His own office was much further down the hall, in a cluster of smaller rooms. First Lieutenants did not require lavish surroundings and trappings in order to perform their job function. Mode was indifferent; he required a desk, a chair, and some modicum of privacy in which to work, and he had those in sufficient supply. Most of his work was in the other areas of the IA compound, anyway. The "interviewing" chambers were practically spacious.

Informing Vaisou that he believed he has positively identified one Rebecca Solenis had taken more of his time than he wanted to spend. He would have preferred to let the girl go her own way, but it was too close to coincidence that he would be assigned to interview "Melissa Harrison", and he wasn't going to allow anything masquerading as "coincidence" to interfere with his current arrangement. He was here, Kat was here, and nothing was ever going to stand between them again. Vaisou had seemed unsurprised and amused at Mode's revelation concerning Solenis, and that confirmed his suspicions. Vaisou loved tests. Everything was a test, every question, every order, every surreptitious look. Mode was in a constant state of examination, and he didn't like it.

He took his seat and leaned back, turning the ring on his finger absently. Some things were worth a little discomfort, he reminded himself, studying the golden band Katera's father had worn once, many years ago. Some things are worth everything.

His hands were moving mostly on their own when he reached to activate his desk and bring up the camera feed in Katera's room. It took a moment to load - the system appeared to be running slowly - and he had time to feel faintly guilty. I shouldn't spy on her, not when I can be with her. I don't have to watch her from a distance anymore. I love her. I...trust her. I just want to look.

The screen loaded, and his half-hearted self-recrimination faded a little as he frowned at her empty room. Where could she be? Checking in with her commanding officer, perhaps. He set the feed running backwards. He wanted to see her discover his gift, wanted to see her expression as she examined it. Gold and silver hadn't seemed right for Katera - too weak, too fragile. Polished steel - beautiful, unyielding, unbreakable, the same substance her dagger was cut from - was far more appropriate.

He looked away, putting his desk in order, and looked back in time to see Robert Quistin storm backwards into the room.

Dread coiled into a cold, furry ball in his stomach and he accelerated the reverse, accelerated it to the point of his own departure before dropping it into play again, fast forwarding until Katera began to wake.

Quistin, you fucker, if you hurt her, I will erase you. It will be like you never were.

She was angry, and then she was wondering, but her rapt staring held no magic now. He knew what was coming, and ran the feed forward until her father stormed into the room. He could not hear what they were saying, did not need to. Her father was still bloody from their chat in the hallways, and he had paperwork with him. He's trying to take her away from me. Again. He watched Katera refuse, watched their violent skirmish afterwards, Quistin twice her size and more than willing to use it to what advantage he could. Nathan's weak satisfaction as he watched her sink nails into the man's skin was shortlived as he saw Quistin hurl her against the wall. She impacted and slid to the floor, and he was on his feet then, until his mind reminded him that this was a feed, this was done with, and he had to keep watching to find out where she'd gone.

And then Katera drew her dagger.

Mode sat down slowly and watched father and daughter do their best to injure one another, and for a few moments he was certain Quistin was finally going to get what he deserved. Quistin slammed her into the door again, then, and something he said made her wilt even as she strained to get back up. The bruises, the blood...so much blood...

Kat put the dagger away, and Quistin looked smug - but Kat turned and hit the palmpad, and her father was left staring in shocked anger too deep for him to even make an attempt at catching her.

He activated the hallway cameras, watched her mad dash through the station, saw her disappear into the library and not come back out. He had to find her, make sure she was alright, tend her wounds. Robert Quistin could wait. But not for long, you bastard. Not for long at all.

Even Mode's assurance that their records had been cleaned was not enough to keep her from feeling uncomfortable. Years of accumulated offenses and a suspicious, sneaking conscience left her always feeling as if someone were watching her, ready to pounce on her slightest infringement, and being in the thick of those who enforced such things did not bolster her confidence. And so, for the months that they had been married, she had always found a way to make him meet her instead, a way to ensure that she didn't have to go near the IA sector... and until now, she had been successful.

But Mode was not expecting her, and Kat had not expected to need to see him so desperately. She tried to slink past the receptionist who guarded the entrance, but the woman spotted her, and Kat set about trying to be charming.

"I'm Katera Terrence, Lieutenant Terrence's wife. I'm here to see him."

"Do you have business here in the sector, Ensign Terrence?"

"I said, I'm Lieutenant Terrence's wife, and I need to see him."

"I'll have to call Lieutenant Terrence to authorize your visit."

Kat was furious, but she managed to look desperate, which wasn't too difficult considering the circumstances. Still shaken by her conversation with Wick, she just plead a little more, leaning close to whisper to the receptionist.

"Please, it's... I think I'm--" Kat let her voice trail off and made a complicated gesture to the other woman, whose eyes widened comically before she nodded. It was hard to hide her laughter, but Kat managed a grateful smile that wasn't anywhere near a smirk, and quickly moved out of sight before the woman decided to ask more questions.

The humor left her long before she reached Mode's office, and when she finally stood in front of his door, she was almost afraid to knock.

Should I tell him about Wick? He'll be angry. He hates her, and if he does anything, she'll kill him. I can't tell him that she promised. He wouldn't understand that she meant it to me.

She knocked before she could talk herself out of it, and Mode's voice sounded as the door slid open. He glanced up, startled, as she bolted inside, across the room and already crawling into his lap before he could protest, and Kat curled against him securely and buried her face against his chest without a word.

He'd known before she'd graduated that Kat wouldn't like his current line of employment, so he hadn't been surprised when she'd avoided his few invitations to see his place of work. In fact, it had pleased him; his work wasn't something he wanted Kat to have to look at too closely. It was rarely pleasant. There was also the matter of security. Many confidential activities went on in the IA quarter, and visitation was a strictly regulated thing. Kat would have had no problem getting in to see him, but he would have been required to escort her from the main room to his office and remain with her at all times. He had no idea how she'd gotten past the secretary.

That thought made him apprehensive, and he dropped his hand from her hair to his desk and changed camera views, but the secretary appeared to be intact and doing her job. Mode shook his head, a little relieved; at least she hadn't broken in, but that still left the question of how she'd gotten in, and why she'd suddenly decided she needed to see him without letting him know first.

He switched off his desk and returned to petting her hair, rubbing her back soothingly and deciding how he should handle this. If Vaisou happened to be monitoring his office - and Vaisou was almost always monitoring his office - it would be best to continue this in the relative privacy of their quarters. There was nothing he was doing now that couldn't wait an hour.

Loosing his hand from her hair, he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingertips and then lifted her chin. Her eyes weren't damp, but she looked upset. He sighed and looked at her a few moments more before standing and setting her on her feet. He hugged her to him then, kissing her ear through her hair and taking her hand in his. "You should have called," he said in a low, half-reproving half-playful voice, his tone still carrying a note of concern. He pulled back and smiled at her faintly before giving her a soft, brief kiss.

During the four and a half years he'd spent in the IA Compound learning how to do his job, he'd seen a lot of video footage. All of it was taken from the station, and most of it was recent. Observation was the most important quality of any interrogator; the individual being questioned provided as much information silently as he did when he spoke, and the silent information was far more reliable. Basic parts of his training had taught him to read those little signs and signals, in crowds as well as individuals.

His display showed the central hub of the station. It was the middle of the dinner hour; most of the station was eating, but there was a healthy amount of traffic through the hub. What caught his eye was a disruption in the pattern of traffic; someone was moving too slowly, heedless of people pushing past. In a station filled with military personnel who, for the most part, had forgotten how to walk any slower than brisk, it stood out vibrantly, and he paused long enough to take a better look.

It was a woman - a young woman, one of the new additions. If he hadn't recently seen her on the same screen a few days ago, talking to Katera, he might not have recognized her. Moira Windhaven looked like she was having a bad day. She was walking with her arms crossed and her features set, and she didn't seem to notice as people circumvented her with mild irritation at her slow pace.

He sat back down, his eyes on the screen. His caution told him to turn it off and go. Vaisou was probably watching him, and using his monitoring access for personal means was frowned on. Besides, he was already half an hour late, and Kat wasn't very patient.

The figure crossed the hub and turned into a hallway, and he flipped to the next view automatically and then sighed. If he's watching me, he saw that. I might as well watch the rest. I just want to know where's she's going, looking like that.

To his mild disappointment, she just went back to her room and sat down. He opened another display and started to trace her backwards, but he cancelled it when Jordan Windhaven showed up and snapped her out of her spell of silence.

The audio in most of the rooms was poor at best; the ventilation system held most of their equipment, and the compressor wasn't quiet. He didn't bother with it; like the rest of the IA interrogtors, he could read lips. Jordan was facing away from the feed, but she wasn't. He watched what looked like a greeting from Windhaven make little or no impression on her, and read her reply, watched Windhaven sink down onto the bed like someone had let the air out of him.

It was just getting interesting when the secretary rang through.

"Yes?" he replied tersely, his eyes glued to the screen.

"Sir, your wife is here. May I send her in?"

He swore under his breath and then spoke into the intercom again. "Yes. Escort her, please. I'm in the middle of something."

We were locked in all night or most of it, the girl mouthed, and then looked at Windhaven pleadingly, searching his eyes for something. Whatever it was, she didn't find it. He was gone when I woke up. He must have known the override code. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.

Mode blinked. He had no problem with the concept of Wick sleeping with another man, though he didn't understand what appeal she could have had for the Creche boy. It was her confession that confused him. Perhaps it's not true, and she's doing this for effect. I don't think she's going to like that effect, he noted with a small bemused quirk of his mouth as he saw Windhaven's left hand clench into a fist.

The door to his office opened, and Kat entered, the secretary behind her nodding to him before she left to return to her desk. He was too engrossed in what was happening on the screen to greet her, but he did motion her towards him. She came around the desk hesitantly, and he put his arm around her waist absently.

I couldn't. I'm sorry, said the girl's lips.

Kat didn't like having to wait, but it wasn't because she was impatient, nor because she was terribly concerned with being prompt. She wouldn't admit it to Mode, but she hated to wait because she worried. She worried that every moment he was late was another moment he could be in trouble; what sort of trouble that might be wasn't something she liked to think about. It didn't matter. Whenever he wasn't with her, she fretted, and having him more than a half hour late had just about used up her tolerance and temperance this night.

He didn't even glance up when she stepped into his office; instead he motioned her over to where he sat, his gaze fastened on a display before him. Kat hesitated a moment before sighing and complying, and he had just tugged her to him when she looked down and noticed what he was watching.

Wick? Why is he watching Wick?

"Mode?" she questioned, switching her attention from the screen to his face. He made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn't meet her gaze. That irritated her even further, and Kat was just about to give him a very sharp reminder that she was here when he started abruptly, and she glanced to the display to see what had startled him.

Jordan Windhaven was beating Wick.

Her head tilted and she too stared in fascination, drinking in the violence and the blood with more eagerness than she should have shown. Wick fell to the ground without even fighting back, and Kat frowned. That didn't seem right. Wick was a survivor, like her, a fighter; she wouldn't just give up like that. She wouldn't let herself be injured that badly without the prospect of fun... and what Jordan was doing to Wick did not look like fun, even to Kat.

Why don't you fight, sister? Surely you don't want to die. You can't want that. It wouldn't be fair.

Fairness was suddenly something Kat was concerned with, as she and Mode watched Jordan beat Wick. Wick was going to die, Kat decided, if she didn't do something about it, and that didn't seem right. It didn't seem fair to let Jordan kill her, when she had done far more grievous injury to herself and Mode. She reasoned that she wanted Wick's death for her own, and it was enough.

And even as she started moving toward the door, Kat was forced to admit to herself that she couldn't just let Wick die.

He couldn't quite bring himself to notify them.

Kat pulled away from him and headed towards the door, and he spared a glance from the screen to watch her leave with a frown of confusion. She seems upset. Why is she upset? He looked back at the screen. The girl had to be unconscious by now, but Windhaven didn't appear to notice. A few more minutes of this and we won't have to worry about her ever again. Kat said she was afraid of losing me again. This makes all of that go away. Why is she upset?

It went on, and he started to feel a little ill. There was nothing pleasant about watching Windhaven beat an unconscious girl, even if it was that one. Whatever's happening, she brought it on herself, he admonished himself sharply. You reap what you sow. It's not my problem...and you deserve it, Wick. But I don't have to watch it. He reached for the desk to shut it off, but his hand fell short as the door to the Windhavens' quarters opened and Katera launched herself at Jor.

There was one full second where he did nothing but stare open-mouthed as his wife pounced on the insane Windhaven. Then Jor shoved Kat off, hard, and Mode watched her hit the wall. It snapped him out of his trance with a curse, and he cancelled the feed, shutting the camera down remotely. There was no time for him to analyze her motive, but he knew that she had her knife, and he knew he didn't want anyone to see what was shortly going to take place.

He retrieved the tranquilizer pistol from the locked bottom drawer of his desk and loaded it, tucking it into the loop at his waist he hadn't yet had a reason to use, and then left the room at a rapid pace. The secretary barely glanced at him.

Wick appeared, Daniels appeared, their little altercation getting more serious as Wick taunted him. Then, just before the real damage could be done, Kat appeared.

Was this a hobby for you, Kitten? Saving her?

Kat gave Daniels an ultimatum, but she was moving in on him before he had a chance to respond. Mode had spent countless hours watching Kat when she'd still been in Command School while he'd been waiting for her to graduate, waiting for Vaisou to say he'd done enough to earn his own commission. He'd grown painfully used to the quiet emptiness of her expression, the slow deliberation of her movements, and the perpetually blank, lifeless look in her eyes. His consolation to himself had been a promise to both of them that once they were together, she would never had a reason to look that way again.

As he watched her attack, he saw her come to life. For a few moments, as she was hurting Daniels, Katera glowed, and she was just as he remembered her before he'd been taken from Command School, vibrant and bloodthirsty and alive.

He paused the frame after Daniels ran away. He didn't want to see the kiss again; he'd seen it enough to know that it hadn't been Kat who'd initiated it. If anything could be trusted from Wick's facial expression - and he doubted it - neither had planned it. He'd also seen the incomprehension afterward on Katera's face, followed by angry frustration, followed by a forlorn look of loss that made him wince each time it played through. He'd seen her go back to her room and curl in her bed and ached to hold her close.

At first, he hadn't understood why Kat would have chosen to protect her to begin with. It had taken more hours of digging through the files that he had, hours upon hours of searching in fast forward through fragments of Kat's solitary life to find the few moments they'd spent together. He'd located their first meeting, brought about indirectly by him; Wick had tried to pick a fight, and he'd dropped her in an alcove for Kat to find. Watching Kat back then didn't bother him, but watching himself...

Some time during the second night since Windhaven had left the station, he'd turned away from Katera for an hour and watched himself instead. He saw what he'd done to Wick in the storage bay. It made his stomach turn and put him in a cold sweat. He saw how helpless the girl really was against him, and how aware she must have been that he could kill her, if he wanted to. That hour of self-inspection traded a good deal of his old anger for shame. Wick certainly had valid cause to think she was in danger. What would he have done in her place? Waited for his enemy to come to him and hope the authorities arrived in time?

That concept was too great for him to absorb immediately, and he'd gone back to Kat, watching her talk to Wick, watching them make each other smile. They were always guarded smiles. They were often cruel smiles. But no one else made Katera smile quite that way - or Wick either, from the limited view he had of her. There was something between them, but it wasn't sex, and it wasn't really friendship; at least, not to anyone else.

You were alone after I left, Kat. Who else could you have spoken to? You avoided her when you could, and when you couldn't...you saved her, and then left her alone again. I saw how restlessly you slept after you saw her. You would have grown close to her, if you hadn't been thinking of me.

For three days he hid himself in his office, refusing visitors and ignoring Vaisou as his feeling of betrayal slowly lost its heat and congealed into sadness and muddy guilt. He checked on Katera every now and then. She was staying in their quarters, concentrating fiercely on nothing, and waiting for him to return.

When there was nothing more to see, he shut down his terminal and sat in the dark. I love her. None of it matters anyway, not anymore. I know she loves me. Why am I still here? I should go back. It's been three days. I should go back.