Stephen's house was a modest dwelling set behind the House and to the side. It had a sort of headmaster's house flavor to it, or so Tommy thought. It was brick and two-storey, shaded by trees. There was a paved walk from the House to its front door. It was a somewhat long walk, as these things go, and it went past a few other dwellings but Stephen's was at the end of it.

Stephen's house was set in such a way that the back yard terminated at the brick wall that surrounded three sides of the House and grounds. It was far enough from the other houses that it was a fairly private back yard, but not completely. There was a simple patio arrangement and the rest was grass and trees. On the patio was a grill, a table with four comfortable chairs all shaded by an umbrella, and a standard patio set with well padded cushions.

Eli, who took care of the yard like he did all of the grounds, having a love of green and growing things that equaled Tabitha's passion for food and hearth and home, kept the lawn emerald and the garden a delight to the senses. He had placed tubs of flowers on the patio at scattered locations and put citronella candles in others.

Stephen however was wholly responsible for the inside and had taken a cue from Baz's library, the place having come into his life only after Doni had left it. So, he had chosen comfort and leather and wood, well placed lighting and area rugs. One entered from the front door into a hall way. One side, the right, led to the kitchen and dining room, with a small bath that was hidden behind the front door when it was open. To the left was a large and comfortable living room and off it at the end, French doors to the patio. Off the far side was a study where he spent most of his time when he was there and not sleeping. Upstairs there were three bedrooms and two full baths. So, it wasn't an unusual house or even an especially homey one, though Tabitha did what she could when she could, so it didn't remind one vaguely of a hotel room. Stephen rarely noticed.

It wasn't that Stephen had no interest in such things; it was that he usually had no time for them. He ate his meals on the go and spent his time going from his office to the ops center or to Clem's office or to the infirmary or any of a number of other places. When he wasn't doing that he was going Home on demand, or various parts of the world for one reason or another. His day yesterday had been fairly typical in the ground he'd covered even though it had been unusual in the quality of the food and the pleasure he'd taken in the company.

He didn't know if he'd enjoy tonight's dinner but he was open-minded about it. He knew Reno mostly by hearsay and he tended to discount that as a matter of course. What he didn't discount suggested a civilized man with a cultured bent. It also suggested an very intelligent man who paid attention and would not be amenable to manipulation. Given he had no desire to manipulate the man, merely fool him for a relatively short period of time he did not consider that to be a problem. So, all in all he expected no real problems with covering the items he needed to cover and was more than a little interested in discovering what Reno's items were, if anything. He was fairly sure that this dinner would be less potentially fraught than sharing a scotch with his employer was going to be.

He went first to the kitchen and placed the Speight's Ale in the refrigerator and noted that Tommy had not failed him. He had even included a bottle of red wine – which on closer examination proved to be a Rosemount Estate cabernet merlot, what ever that meant- that he'd left on the counter along with the steak sauce. Before this was all over he was going to test Tommy to his limits, he knew, and was giving a small corner of his mind over to ways to ease Tommy's inevitable anxiety. He was also considering how to concretely make clear to him that he, Stephen, knew the demands he was making, and honestly didn't think he could function without him. But those were tomorrow's problems; tonight's were limited to starting the grill and then cooking an edible meal.

Stephen returned to the refrigerator and opened it again, taking inventory and planning his campaign. He took the cobbler out to return to room temperature as Tabitha's note, prominently affixed to the foil told him to do while also informing him that there was vanilla ice cream in his freezer, whipped cream not being appropriate for her cobbler. He also did the same with the steaks, as directed by another note from Tabitha, who also informed him that she had already seasoned them and that all they would need was a bit of salt. He blessed her foresight and Tommy's as well.

The lettuce, he saw, when he returned to the refrigerator, wasn't lettuce, but a container of greens already clean and ready to eat that was labeled mixed baby spring greens and herbs with another note in Tabitha's hand directing him to add the other ingredients only after tossing the greens with the dressing she'd made, a white balsamic and pecan vinaigrette, or so the label on that container informed him. He opened the salad ingredients container and found several smaller containers of pecans, mandarin oranges, red onions, dried cherries and crumbled gorgonzola.

On the next shelf he found the potatoes, already sealed in foil. The note on those said that he should take those out of the refrigerator and told him how long they needed on the grill to be cooked as well as how to tell that they had achieved that state. Tabitha had sliced them, though not completely through, seasoned them with cracked pepper, coarse kosher salt and then stuffed onion, roasted garlic and butter between the slices. Next to the potatoes was what had to be the corn and another note with directions, informing him they had been soaked and were ready to roast on the grill. These had not been seasoned so he must be sure to put salt and pepper on the table along with butter. He placed those on the counter next to the potatoes and closed the refrigerator door.

On the door was a timetable, telling him when to start the grill, which Eli had already gotten ready for him, when to set the table, open the wine to breathe and everything else he needed to produce something a bit better than merely edible. Turning he surveyed the kitchen getting things straight in his mind and spotted what he was sure would be the last gift from Tabitha to him. The coffee was set up, and ready to turn on, and all the dishes and utensils he needed set out, next to cloth napkins and place mats.

He was wrong. Heading to the patio to check the grill he saw that the table as well as the rest of the furniture had been cleaned, and the patio swept. Eli had even put a lighter for the grill where he couldn't possibly miss it. He smiled his first real smile of the day and began to relax. No matter what else happened, in his mind the evening had yielded more than he had imagined it could.

By seven-twenty he had showered, changed into khakis and a polo shirt, started the grill and opened the wine. The ale was cooled and the pilsners for it in the freezer. When the bell rang at seven-thirty he was laughing at himself and ready to enjoy the evening. So when he opened it, he was relaxed, with not a trace of anything except simple pleasure on his face.

Reno stood on Stephen's doorstep, his back to the door. He was watching someone go by down the walkway riding a bike. When he heard the door snick open he turned his attention back to Stephen. In that second before their eyes met, Stephen caught a moment of un-reserved Reno, something that did not happen all that often. He looked younger in that fleeting moment. The difference exposed lines of strain and a deep-seated tiredness too.  Then the face Stephen had come to know already was back and in place. An easy smile, wide open eyes.  He wore a pair of baggy jeans and a sun-dyed tee shirt.

Stephen held out his hand.  "I hope you've come hungry."

They shook hands easily, Reno's grip a bit stronger than Stephen had expected.  "I was warned I shouldn't."

Stephen turned and led the way to the kitchen. "I'll have to dock Tommy's pay."

"Not Tommy, but nearly everyone else."

"Oh," Stephen said as Reno laughed softly.

The moment they were in the kitchen Reno's eyes took in the scene. The timetable and directions on the refrigerator, several notes regarding various elements of the meal.  "Ah," he said after a moment. "Now I understand. What ever possessed you to invite me to a dinner?  We could have gone down to the pub.  Now, let's see ... 'pilsners in freezer.'  I can do that."

Pilsners presented, Stephen produced the ale. They clicked glasses.  "To,"  Stephen thought for a moment and then said, "a beginning, and a successful encounter between the food and the grill."  Then he laughed at himself and took a drink.  "Now, he said setting his glass on the counter, "somewhere there is something to carry this out back where, according to the schedule, it's time to add the corn and the steak.  Assuming of course, that, and he read from his directions, "the potatoes yield when squeezed firmly.  Do women really think about cooking like this or is this just Tabitha being helpful?"

"I suspect the latter but claim no expertise," Reno replied as he scrounged around for a tray which he presented Stephen. "Where's that list, a "using large salad bowl toss the greens with the dressing and ONLY then add the other ingredients'. Right got it."

The two of them were laughing by the time they'd gotten everything outside and the appropriate stuff was in the appropriate place on the grill. They took their seats at the table.

"So ..." Reno left that lay there for Stephen to finish off, as he sipped his beer.

"So, here we are...you, me and the looming question of whether to stick to small and medium talk until after dinner or not?  I certainly have no preference in the matter, but I know some people who feel business does nothing for the flavor of food."  He sipped his beer and watched his companion.  When Reno simply passed the ball back with a smile and a gesture Stephen found his appreciation of the man growing.  "OK, then how about we start slow and see what happens.  I can promise you that while I have a number of questions, my motives are pure and the things I need from you for this - you being here as a representative of the Council generally and Marc specifically - to work out from my perspective are few and relatively painless."  Stephen then waited, knowing that the next few minutes would govern the state of his digestion later.

"I'm limited in what I can answer, Stephen. If you accept that then perhaps we can proceed and both of us still enjoy those steaks."

"I anticipated that, and would certainly have been surprised it that weren't the case.  I am not interested in putting you on the spot.  So let's start here.  Why did Marc send you and not someone else?"  While he waited for a response, if there was to be one, he turned the steaks.  "I believe you asked for rare?"  Stephen, his back to Reno gauged the quality of the silence for a moment and then said, "And, it has occurred to me, that in fairness a trade might be in order.  You answer a question and then I'll answer one...as proof, shall we say, of my pure motives and friendly intent."

Stephen was rewarded with a soft laugh. "Yes, rare. As to the rest, I ...I helped him out with a problem some years ago. When he decided to actually take an interest in the Council he asked me if I would be willing to help him. I'd kept his secrets. He appreciated that."

"Now my question to you. Why were you willing to risk an all out breach over Palmer and his children?"

Stephen grinned.  "Put yourself in my position and then ask yourself this question:  What was the likelihood that would happen?  My answer to that was something less than two chances out of ten.  Why?  Because the only way that would have happened would have been if the full Council, not just the permanent Council, had stood for Charlie Palmer being forced to give up his children.  So, to answer your question I took a calculated risk, based on my knowledge of the situation and have, for now, won.  I decided to take the risk because I had decided that it was time to take that particular risk.  The reasons for that decision would be next to impossible to catalogue, but if that's your next question I'll give it a shot."  As he finished he handed Reno a plate, and holding his own returned to his seat.  "If it isn't edible it's all Tabitha's fault." 

Stephen applied himself to his food for a moment, and then asked, "What do you hope to accomplish while you're here?"

"We are attempting to slow the Council down, so I suppose you could say we are buying time. Also, Marc admits he has erred in ignoring the actions of the Council over the years. He was... distracted by other concerns. Frankly, he tends to ignore things until they kick him in the shins- or higher up."  Reno took a few appreciative bites of his steak before he asked, "Do you want to heal your relationship with Home and the Awakened or sever it?"

At Stephen's startled look Reno shrugged. "Hey, always ask; the most you can tell me is it's none of my business."

"I want what I've always wanted.  It might be helpful when considering the current situation to reflect that I've worked towards that goal for... oh close to a thousand years.  So ultimately the last thing I would do is create a situation that would permanently sever the relationship.  I can however imagine at least a few scenarios, such as this one, where a temporary disconnect might be beneficial.  But it wouldn't be my first choice."  He added wine to Reno's glass and his own before continuing. 

"So, if I understand you correctly,  you and Marc are attempting to slow the process as it relates to my case and or the work and result of the commission I recommended by ensuring that I do nothing further to exacerbate the sensibilities of the Council.  Now that's very interesting.  Tell me, has it occurred to either of you that in engineering a situation where the commission is so probable as to be a foregone conclusion and done so in a highly public way over a highly emotional issue I might have achieved exactly what I set out to achieve?"

"Yes," Reno replied. "And has it occurred to you that you might be stirring up a nest of vipers who will use your highly emotional issue to force a war?  Last I checked, you didn't want a permanent breach. If you push hard enough that is what you will get."

Stephen leaned back in his chair, relaxed and at ease.  He wanted to smile but didn't dare.  He wanted to reassure the man across from him that he was as aware of that possibility as anyone would wish, if not more so.  He couldn't do that either.  So he said, his voice flat and unemotional, "They won't for exactly the same reasons they never have before.  The fact that it's emotional makes it memorable not meaningful.  So, you can safely assume that while aware of the possibility I concluded it was perhaps less probable than you and Marc think it is.  Stephen sighed and went on, "I can promise you, however, that I will do everything in my power to achieve my objectives while doing nothing to precipitate civil war among a race of people who have no notion they are also a nation.  I also have no intention of annoying the Council further for some time to come.   Beyond that I am not sure what can I say to reassure you or Marc."  He left the implied question hanging.

"Marc will freely admit he is playing catch up. So you might be right. But he thinks there is a level of play going on that is beyond the Council. That is where his concern arises. He asks for you to deeply consider future moves. He may not be able to blunt things again. The Council meeting?  He took control and reversed their agenda. Stephen, be very careful here."

Stephen took several minutes to consider what Reno had said, waiting until he was reasonably sure he'd identified all the implications of what he had just heard.  Then he said, very slowly, "I would like it very much if you would convey a message to Marc for me....personally, in words, and face-to-face....Say to him that I said that the sooner we share the scotch the better.  Will you do me that favor?"

"I agree. I believe he will too. Are we done with the hints and partial truths now?" Reno replied more lightly.  "I'd rather spend my energies on this steak than on madly computing every possible permutation of your comments."

"Oh, I agree, in fact, I'd say we've been done for some time, but that's just me.  I have just one more item, though, and it's painless.  Tommy told me you'd like to go out with the teams."

Reno nodded, his mouth otherwise occupied.

"I've no objection, though I have one caveat.  There's a training program you'll have to complete first designed as much to ensure you don't get hurt as it is to ensure no one else gets hurts either.  Cal Cahill is expecting you, if you're willing, tomorrow to start."

"Sure, it hadn't occurred to me but it makes sense."

"Good.  You'll find Cal in the ops center, across from my office at about nine tomorrow morning.  When you’re finished there Gideon will take you through some trial runs then I'll add you to one of the teams."  Stephen reached for the wine and held it up, "another glass?"

"Why not."

Not very long after Reno had bidden a good evening to Stephen the young man was sitting in a wicker chair on a porch with a cold beer in hand. His companion had little resemblance to Stephen, however. Marc Rogatien was dark and a bit forbidding. He had one lock of hair that refused to bow to his naturally regenerative genetics, a streak of white through the near blackness of the rest of his hair. His eyes were blue but of such a dark hue, and set deeply under winged brows, that most people thought them black.  He wasn't conventionally handsome, his features too strong for that. But he had an expressive mouth and when the rare smile showed, Marc seemed nearly human. It was the force of personality that generally speaking overwhelmed everything else about him. He stirred primal fears deep inside people, even those who didn't know he'd been once titled the Angel of the Abyss.

"The steak was quite passable although the wine left something to be desired," Reno was saying. "When are YOU going to cook me a steak?'

Marc shook his head. "The conversation sparkling?"

Reno frowned and looked out at the dark water before them as he sipped his beer. "I believe he really was being open and forthright."

"Hmmm," was all Marc said.

"I know. It wasn't what I'd expected at all. I'd thought, well, that he'd be more circumspect at the least. He's a bit frightening."

"How so?" Marc asked.

"I think he is a good man."

"God, save us from the good men," Marc answered bitterly.

"No, really," Reno protested.

"No, really," Marc repeated dryly. "It has been my experience that the good men stand wringing their hands in trepidation, pleading for comity and accommodation while the bad men, such as I, walk all over them. Their goodness serves only to sideline them."

Reno thought about that, and a few of the things Marc had just said regarding himself. That was a longer philosophical treatise than he could ever remember Marc sharing with him, or anyone else to his knowledge.

"Granted, Stephen does seem to see the world, and his adversaries, as easily divided into separate camps. He is logical.  His decisions and thinking are informed by applied methodology and rational thought. He believes that will help him in the end. That past actions can be used to predict future moves, which he can then safely counter."

"I don't necessarily disagree with that."

"No," Reno replied thoughtfully. "No. But he also seems quite certain he knows and understands all the threads and interwoven motivations coming into play here."

"As he said, he's been successfully fending them off for a thousand years," Marc reminded Reno.  After a moment of shared silence Marc added, "So he wants a meeting sooner rather than later."

"Yeah," Reno replied.

"I've a few more things to put to hand. Let me know when a good arrival time would be. No warnings."

"Right. Oh, and I get to train as a team member," Reno added.

"Well, surely they'll find a use for those surprising talents of yours."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Reno muttered as he polished off his beer, frowning and looking sidewise at Marc.

Marc laughed. "Don't worry. I won't leave you solely to the tender mercies of the Ops Team. But it will be helpful to see them in action to judge against what we've heard on Home."

"Yes. But ... I mean, I am still working for you."

"Oh, Stephen and I will spar a bit, I'm sure. I'll make quite certain he understands you will drop anything, including a newly Awakened, if I shout."

Reno wasn't all that happy to hear that.

"I'm not generally capricious," Marc said heavily.

"I know," Reno said, slightly chastened. "But if I'm on a team, then when I'm on it, I'm on it."

"Yes. And never forget you are on my team first and foremost."  The voice was silk, but the meaning was clear