It never occurred to me that once my little chicks lost their baby feathers and flew from the nest that saw them born, they'd

Command Dynamics.

Author: Maiyri

Rating: PG-13/T

Category: Threeshot featuring on the relationship between Anne and Jeb. Or at least, my imagined relationship.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Well, except the walkingwomb. I own her. JP et al own the rest.

Author's notes: Thought I'd do my whacked-out altfic thing again, except this is a prequel altfic, made up of three double drabbles on a loosely bonded plotline.


She stalks him. Except she doesn't call it stalking - or if she does it's deep down in the depths of her mind.

She knows exactly where he goes on his rounds.

He has his habits, his idiosyncrasies. She's made it her business to memorise them. She wonders if he knows she's watching.

She's the Director after all, and she should be aware of what the leader of one of the main projects, the Avian-Recombinant project, should be doing. Where he'll be, and when he'll be there. When he's going to be taking that week off to visit that promising new boy in New York.

Who he spent those six hours in a meeting with last Wednesday.

Or at least that's what she tells herself, and conveniently ignores the fact that she had no idea what the Feline Recombinant project does anymore, when she can remember the lead scientist's name. Hig-something. It sounds Dutch.

He's just…fascinating.

The line in the sand for that so-called professional justification was passed a long time ago, and she's well into the territory of a personal obsession.

This has nothing to do with her job. Nothing at all. And she's planning on doing something about it.


"We can't keep doing this Madame Director," he says, pulling his shirt back on. He only calls her that if he's angry or frustrated. She knows that he's both. "We can't keep doing this. You're a distraction, and I need all of my energy focused on my project."

She nods at him. She understands. It's their jobs, it always is. It changes you. She blinks back tears, though she doesn't know if they're reflexive from rejection, or that she's really upset. It wasn't as if she didn't know this was coming. And it's not as if she actually cared about him. Except she did…does.

And she knows.

And he knows.

He sighs, puts his glasses back on and walks out of the room. Probably for the last time. And she can't bear that.

She pulls the sheet up around her and rolls out of bed to follow him. She makes it into the entrance just as he's about to walk out the door. It's raining outside, she notes, and she doesn't know if that's a sign or not. Not that she believes in signs.

She can't say anything to make it right.

He gets into his car and drives away.


She hears that he's back after his absence, and wonders what she should think. He's been away for two years with the Avian-Recombinant project, getting viable experiments, and then he spent six months at the Institute in New York.

She knows this. She's made it her business to.

He made it pretty clear that he didn't want to continue what ever it was that they had.

She'll make him change his mind.

There's a group of people crowding around him as she turns the corner. She knows he's been swamped with well-wishers and various clingers-on that think he walks on water. After all, he is Jeb Batchelder, and he creates Angels.

One of the mob spots her, and stands to attention. "Madame Director," he says respectfully. This is the cue for everyone to scatter, and within half a minute the corridor is empty of all but her, him, and another woman.

The Other Woman.

She's beautiful.

Anne knows she can't compete.

Jeb smiles, and introduces them. She is Doctor Mahalia Batchelder, and she's five months pregnant.

Anne smiles, wishes them well, and tries not to let the anger she feels escape. Because that's not something that the Director ever does.