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I lov his bloody bandaged arm...

She'd always had a special touch. He'd glimpsed it beneath her pale, elegant face when they'd introduced her as his new colleague — Dr. Fayer, Peter from biosecurity level three had commented, placing a hand on her shoulder and smiling as if they were friends.

Ah.

He'd sensed the symptoms during their first years together, her test subjects always suffering a little more than usual, always having a few more broken bones — their eyes widening in terror at the sound of her cold, deep voice. He'd been able to experience firsthand some of what was under her skin when he'd returned from his year as a spy in the US Army — the ferocity with which she'd greeted him mingled with aching pain and disappointment. Fuck you, Al, she'd told him, and while his pride burned with the desire to put her back in her place, another part of him smiled, satisfied by her cruelty. You're a fucking masochist, Al, had been William's comment before he was transferred from Arklay, Annette's addiction to Elopram now at the point of no return and Birkin's gaze a fervent, chaotic obsession.