That was how it all started. Never mind their first meeting. It had been all hurried formality. He was just another face, another contact, met and moving on.
It was in the clinic. Tension torn, the shot passed close enough to activate her shields and fan the doctor's hair.
Righteous anger would have been the appropriate response. Taking a shot like that – on the move, in the moment – it was too risky, too close.
It was masterful shot. Quick and clean. It made her look twice. Got her attention.
(He told her once, later, that the secret to being a good sniper was in recognizing the moment, the breath, the split second stars aligned space when you needed to take the shot. It seemed counterintuitive. Sharp shooters should be all wind velocity and high tech scopes. Patience and planning and lying in wait. But sometimes, the opportunity arose and you had to act, to take the shot, even if circumstances were less than ideal.)
The words are out of her mouth before she has fully processed what she is suggesting. Reach and flexibility. A half formed half crazy imagining turned open proposition.
She had seen it. That moment. The perfectly aligned shot. He is surprised, but thinking twice. She has certainly got his attention.
(And now, here, dizzy and breathless with the expanse of the presidium glittering below them, she understands. Her shot had been unsure, on the move, too risky and too close, but in the end, right on target.)