Vicious Memories

Chapter 73 - Eva

57 Months Ago

Eva dimmed the lights from the control panel in the hall.

"Better?" she called.

"Much."

She returned to the spacious living room, a glass of red wine clutched delicately in her fingers, the liquid dark and smelling of raspberries. The edges in the room softened without the harsh overhead lights. Leather sofas surrounded a circular mahogany coffee table. Cream-colored walls held paintings of stormy seascapes, each frame meticulously placed on the wall to maximize the angles at which it could be viewed.

The dark television reflected Eva's figure as she returned to perch on her comfortable recliner.

The Doctor held up his own glass of wine and she touched hers to it with a satisfying clink.

"To tomorrow," he said.

"The perfect toast," she replied, taking a small sip.

"Thanks again for inviting me over. I wouldn't have been able to sleep tonight anyway."

"Me either."

The thought of tomorrow sent a small thrill through her. All the supplies and equipment they would need had been sent ahead; they only had to bring their personal belongings to the airstrip. A private jet, a short helicopter ride, then a long trip by boat - twenty-four hours in total and they would be at the compound.

"You were talking about the delivery vector," Eva said, setting her glass down on a cardboard coaster.

"Right." The Doctor was barely visible in the gloom, nothing more than an outline of strong features and glinting eyes. "You know it had stumped me for months. But it was that night, the one after— What was it? Our review of the Clive case study? I was just lying in my bed, tossing and turning at three o'clock in the morning, trying to remember the details of the nightmare that had woken me up." He paused, uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment. "You remember when I told you about what I did before this?"

Eva nodded.

"Right. Well. I told you how they liked to send me in when a lighter touch was needed. Sometimes we had to make sure, and I mean one-hundred percent certain, that people would think it was an accident. Eventually I became pretty adept at delivering the right poison for the job, and..."

He trailed off, looking around him suddenly, his eyes fixing on the television, the coffee table, the seascapes, anything but her.

"Oliver," she said, using his real name for the first time, the wine making her bolder, messier than usual, "you know that what you did in the past doesn't bother me. We talked about it. I read your whole file. You never have to feel embarrassed around me."

She couldn't be sure in the darkness, but for a moment he seemed to smile.

"You're right," he said. "Sorry. I'm just not used to being open about it. Anyway, that's what the nightmare was about. It was the worst assignment of my life. I got the dosage wrong and the target didn't die immediately." The sound of a deep sigh filled the room. "The point is that the substance I used was modeled off of a very specific type of snake venom. It only interacts with unique receptors in the brain. When the realization hit me I literally jumped out of bed and drove straight back to the lab. Remember you found me running computer simulations that morning and told me I looked like I'd just come from the club? I'd been running those models for four hours by that point, using the snake venom as the vector for the serum."

Eva couldn't help herself; her melodic laugh bubbled up from deep in her throat. "That's what you were doing? I had no idea."

"Well it worked, didn't it?"

"It certainly did." The Doctor put his own wine glass down on a coster and crossed his arms across his chest.

"So did you have a code name to do with your specialty?" Eva asked. "'Venom'? 'Doctor Death'?"

"I did have a call sign, but nothing like that."

"What was it? You have to tell me."

"Maybe one day." He smirked. "But definitely not after you called me 'Doctor Death'."

The conversation devolved into other topics, all thoughts of sleeping before their trip thrown aside. They discussed work, life before the project, friends, and anything else they happened to think of. Just before dawn Eva told The Doctor how enamored her friend had been with him after dinner a few weeks ago, and he very politely told her that he liked her friend a lot, but wouldn't be interested in a possible date.

"Why not?" Eva cried. "She's perfect. And we've been friends for ages, since we were really little. When everything happened with my birth mother she helped me through it. She's the best."

"I agree that she's great," he said, his hands in the air in mock surrender. "She's just not my type."

Eva flushed at his words, covering it up with a sip of wine. Her reaction confused her, but there was no denying to herself that she was secretly pleased with his response.

As the sun began to lighten the edges of the curtains over the windows, The Doctor rose from the couch and helped her wash the dishes from dinner the previous night. Then, with a sweet smile, he left to gather his things and meet her at the airstrip in a couple of hours.

His broad back receded down the hall and Eva was seized by a strong desire to run her hands over the fabric of his shirt. She teased the feeling into its component parts, contemplating her attraction to his intelligence, his innate sense of goodness, and most of all his willingness to unapologetically use a weapon as terrible as poison in pursuit of some greater good. The right kind of ruthlessness was something she could identify with.

She opened her mouth and almost lost her self-control, wanting to call him back to the apartment, but in the end her willpower won out. The Doctor disappeared into the waiting elevator and Eva closed the door.

Their plane left in two hours. She would meet him then.