Mint has the vaccine. But he doesn't have the formula.

I have the formula, if wearing it as an implant can be called so.

They took the lab by force, just the way I foresaw it, and they took the vaccine. But it's quite useless in itself. Well, not entirely, of course, but it takes time to analyze and reproduce it, and that's the only thing the world doesn't have now.

Time. Things are getting worse at an alarming rate.

Time is the most precious factor in the game. If Pavlov loses his head start, other competitors will emerge soon. Mint needs to be fast. He needs the documentation like an addict needs his next fix, and the moment he'd have it, the world would become an even more hopeless place for millions of people.

In other words, I'm the only thing standing between Mint and mass destruction. Just the way I planned.

Their next target will be the Agency. If I can think of keeping the vaccine and the documentation apart, Mint can too, and the first place he'll think of is our good old headquarters. He knows it like the palm of his hand.

This will be huge. Mint's army, attacking our base just to find nothing there. The irony! He'll be so out of his mind.

If he survives it without a stroke, he'll start to think. And then, he'll come for me.

Mint's clever. But he's not Gabriel. He won't be able to figure my plan out until it's too late. He'll think he's chasing me while I am the one chasing him.

I have a rare tactical sense. Gabriel said so, so it must be true.

"Hey, Duke," she turns to me, with a cup of tea in her hand. "Have you noticed how these super-spreaders work? It seems that most of the infections are caused by a very limited number of people. It's still not in the news, but sooner or later, the scientists will discover this effect, too."

She loves tea. And I love to make her one. She also loves crunchy things, like peanuts or almonds. She hates the sticky ones, like raisins or dates.

"I did," I answer, and I'm not even lying. Merely by spending time with her, my analytical skills improved a lot. I'll never reach her level, obviously, but I'm getting better at it.

"By the way, do you use these things we talk about for anything in particular?" she asks.

"To build a strategy."

As in, for nothing special. The sudden improvement of my analytical skills also excludes the possibility of the bullshit-content in my own words to remain undetected, sadly.

As in, I just love to listen to you when you say clever things to me.

As in, I asked you to work with me just to spend time with you.

She probably noticed this the very moment I invited her here to talk about the virus over a tea and a ridiculously huge heap of different seeds presented in the most handsome bowl I found in the supermarket.

Yet, she came over, and she looked at the data on my notebook, not mentioning that it's 100% the same data that she has access to at home. I wish there were a secret Agency-operated database, filled with the same unclassified data provided by the WHO, at least, to give me a solid excuse to do this, without feeling like a creep.

"Strategy is good." She grins. "What does it cover, may I ask?"

I curse mentally. Then I simply tell her the truth. There's no use in trying to lie to her, anyway. She calculates me too easily.

"I plan to sit here, looking unthreatening, waiting for you to lean against me. That way, you can face away from me, still feeling connected, and I can caress your hair, making sure that I don't touch your skull because I know you hate that."

She laughs.

"And how does that relate to the virus?"

"Well," I answer seriously, "facing away from me not only serves to avoid sensory overload but also makes it impossible to transmit diseases orally."

She laughs again.

"Do you want to avoid that too, Duke?"

I can't decide if she's teasing me or she's collecting data.

"Not at all," I say. "But I remember the horror on your face when you saw Tobey kissing Mint's face. So even if you decide to turn your face in my direction, and I react instinctively, closing on the target, I'll bear in mind to keep my mouth closed. Is that okay with you?"

She nods.

"Sounds like a solid strategy, Duke."

I approach her slowly. I give her time to get used to the idea. I don't hug her because any restriction of free movement can be aggravating for someone like her. As much as I'd love to hold her close, I need to take her particular condition into account.

When she nods, I slowly touch her mouth with mine. Briefly, giving her a few seconds to adjust to the sensation, and pulling away.

"This went fairly well," she admits.

"Yes. You don't even have to breathe out, do you?"

"No. I'm okay."

"Let's do it again, then."

"If that's what you want, Duke."

"Yes. That's what I want."

I'm such a liar. The thing that I want is to throw her on the bed and prove to her that her previous experiments regarding sex weren't scientifically accurate. Those results can be immensely improved by an expert. Someone who knows how to be gentle and firm, for example.

69% creepy, 18% gross, and 13% interesting, my ass.

She might be the most intelligent person I've ever met, but I have a scientific degree in sex.

Honestly, it's hard to resist the urge to show her how those percentages could be turned into 90% satisfying, 8% ecstatic, and 2% eye-opening. Her monotonic voice and impassionate gaze do unexpected things to me. But I know that her senses become overwhelmed easily, so there's no way to push her.

Her brain is... different. I have to go slow, bearing her limitations in mind. But damn, I wish she would look at me like other women do. Just once.

Not because I feel challenged.

It's because I want to challenge her.