so he could watch her.

"Support, mutual life styles, you know, stuff like that." She shrugged and finished her sausage before starting on her French toast. "I guess they believed in keeping it in the family, too."

"Wow. I'd always thought the Old Earth agencies were too hidebound for that kind of thinking." He chuckled, shaking his head. "How wrong I was. I guess it kinds of makes sense, if you think about it. Who else can you share your life with when your life is like ours?"

One of her brows arched and she stared at him for a moment in utter incomprehension. "Did you fall and hit your head sometime in the past thirty seconds?"

"Huh?" Now it was his turn for utter incomprehension.

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, dragging him out into the hallway where they'd be alone for a moment or two. "We already talked about this. You're giving me R&R. A week. So I can tell people that I've left Fleet. Is any of this sounding familiar?" She paused for a moment and gave him a very hard stare. "Should I take you to sick bay and get your head checked? Maybe a DNA type done to make sure you're not a replicant?"

"Yes, yes, I know that," he said, flapping his free hand impatiently. Annoyance over her incomprehension burned through the reluctance. "What I meant was, do you still want a transfer to another case officer?"

"Hey, don't get huffy with me just because you're incapable of carrying on a grown-up conversation," she said defensively. "I don't know if I want another case officer or not."

"Oh." He looked away. He didn't know what else to say.

"Don't you want a new op? One who's not psycho or gonna try to kill you all the time?"

"The trying to kill me part is a little hard to get past," he said, nodding. "When you're not swinging heavy objects at my head, you're a very good op, though. You listen, and you don't make stupid mistakes. And we worked well together. Mars was one of the smoothest ops I've ever been a part of. So, I guess what I mean is, unless you don't think you can work with me, no, I don't want a new op."

She nodded and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, flicked it with her tongue a few times and then said, "I think... I think I need some time to think about it. I'll have an answer for you before we get to Nova Angelus, okay?"

"Fair enough," he said, nodding. He didn't make any move to turn away. She was still holding his arm, anyway.

"Oh," she said and immediately dropped his wrist. "Sorry. I'll, uhm... I'll see you later." She gave him a quick smile and headed back towards the lifts that would take her up to their floor.

He watched her go, not stopping her this time, though a part of him wanted to. When the lift door cut off his sight of her, he turned and headed in the direction of the gym. He had some energy to burn off now.

She chuckled softly and then nodded. "Yeah, that'd be fine." She stood up then and extended her hand to him.

He took her hand, feeling a definite sense of relief now that he knew she wasn't going to be asking to leave. "For what it's worth," he said, "and so you know?you really can trust me, flirty or not. We have to do some pretty sh*tty things in this job, but I've never stabbed a fellow op in the back, and I'm not going to start now. I'll do everything I possibly can to make sure you get out alive and that we?re successful."

"I appreciate that," she said, withdrawing her hand and unconsciously curling it at her side, as if she was trying to hold onto the feeling of his skin against hers. "And so does my ass. I'll see you when we dock." She turned to leave then.

"I appreciate your ass, too," he said with a grin. Hey, they weren't on an op right now. She just merely shook her head and left his room, peeking in on their scientist before going back to her quarters. Mike laughed, falling back on the bed as she left and chuckling at the ceiling. He was still lying there when the ship docked at the space station and the call to disembark came. He met Bekah outside Lindstrom's cabin so they could retrieve him together. Unlike the rest of the passengers who exited through the main airlock, the three of them left via a much smaller, emergency airlock, avoiding the crowds and any watchful eyes that might be in them. They got directly onto a small shuttle for the hop to Nova Angelus, and upon arrival they were met by two other Sub Rosa agents, there to take the scientist to his new home.

Once they'd made sure Lindstrom was secure with the other agents, it was time for their debriefing. Since the mission had been an unqualified success, the debriefing was short and fairly relaxed. They each gave their reports, answered a few questions, were commended on their performance, and released. Outside of the debriefing room, he turned to Bekah and said, "All right, your week's R&R officially starts now. Go and talk to your friends and family and that one guy." He grinned. "Oh, and if you need anything, call me. Even if it's not, you know, work-related."

She nodded and heaved a huge, relieved sigh. They?d gotten through the entire debrief without Mike bringing up the issue of stolen data. She felt slightly more trusting towards him, like the next time she tried to kill him, it might be a single, clean shot to the head, rather than trying to club him to death. "You'll let me know when I need to come back in for the next mission briefing?"

"Yes. I'll call you at the end of the week, whether or not we have an op, to let you know."

"Good. So, yeah," she said awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. Finally she settled on, "Talk to you then." She gave him a little wave and then turned and headed back towards the front entrance to the Sub Rosa building, going to catch the train that would take her to her apartment on the other side of the city. Half an hour later, she was shedding her clothing in her own bathroom, getting ready to step into a tub of scalding hot water.

An hour after that, she retrieved the stolen data from Mars and moved it to her personal cloud storage. There it resided alongside information from 12 other missions she?d run in the two years since joining Committee, including the real identities of some 14 covert ops, the new identities of assets she?d turned, terabytes of scientific data that the Confederacy had stolen from other states as well as governments within itself, and ledgers of payouts and payoffs.

She wasn?t certain why she was squirreling away so much information or what she?d ultimately do with it, but if it ever came down to using what she knew to save herself, she knew she wouldn?t hesitate to leak it to the press. After all, the only person she could really trust to keep her safe was herself, and with this much stockpiled dirty laundry, she had a guaranteed safety net.