He might have disagreed with her, but Nigel Fenway couldn't deny that Molly Caffrey was the person to lead Threshold, whether her plans were short sighted, maybe even morally wrong, or not. She had designed the protocols and she would, he was sure, carry them out perfectly.

He was flattered by her trust in him, though it took time for that fact to sink in, and after that he watched her more carefully. He still didn't agree with keeping it from the public, but now he thought he had a better understanding of why she'd done it. It'd hit him at the most unusual time, of course. He had watched her talking to Cavennaugh, laughing (he didn't know how, how could anyone be anything but bitter and ironic with this always hanging over them?), and seen her sharp eyes, her pointed look that got to somewhere right deep down inside you.

Caffrey was the one. Whether it was the one for Threshold, or the one for him personally, he wasn't quite sure. He'd had enough of marriage, relationships -- he'd thought. But sometimes (just sometimes), the light in Caffrey's eyes was definitely worth going back on that.

"Have you found out anything more about Libby Drennan's baby?" she asked him, swinging round into his area, her heels clicking a little against the floor. He wouldn't have noticed that, normally -- hated the way he honed in on the sound, glanced down to see her wearing a skirt, her legs long and graceful. He almost wanted to fumble through a compliment.

But instead he fell back on the sarcastic tone.

"Of course. I mean, it's not like I have anything to do but sit around all day scanning Libby's baby for signs of infection over and over..."

She put up a hand and he trailed off. She smiled slightly and nodded. "Okay. I understand you're busy. Soon we'll get in some more people who can help you work. In the meantime..."

"I'll get to the scan later," he said, and tried not to think about how easily she'd quelled him.

She gave him a serious look and he met her eyes, feeling his stomach do some kind of weird, biologically impossible flip-flop. He took a deep breath, about to ask her, in that sarcastic tone that shielded him so well, what she was doing standing there, but she beat him to it, concern in her eyes, "Are you okay? Do you need a break -- someone to talk to?"

"No," he said, too quickly, and she nodded slowly.

"Okay then."

He realised something else, in that moment. She was the only one he could talk to, anyway. For all that they disagreed on some matters, she probably understood him best.