John Harrison }{ Khan Noonien Singh

Mallory is a man who is able to accomplish almost anything he sets his mind to. By all rights, stepping into her shoes, the whole office should have bucked the readjustment, some of the older agents in particular... but somehow they don't. They fall smoothly into line underneath him, and for one simple reason.

Mallory is incredibly good at reading, at soothing, at moving people the precise way he wants to, at achieving the desired result from resource after human resource. He has Bond twitching with loyalty, has Moneypenny working with focused devotion, and has Q happily ensconsed in a lab with almost free reign and near unlimited resources and enough supervision and oversight to give his days structure. Every one of them, and everyone else in the bureau besides, each so lovingly tailored into just the right spot, not only makes the transition smoothly but rapidly begins to thrive under his gentle touch.

Which is why it's unheard of, the request he makes of Q this afternoon, to meet him in his office, even more unheard of his request to take on a new trainee and manage him closely, report anything he sees out of the ordinary. But it's also why Q can be sure it's for a damn good reason.

John Harrison, the newest upheaval in his life, will be waiting for him down in his office when Mallory is done with him.

It's absolutely, utterly excruciating. Parties like these usually are. The men stand about and upright in full dress uniform, the planner was a little too stodgy to put out the Romulan Ale, and what passes for Earth's champagne these days is a poor comparison.

The man currently known as John Harrison stands at the outskirts of a small group of men, within eyesight of Admiral Marcus, letting the man see his presence, letting him see his good behaviour. It'd be unacceptable, apparently, for a Starfleet officer of his position not to attend this little soiree, so here he is, playing nice, at his captor's request. His eyes are fixed squarely on the left eyebrow of the pompous old windbag talking to him (his name is already forgotten) as he nods along in apparent agreement at appropriate intervals, slowly nursing his glass.

There are a few other young officers with him, a pair of girls and a nervous looking boy, equally trapped by the unending narrative of their superior officer. The others don't hide their bored dismay quite as well as he does. In the end, it'll probably be the girl who attracts Kirk's attention. She's pretty and her skirt is decoratively short, strawberry hair up in an elegant sweep, and Khan is glancing at her, considering how vapid her smile looks, not dreaming that someone might be about to swoop in and save them from being bored to death.