Lily Romanov unlocked her desk drawer.  The lock was looser than it had been last time.  She pulled the drawer open and stared down at the pencil tray.  It was empty again.  She swore softly and stood up.  The favorite pastime, here in the Company's basement maze of cubicles, was breaking into each other's desks.  She wondered why they bothered putting locks on them at all.

She scanned the warren and picked a likely target.  Before she could take a step away from her desk, the phone buzzed.  She snagged it, reaching for her pocket knife with her free hand.  "Romanov."

"My office," Control said, very softly and very firmly.  "Right now."

"Okay.  What's …" He was already gone.   

Lily didn't bother locking her desk; there was nothing left in it to steal. She sprinted out of her cubicle and down to the elevators.  Her mind spun swiftly, efficiently.  She knew that tone in Control's voice.  Someone was in big trouble, and it was probably her.  She couldn't remember anything she'd screwed up lately.   

She stabbed the elevator call button once, waited five seconds, stabbed it repeatedly.  "C'mon, c'mon," she muttered.  She noticed that she still had her knife in her hand and put it away.

If it wasn't something she'd done, then something had happened to him.  Or someone had found out about their extracurricular relationship.  Or else … or else what?

The elevator finally arrived.  She pressed the button for the seventh floor and held it down.  By design, it bypassed all other stops and floors – a little feature she'd learned from Control.

She trotted down the hall to his office.  The inner door was shut, but his secretary, Sue, waved her past frantically.  "Go on, go on," she said quietly.  "They need you."

"They?" Lily asked.  She didn't wait for the answer, just opened the door and moved silently into the office. 

They – Control and Simms – were at Control's desk, hunched anxiously over the speaker phone.  "Nancy?" Simms said tightly. "Nancy, you still with me?"

There was a long, static-filled pause, and then a very small voice said, "Y-y-yes."

"All right, you hang in there, we're going to help you."  Control nodded his head, and Simms followed his gaze, held one arm out to bring Lily closer to the desk.  "Nancy, you remember Lily Romanov?  You met her at the Wall party.  She's here now, she's going to talk to you, okay?"

Another pause.  "O-o-okay."

Lily frowned at the two men, looking for explanation.  Control began scribbling on a pad.  His silence confirmed what she'd suspected:  Nancy had no idea the big boss was listening to the conversation.  Probably just as well.  "Hey, Nancy," she said to the speaker phone.  "You sound scared, sweetie."

"S-s-so scared, I'm so scared."

Control slid the pad across the desk.  Lily scanned it quickly, sank into the chair.  Prague.  She'd always hated Prague.  She took a deep breath.  "So Vince is dead, huh?"

There was a sob.  "It's my fault, it's my fault …"

"Stop that," Lily said firmly.  "Are you sure he's dead?  Did you get a chance to check?"

"I didn't check, I didn't check, I just ran … I just ran away.  But I know he's dead, I know he is."

The three in the office shared a look.  Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't.  All they had was the word of a panicked trainee in the field that her training officer had been shot.  Lily looked to Simms.  "Where's the packet?" she whispered.

He shook his head.  "Don't know," he whispered back.

"Nancy," Lily said firmly, "where's the packet?"

"The … what?"

"The packet, where's the packet?  Did you meet your contact yet?"

"Contact … yes.  We met him."

"And he has the packet?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Did you see who shot Vince?"

There was more silence, and then more sobbing.  "I didn't see, I didn't see.  I just … he fell, I heard the shots, I just ran."

Control tapped the desk for their attention.  "Fell first?" he mouthed.  "Fell before she heard them?"

Romanov and Simms both nodded.  "Nancy, go back," Lily said.  "Vince fell before you heard the shots?"

"Y-y-yes."

"You're sure?"

The trainee paused.  "He fell, there was … I turned and he … and then I heard them."  Her voice took a hysterical edge.  "It's a sniper, isn't it?"

"How far did you run, Nancy?" Simms asked quickly.

"I ran … I ran … I don't know.  A couple blocks."

Control shook his head.  A sniper that good, firing from that far – even if she'd run the right direction, she might not be out of range.  "She needs to move," he whispered.

"I'm not sure she can," Simms whispered back. 

"Nancy, where are you now?" Lily asked.

"In a phone booth."

"Yes, but where?"

"I don't know.  I don't know.  It's a sniper, isn't it?  I didn't run far enough, I didn't … how did they find us?  It's my fault, it's my fault …"

"Look out of the booth," Lily said firmly.  "Are you on a corner?"

"Y-y-yes."

"What does the street sign say?"

"There's no … there's no sign."

Lily squeezed her eyes shut.  "Okay," she said patiently.  "Where were you when Vince got shot?"

The woman told them.  A main street, a busy street, in the middle of the oldest part of the city.  Lily knew exactly where she'd been.  "What direction did you run?" she asked.

"North," Nancy answered with certainty.

"Two blocks?"

"Yes."

Lily sat back, frowning.  "What?" Control asked quietly.

"There's no phone booth there," Lily answered.

"Maybe they added it," Simms offered.

Lily shook her head.  "Are you sure you went north?" she asked out loud.

"I'm sure," Nancy insisted.  Her voice was becoming hysterical again.  "You've got to help me, you've got to help me!"

"We'll help you," Lily soothed.  "Just give us a minute to find a safe place for you.  Breathe.  You're all right.  We're not going to leave you.  We're right here with you."

"We don't have a damn thing in that part of town," Simms murmured.

"The Germans do," Lily answered. "They've got a safe house four blocks from there."

Control raised one eyebrow.  She knew that exactly how?  But he didn't ask.  The Germans were technically allies.  The rookie wasn't carrying anything that would be compromised.  "You have the number?"

She reached for his pen and scrawled a telephone number on his paper.  "But we have to find out where she really is." She leaned forward again.  "Nancy, I want you to look around.  Tell me what buildings are around you."

"I … I … there's a church across the street."

"What kind of church?"

"It has a dome.  A gold dome."

"Orthodox," Control muttered.  "One or two?"

"Is there more than one dome?" Lily asked.

"There's … there's two.  Two domes. One big and shiny and one smaller, older."

Lily and Control nodded in unison.  They both knew where she was.  The rookie hadn't run north; she'd gone east.  She was closer to the safe house than Lily had hoped.  "Okay," she said, "okay.  Give us just a couple minutes, we're setting something up, just hang in there with us, we're right here, we're not going anywhere …"

She was very good at the chant.  Control nodded his approval, took the number and stepped out to Sue's desk.  He was back in ninety seconds, nodding. 

"Okay," Lily said again.  "Nancy, I want you to listen to me.  We're going to send you to a safe house.  It's German, but they're expecting you, okay?  They'll take care of you until our own people can come get you.  You understand?"

"German … okay."

"All right.  I need you to listen to these instructions, and then I need you to go.  You're going to leave the phone booth, you're going to cross the street and walk north past the church two blocks.  There's a gray stone house on the right side of the street.  Go to the side door and knock, they'll be waiting for you.  All right?"

"I can't."

"Nancy, you have got to move.  You're not safe there.  Just cross the street and …"

"I can't."

"Nancy," Simms attempted, "you have to move.  They can't come and get you.  You have to make your own way to the safe house."

"I can't," Nancy wailed.  She began to cry again. 

"Why not?" Lily asked calmly, though her hands were balled in white-knuckled fists.

"Vince's … he's … his head, his brains … I was talking to him and he … and he … on my shirt, on my … his brains …"  Her voice spiraled into a high-pitched wail.  "It's all my fault!  It's all my fault!"

Lily took a long, slow breath.  Her head felt suddenly light.  The rookie couldn't leave the phone booth because her training officer's brains were splattered all over her shirt.  Any lingering hope that Vince Norris wasn't really dead was gone.  There was a hand on her shoulder, firm and supporting.  She glanced up, surprised.  Control was still in his seat; it was Simms, standing behind her, who tried to comfort her. 

She met her lover's eyes for an instant.  Then she looked away.  There was too much that he couldn't say, or even show, right now.  The distance between them hurt too much. 

Besides, if he was kind to her, she was going to cry.

Nancy's hysterics began to wind down.  Lily took a deep breath.  "All right, Nancy, do you still have your backpack with you?"

"My … what?"

"Your backpack.  Do you still have it with you?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Turn it over.  See the zipper compartment on the bottom?"

Assured that she was together, Simms released Lily's shoulder and sat back down.

"Yes," Nancy sniffed.

"Open it.  There's a flat nylon packet, square, blue or red."

"Uh-huh."

"It's a windbreaker.  Unzip it, unfold it, put it on."

"I … I …"

"Just do it."

There was a long pause, with a lot of shuffling and movement.  Finally, Nancy came back to the phone.  "Okay," she sniffed.

"Okay," Lily breathed.  "Cross the street, go north of the church.  Two blocks, gray house on the right.  Got it?"

"I got it."  There was another pause.  "I'm so scared."

"I know you are, sweetie.  Two blocks, and then you're safe.  Okay?  Just go.  Don't think, don't look around, just let the phone hang and go."

"'kay."

The phone fell silent. 

The three in the office slumped back in their chairs in unison.

"Well done," Control said quietly, to both his subordinates.

"The Germans will call us when they have her?" Simms asked.

Control nodded.  "And our own team is out to retrieve Norris, if they can."  He shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Lily.  I know you were close."

She shrugged, her eyes carefully blank.  "What happened?"

Control looked to Simms, who shook his head.  "I don't know.  There was no warning, no sign of trouble.  Whether they made Norris as a courier … I don't know."

"Talk to his contact," Control said.  "And the station chief."

Simms nodded.

They fell silent, waiting for the phone to ring.

"This sucks," Lily pronounced.

"Welcome to my world," Control murmured.      

They waited, in silence.

Finally, the phone rang.  Control snatched it, listened, hung up.  "They have her.  She's a mess."

Lily sank back even further, dropped her chin to her chest and closed her eyes.  "And Vince?"

"Still waiting."

"What are we going to do with her?" Simms asked.  "Nancy?"

Control sighed.  "Review her file.  See if she can be salvaged."

"She went to pieces in the field," Lily said grimly, her eyes still closed.  "There's no getting past that."

"She was wearing her training agent at the time," Simms pointed out.

"No chance."

"Spend some time with her," Control said.  "Let us know."

Lily opened her eyes narrowly and regarded him darkly.  "Pardon?"

"You're her new training agent."

"I am not."

"You are," Control pronounced, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm not trained to be a training agent."

"She's only got three weeks left," Simms countered.  "A little paperwork.  Nothing to it."

Lily glared at him.  "Whose side are you on?"

"If she can be salvaged," Control said, "we need her."

"If she can't?"

"Then we'll put her on a desk somewhere.  But she had potential.  Spend some time with her.  See."

Lily sat up straighter.  "You want me to decide if she can go back to the field?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Romanov," Control said precisely, "I'm not asking you."

Lily glared at him, too, but she sank back in her chair.  "I'm not trained for this," she muttered.

The phone rang again.  Control answered, listened, hung up.  "Norris is confirmed," he said grimly.

Simms stood up and straightened his jacket. "I'll get the requests for info in before I go tell the family.  The usual story?"

"I'll go," Control answered quietly, firmly.

The lieutenant opened his mouth, then closed it and merely nodded his gratitude.

"I'm going with you," Lily announced, with equal firmness.

The men looked at her, surprised.  "His kids know me," she explained.  "His wife knows me."  She hesitated.  "I owe him this much."

"I don't think …" Control began.

"And if you're sticking me with his trainee, you owe me this one," Lily answered.

He considered.  "Get your car.  I'll meet you out back. Twenty minutes."

She nodded and left.

Simms waited.  "There's no chance, you know."

Control nodded.  "There's one chance, and she just left this office."

 * * * * *

Control paused just inside the back door and looked around.  He'd been shot there once, and while the chances of it happening in that exact spot again were remote, he wasn't one to take unnecessary chances.  Satisfied, he left the building and crossed to the alley to the waiting Mercedes.  He opened the driver's door expectantly.  Lily sighed and got out.  While he adjusted the seat and all the mirrors, she went around and got in the passenger side. 

"You know where we're going?" Control asked.

Lily nodded.  "I've been there for dinner a couple times."

"You don't have to come, you know."

"I know."

He adjusted the car's heater way down.  The spring day had warmed considerably since Lily arrived at the office.  "It won't be pleasant."

"Would you rather go alone?"

Control stopped fussing with the car and met her eyes.  "No."

Lily nodded.  "Jersey.  Any way you like."

He drove.  When they were clear of the office, Control slid his hand across the seat and caught her fingertips.  "So," he said morosely, "alone at last."

"We should have come up with this excuse a long time ago," she agreed sadly.

They fell silent.  Traffic was predictably snarly, and Control had to pay a fair amount of attention to driving.  He should, he reflected, have called for his limo.  Then he could work during the drive.  He had a million things to get done, and this whole thing was blowing a major hole in his plans, an hour there, an hour back, who knew how long with the family …

He felt the familiar lurch in his stomach.  Oh, yes, he wanted to be doing paperwork, or making phone calls, or planning, or approving expense reports and vacation requests or sitting in traffic or anything but what he was doing.   

How many of these visits had he made?  There had been a time, years ago, when he knew exactly the number, exactly the names.  Now there were too many.  Too many to count.  Too many to remember, all at once. One at a time, a group at a time, he could think about the men who had died under his orders.  But not all at once.  It was too many, too much to bear.

Not only men, he reflected, but women, too.  Far fewer women, but certainly some, and all of them worthy of remembrance.

His long fingers rested loosely on Lily's.  He stretched them out and wrapped them around her warm little hand.  Squeezed, probably too hard, but she didn't pull away.  Women had died, men had died, but Lily was still here with him.  Right here, safe beside him, at least for now.

At least for now.

"How can I help?" she asked quietly.

Quit your job, quit right now, he thought desperately.  Let me keep you safe.  If he said it aloud, she would do it, without hesitation, not because she wanted to but because he'd asked.  Others would live or die at his command.  This woman would change her whole life, change everything that she was and give up everything that she wanted, at his simple request.

Control shook his head.  "Tell me about the family."

 * * * * *

Nancy Campbell could not stop shivering.

She stood under the shower spray with her arms folded around her, her chin in her chest, and let the steaming water blanket her shoulders and back.  Her skin was red wherever the water hit; she had it on its hottest setting.  But even after ten minutes, she could not stop shivering.

Vince Norris, a small smile, some smart-ass comment on his lips, and then his comfortable brown face simply exploded …

The sound was the worst, the crack and then the splat, the warm wet that seeped immediately through her t-shirt …

Nancy retched, doubling over towards the drain, but nothing came up.  Everything she'd eaten that day had long since exited.

She lifted her face to the screaming hot water to rinse it, and shivered violently.

She'd run away.  She'd run even before his body hit the sidewalk.  If he'd been alive, she'd left him to die alone.  But of course he wasn't alive.  Not with his brains soaking through her shirt.  He never knew he'd been hit, never knew he was falling.  Never knew she'd run away before he hit the ground.

And if he'd known, Nancy realized dimly, he would have nodded approvingly and said, "Good girl."  Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded patronizing.  Coming from Vince, it was a small gift of joy.

He would never call her good girl again. 

She closed her eyes and let her chin fall again.  She wondered if she still had a job.

James Simms was her boss.  She'd met him, but she didn't really know him.  He'd been very kind on the telephone.  Very soothing.  But he hadn't really been much help.  That had been Lily.  Simms had given her comfort, but Lily had given her concrete instructions, practical help.  Put on the windbreaker, cover the brains, and go.  Without Lily, Nancy thought, she might be dead on the street right now.

Lily Romanov.  Lily who could do the impossible.  Everywhere Nancy had been in the Company, people knew Lily.  Nancy was Vince's good girl, but Lily was his golden girl.  Lily was everybody's friend.  Nancy had been fully prepared to hate her.  Then she'd met her, and she couldn't.  Lily was Control's favorite …

And oh, what did Control think of her now?  She had danced with him, had spent three minutes in his arms, looking into those blue eyes – she'd expected them to be hard, serious, but that night they had been gentle, laughing – hearing that deep, resonant voice.  God, she had such a crush on that man.   Stupid, pointless, no future in it, but there it was.  Only now he must think her an idiot, a weakling.  Or worse.

Nancy groaned quietly.  She wished she could talk to Mark.  And hadn't Lily simply plucked her from Control's arms and thrown her into Mark's?  Sweet and shy and fascinating Mark, with the scar and the story to go with it, sweet protective Mark.  She wished she could see him, she wished she could hide in his arms.  At the same time, she dreaded seeing him.  Seeing the pity and understanding in his eyes.  You ran and left your trainer – your partner – for dead.  Well, anyone would, in those circumstances.  Nothing you could do for him. Perfectly understandable.  Mark would understand.  Everybody would understand.

The Germans at the safe house had understood.  The great bear of an American who'd come to claim her had understood.  The grungy agents roaming the safe house had understood.  

What none of them understood, though, was the one thought that Nancy Campbell could not put out of her mind.

If things had been different, she was absolutely certain that Vince Norris would never have left her. 

She rested one shoulder against the shower wall and began to weep.  

* * * * *

For my sins, Lily thought grimly, my wish has been granted.  All the times I wanted to see him in the field.  And here we are, together at last.

She felt sick.

Vince Norris' house was just like every other house on the block, modest, with a tiny yard and a bed of daffodils waving cheerfully yellow.  Just an ordinary house, basking in the spring sun, waiting for the kids to come home from school, maybe play a little catch on the newly green lawn.

It was all so normal it hurt. 

Lily wrapped her arms around herself.  We are coming to drop a bomb on this house, she thought sadly.  It is a happy house right now.  When we leave it will never be the same.   These people, this family – we have come to tear them apart.  I know these people.  I have shared their meals, shared their father.  I do not want to destroy their happiness.  I want some stranger to come and tell them that their world has been destroyed.  Some stranger who can go away and never think about them again.  Not me.  Not me.

And not him. 

She sighed and followed Control across the street.

He glanced at her.  "You can wait in the car."

You'd let me off the hook, she thought gratefully.  But who lets you off the hook?  She shook her head.  "I'm okay."

"Just follow my lead."

"I always do."

Control half-smiled.  "I know."

It was, Lily knew, a sign of his confidence in her that he'd let her come along.  He trusted her at his side in this.  He would have trusted her at his back with a gun, but this was harder, in its way. 

He paused at the bottom of the porch steps and let her go first.  Lily reached for the doorbell.  Her hand shook visibly.  Control put his hand on her shoulder, firmly, and she could feel his calm run through her.  He trusts me.  If he believes I can do this, I can do this.  She rang the bell.    

Irena Norris came to the door.  She saw Lily first and smiled, surprised.  "Well, hello, honey, I wasn't expecting …"

The smile cut through Lily like quicksilver.  Oh, please, don't be glad to see me, don't be.  "I'm so sorry," she stammered. 

Irena saw Control, and her smile froze.  She had never met him, but she knew who he was.  "Oh."  She glanced at Lily, understanding her words.  Understanding everything.  

Control shifted.  "Mrs. Norris, I'm very sorry …"

"No."

Lily felt sicker still.  "Irena …"

"No, no," she answered calmly.  "No.  You come in this house.  You come in and sit down and let me get you some coffee.  You've had a long drive.  Come in, come in."

They followed her into the living room.  It was a neat room, modest and a bit worn, absolutely spotless.  "Sit down, sit down," Irena said, still calmly.  "I'll put some fresh coffee on." 

She went into the kitchen.  Lily glanced at Control, bewildered.  He sat on the couch and gestured for her to join him.  "Wait."

Mrs. Norris came back and perched on the edge of the armchair across from them.  "Vince is dead," she said flatly.

"Yes," Control answered.  "We're very sorry."

She nodded vacantly.  "His little gal.  She's okay?"

"She's not hurt," Control answered.  "She's pretty shaken up."

"I imagine she is.  Poor little thing.  Vince's gals always get so attached to him.  Well, you know," she said, gesturing to Lily. 

"I know," Lily agreed.  She wanted to move, to put her arms around her friend's new widow.  But Irena was stiff.  She didn't want comfort.  Not yet.  

"I was just washing the dishes," Irena explained, as if she'd been talking about that all along.  "I need to get them finished up.  Once the kids get home, they just trash the kitchen all over again with their snacks.  The only way I can keep ahead of them is to have it done before they get here.  So I can start again."  And then she went on, "He looks after them just like they were his own.  Every one of them.  All these pretty girls, like his own."  She looked to Control.  "You give him all the pretty ones on purpose, don't you?"

Control did not, Lily noted, correct her assumption that he made the training assignments; in her mind Control and the Company at large were the same.  Close enough for government work.  "We know we can trust him with them," he answered.

"Vince comes home," the woman went on, "he says, Irena, I've got a new one.  And I ask him, is she pretty?  And he says, prettier than the last one, but not as pretty as you.  Every time.  Every time."  She paused, reality piercing her calm again.  "Did he … did he suffer?"

"No," Control answered.  "He was killed instantly."  It was the truth, in this case, but Lily knew he would have lied if he'd needed to.  "He never even knew he was in danger."

Irena nodded, sprang to her feet.  "I'll see if the coffee's ready."

Lily looked to Control again.  "Uhhhhh …"

He shook his head.  "She's trying not to know.  Give it time."

She sat back and took a deep breath.  The whole situation was surreal.  The quiet, tidy house.  Vince's wife, so concerned about the house, grief barely touching her smooth brown features.  The tiny flashes when she knew everything, and then drowned her knowledge again in the mundane.  Make coffee.  Finish the dishes.

And Control.  Impossibly still, calm.  Answering the questions briefly as they arose.  Waiting.

Lily wanted to grab the woman by both arms and shake her, to scream into her face, 'Don't you understand?  Vince is dead!'  To shake some reaction onto that that serene face. 

His blue eyes turned to her, studied her, and he read her every thought.  "I know," he said.  His voice was flat, calm – and she heard the torrent of emotion he did not reveal.

Irena came back with two fine china cups, balanced on saucers.  "I know you take yours black," she said to Lily.  She looked to Control, hesitated.  "But I wasn't sure …"

"Black's fine," he assured her, taking the cup. 

The woman perched on the edge of the chair again. "The kids will be home from school soon."

"Do you want me to go pick them up?" Lily offered.

"No, no.  Let them walk.  Let them …" She hesitated, and for the first time her pain showed in her eyes.  "Let them have a few more minutes."  Irena popped to her feet again.  "I have to finish the dishes.  I have to …" She gestured around the room.  "I always keep the house clean when Vince is out of the country.  Always keep it spotless.  Just in case, you know?  If I have a lot of visitors unexpectedly, I don't want them thinking … that I'm not much of a housekeeper …" She put her hand up and patted her hair absently.  "And now I don't give a damn what they think about my housekeeping!"

Control rose smoothly to his feet.  "Is there anyone I can call for you?"

She looked at him for a long moment.  "What … what do I tell them?  What do I say?"

"That he was killed in a car accident on a business trip." 

"A car accident."

"Yes."

She blinked.  "How did he die?" she asked firmly.

"He was shot."

"He didn't suffer."

"No."

Irena considered for a long moment.  She looked at Lily for another moment.  "I have to finish the dishes."  She went out again.

Lily reached for Control's cup, set it on the coffee table.  "Is it always like this?" she asked quietly.

"No.  Sometimes the screaming starts right away."  He held his hand out to her, helped her to her feet.  Held her hand for one moment more. 

They went into the kitchen.  Irena Norris was standing in front of the sink, her hands flat on the counter, weeping silently.  The tears were a perverse relief to Lily.  She put her arm around the woman, and Irena turned into her embrace.  "It can't be," she muttered through her tears.  "It just can't be."

"I'm so sorry," Lily murmured back.  "I'm so sorry."  She looked over Irena's shoulder to Control.  This pain, she knew, he recognized, he shared.  He would rather not have shared with her, and he was uniquely grateful she was there to help him carry it.

Irena straightened up, brushed her eyes impatiently.  "I've got to get these dishes done," she said firmly.  "I won't have people think I don't keep a good house." 

"Lily will wash dishes," Control declared.  Before the woman could protest, he went on.  "I'll dry.  You put away, you know where things go."

The woman studied him again.  She clearly didn't know what to make of him, this man with the fearsome reputation and the kind voice.  This spymaster who was already drying her smallest sauce pan.  "All right," she agreed.  She took the pot from him and put it away.

Control glanced at Lily and she moved to the sink.  She understood everything from the glance.  The dishes were insignificant.  But they were, at that moment, the most important thing in Irena's world.  The one thing she could still control, as her world slid out from under her.

A few minutes passed in silence.  "I feel as if I should have a million questions," Irena said quietly.

"You will," Control assured her.  "I'll leave you my card.  In a few days, or a few months, when you have questions, you can call me.  Or Lily, if you'd prefer.  If she doesn't have the answers, she always has my ear."

Irena nodded slowly.  She looked at the young woman.  "You're all grown up now, aren't you?  You were such a wild little thing, and now look at you.  All grown up.  Vince was so proud of you."

The unexpected warmth of the words cut through Lily yet again.  She closed her eyes very tightly, waiting for the tears to drain away.  She was not going to cry, not here, not now.  Vince was not hers to cry over.

"He had some pictures on his desk," Irena continued.  "Can you get them for me?"

Lily nodded, opening her eyes.  "Of course.  I'll bring his personal things to you."

The woman nodded.  "I should call his sister," she said.  She took a cookie sheet from Control's hands, thunked it onto the table.  "I should call her."

"All right."

She went to the little yellow princess phone in its neat nook, next to the memo pads and the sharpened pencils.  She dialed the number from memory and listened.  Lily could hear the other end ring.  Two, then three rings, and then a breathless female voice, "Hello?"

"It's Irena.  I … I …"

She crumbled. 

Control strode to her side, supported her fainting form with one arm and took the phone with his free hand.  "Hello?  You’ve Vince's sister?  I'm an associate of his.  There's been an accident.  Yes, on his business trip.  I'm afraid he's been killed."

Irena Norris began to wail.  Lily wiped her hands on her pants and put her arms around the woman, slid her out of Control's grasp, half-carried her into the living room and huddled with her on the couch.  Irena continued to wail, her cries growing to screams of grief.  It was a grief Lily was more familiar with, and yet there was nothing she could do to help.  She kept one hand on Irena's arm, the other around her back, held her and rocked her, but there was nothing more to do.

"We're here, Irena," Control said soothingly.  Lily looked up.  He was on the couch on the far side of the new widow, and his hand met hers on the woman's back.  "We're here.  You're not alone.  You're not going to be alone."

"My Vince!  My Vince!  It can't be!  It can't be!"

"Irena," Lily began, "I'm so sorry …"

"No, no, you don't understand."  The woman sat up suddenly, pulling away from both of them.  She wiped her eyes impatiently.  "When Rochelle was born, when our oldest was born, Vince promised, he promised.  He got out of the field, he went to Training, he promised.  He said he'd be home every night.  Every night.  He said he'd see our children grow up.  He promised.  He promised me.  And Vince never broke a promise in his whole life.  Not to me."

She pushed away from them and stood up.  "So you see," she said logically, "you see, you're just wrong.  You're wrong.  Vince can't be dead.  He can't be."

"Irena …" Lily began.

Control stood up.  "Mrs. Norris …"

Irena held her hands up.  "You should go."  She wiped her eyes, pushed her hair into place again.  "The children will be home soon.  If they see you … if they see you … no.  I want to tell them.  I should tell them.  You need to go.  You need to go now."

"Irena …" Lily began again.

Control stopped her with a touch on her arm.  He brought a card out of his jacket pocket.  "You can call me, or you can call Lily.  Any time.  Understand?  Any time at all."

Irena took the card with trembling fingers.  "Wh-when can I have him?  His – his body?"

"It will take a few days to bring him home.  We'll let you know as soon as we can."

She took a deep breath.  "I don't … mean to be … you should go."

She showed them to the door abruptly, and all but slammed it behind them. 

Lily hesitated on the front steps.  "Shouldn't we …"

"No," Control said.  "Get in the car."

Lily followed him across the street and slid into the passenger seat of the Mercedes.

"I don't think we should leave her alone."

Control nodded, started the car, and gunned it out of its parking space.  "I agree."

"Oh."

He squealed the car around the first turn to the right and hit the accelerator again.  At the next corner, he turned right again.

Lily cleared her throat after the third two-wheeled corner.  "They probably have speed limits here in the provinces."

"Uh-huh."  He reached the fourth corner, slid around it, and then stood on the brakes.  The car left three feet of rubber on the road, but it stopped in a perfectly straight line. A band of pedestrian teenagers moseyed across the street in front of them.  When the students cleared, Control nudged around into the first parallel packing spot.  They were back on the street where Vince Norris had lived, eight doors down from the agent's home.  He turned the car off again.  "The sister said she'd be right over."

"Ahh."  Lily settled deeper into the leather seat.  "Is it wrong to feel this relieved?" she asked.

"No," he answered briskly.  "Well, probably yes."  He looked at her, his blue eyes undeniably relieved as well.  "You did well.  Thank you for coming with me."

"Is it always like this?"

"It's always different," Control answered.  "You can never tell which ones will cry quietly, which ones will go for your throat – or for your gun.  But this one isn't prone to suicide, not with the children coming home."  He shook his head.  "I wish I couldn't see both sides of that."

"Of having a family?"

He rested his wrists on top of the steering wheel, gestured with his long fingers.  "She's not alone.  Vince is gone, but she still has a family.  Someone to lean on, and someone who needs her."

"What's the down side?" Lily asked.

"He lied to those children every day of their lives.  They have no idea who their father really was, what he did.  And if they ever find out, they'll resent the lies far longer than they'll respect the work he did."  He sighed, rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck.  "Vince Norris served his country well and long, and died for it, and no one will ever even know."

"We know." 

"Yes.  And we can hardly bear to remember.  And the ones who went before him, we can't remember at all."

Lily reached across and put her hand on his thigh, squeezed warmly.  "Kedves."

He put his hand down to cover hers.  "I hate this.  I hate this."

"I know, love."  And then, "There." 

A bright blue mini-van pulled into the driveway of the Norris house.  A black woman got out and rushed to the door; Irena threw herself into her arms there on the porch and they disappeared inside.

Control sighed.  "Let's get out of here."

"Um … can I drive?" Lily asked timidly.

"No."  He put the car in gear and pulled onto the street again, this time at a nearly reasonable speed.  "Call Simms."

Lily dialed the car phone.  When she had Simms on the line, she put him on the speaker.

"What've you got?" Control demanded without preamble.

"There's a sniper in a church tower in the center of the city."

"Yes, we knew that," Control snarled.

"So far he's killed three and wounded seven.  Various ages, various nationalities – all of them people of color."  Simms cleared his throat.  "The police have a strike team closing in on him.  He's already shot two of them.  They're bringing in his mother and a priest to try to talk him down."

Control squinted.  "You're telling me that a Czech national has gone insane with a sniper rifle and is killing foreigners?"

"That's what it looks like."

"And that Vince Norris was shot because he's black, not because he works for us?"

"Based on the information I have at this time," Simms hedged.

"Bullshit."

"We're still working it," Simms assured him.  "Looking for connections between the victims, maybe Vince was the target and the rest are cover – we're looking, Control.  But until they identify the shooter …"

"Keep me posted," Control snapped.  He punched the speaker and cut off the call. 

"It is possible," Lily ventured, five miles later.

"Possible," Control conceded.  "But I don't want anybody jumping at the easiest explanation.  I want the truth."  He threaded the Mercedes onto the freeway and glanced at his watch.  "Oh, look, we'll be back just in time for afternoon rush hour."

"Joy."  Lily settled back and looked out her window.

Two exits later, he said, "Are you hungry?"

"I feel like I shouldn't be."

"Yes, but are you?"

"Yes."

"Good."  He exited the freeway and looked for a restaurant.

* * * * *

"You can't take me out to dinner," Lily murmured as they followed the hostess to a table by the window.

"I can and I am," Control answered.  "And I'm going to expense it, too.  Legitimate Company business."

"There's an oxymoron."

He held her chair, then took his own.  "Wine?"

Lily shook her head.  "I don't think I'd better even start drinking today."

Control nodded his agreement, ordered iced tea for both of them, and studied the menu. 

"I feel like we should have done more for her," Lily said quietly.  "We just sorta … left her."

"There's a packet," Control said.  "Information about insurance, survivor benefits, support groups.  You can take it out to her when you take Vince's pictures.  But that's not what she wants today."  Lily looked at him quizzically.  "She wants her husband to be alive, Lily.  That's all she wants. We can't give her that.  And all the kind words and casseroles in the world won't even blunt the edge."

Lily nodded solemnly.  She glanced over the menu as well.   "Something starchy and comforting."

"Something soft and filling," Control agreed.

They both ordered the turkey dinner – stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy.  Comfort food.  The waitress brought them a basket of warm sour-dough bread.

"I wish I could have stayed to help tell the kids," Lily said.

"Better this way," Control countered.  To her questioning look, he explained, "This way you can still be their father's friend, the Lily they knew.  Not the one who told them he was dead.  It's better, believe me."

She sighed, unsatisfied, and reached for another piece of the bread. 

"We live by the word and by the gun," Control said quietly.  "And when words fail and guns won't help, we are lost."

"Robert McCall?"

"Yes."  He reached for his own bread, picked a bite precisely off the crust.  "This is the worst part.  Even when you're telling them, at least you're doing something.  It's afterwards, when there's nothing to be done, that's hard.  You don't want to transition back to your normal life, it feels disrespectful to eat dinner, but there is nothing else to do.  No task at hand.  Just – going on."

Lily nodded.  "You've had too much practice at this."

"Yes, I have."

"Thank you for letting me come."

He shrugged.  "I am shamefully glad to have you with me."

The waitress brought salads and replaced the empty bread basket with a full one.

"The first time I ever did this," Control said, "I was with Joseph Kiplinger.  He was dead when you were still in diapers, I'm sure.  He'd been a colonel, regular army.  He did funeral details during Vietnam.  He said the first thing he did was find the youngest child in the family.  And when he went to give the flag to the widow or the mother, if it even looked like she was going to refuse it – they did that a lot then – he'd turn around and hand it to the child."  He shrugged some of the tension out of his shoulders.  "I haven't thought about Joe K in years."

"What did he die of?"

Control frowned, thinking.  "He died in bed.  With his nineteen-year-old wife and her twin sister."

"That's not so bad."

"No," he agreed.  "But I don't imagine I'll die that way."

"Kedves, if I catch you in bed with nineteen-year-old twins, you can pretty much plan on dying there."

"I'll keep that in mind."  He smirked.  "That does kind of change my plans for the weekend, though."

"Rat."

He nodded, a familiar twinkle back in his eyes.  It faded swiftly.  "I suppose I should do something about getting Miss Campbell back here.  If the situation is really as presented, there's no point in having Szabo debrief her."

Lily chewed thoughtfully.  "I'd like to repeat that I'm completely unqualified to take over this child's training."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am.  And I don't want to."

"Not wanting to and not being qualified to are different issues."  Control took a bite of his salad, chewed and swallowed.  "Besides, her training is essentially complete.  All you need to do is decide if she's got the stones for the job."

"She went to pieces in the field."

"Under those circumstances, you might have done the same."  He considered, then amended, "Well, not you, of course, but anyone else."

"Thank you.  I think."

"Besides, the point may be moot.  She may have already decided this job isn't for her.  That she's not going back out there.  I wouldn't be at all surprised."

"Then what happens?"

"Then we find her a nice desk, in some field office.  Analyzing, documentation, maybe translation.  Something safe, nine to five, no weekends or holidays."  

"Hmmm," Lily mused.  "Sounds pleasant.  Could you find a job like that for me?"

"In a heartbeat," Control answered quickly.  "All you have to do is ask."

She studied him for a long moment, then looked away as the waitress brought their turkey.  "You know," she said as the woman left, "some day I'm going to take you up on that."

"I hope so."

"Really?"

"I promised, didn't I?"

"Yes, but … in extremis."

His eyes never left hers.  "I meant every word.  I still do."

Lily nodded slowly.  "I … I'm not there yet."

"Tell me when you are."

The warmth in his eyes brought tears to hers.  She swallowed, hard, and studied her dinner for a moment.  Then she changed the subject.  "Assuming she wants to stay in the field, then what?"

"Then you have to decide if she's going to come apart again."

"How?"

"You'll figure something out."

Lily scowled.  "Can I take her out in the field and see if she gets me killed?"

"No.  You can't take her into the field at all.  She's off active until this matter is resolved."

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"No." Control cut his turkey thoughtfully. "I would approach it by figuring out how Vince would have handled it."

She sighed.  "I don't think Vince ever washed anybody out."

"Yes, he did.  I remember a few."

"Can I see those files?" Lily asked.  "Find out what he thought the fatal weakness was?"

"I don't see why not.  I'll have Sue pull them in the morning."

"Thanks."

They ate in silence.  The waitress came and refilled their glasses. 

"He didn't look for flaws," Control said.

"Hmm?"

"Vince Norris didn't look for flaws.  He looked for strengths.  For what his trainees thought was their greatest strength.  And then he tested that strength."  He considered.  "He said if an agent had confidence in herself – or himself – everything else would follow.  If they believed in their greatest strength absolutely, they could learn all the rest.  If they didn't, there was no hope."

Lily frowned.  "I didn't know that."

Control shrugged.

"So what did he think my greatest strength was?"

"I … don't know."

"Yes, you do.  You've been through my file backwards and forwards and we both know it.  Give."

He considered, his eyes narrowing.  Then he looked aside.  "Your ability to get whatever you wanted from men."

Lily laughed out loud.  "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Control answered ruefully.  "And if I'd seen your training report before we started, I might have been more … wary."

"Vince really thought that?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."  She sat back, toyed with her stuffing.  "But I don't recall any kind of testing on that premise.  God knows I couldn't seduce him.  I didn't even try."

Control focused intently on his meal.

"Kedves," Lily prompted.  "What was the test?"

"I don't recall."

Under the table, her stocking toes eased up his pant leg and caressed his calf.  "You will tell me, you know."

"I'd like to see you make me."

"All right."  The toes pushed higher, brushed against his knee.  "Out to the car."

Control chuckled.  "You won't like it."

"In the car?"  She shrugged.  "A little cramped, but I'll manage."

"The test," he corrected.

"Tell me anyhow." 

He sighed.  "Who was it," he asked carefully, "who introduced you to Harley Gage?"

Lily stared at him, dumbstruck.  Her toes slid back down his leg.  "Oh, fuck."

Control nodded thoughtfully.  "Later," he promised.

* * * * *

Nancy sat cross-legged, hunched under a peculiar-smelling blanket, on a flat bunk.  She had stopped crying finally, and stopped vomiting.  She was still trembling.  She didn't think she would ever stop. 

The room was dim, the shade pulled tight.  Outside, impossibly, life went on.  People walked by, talking.  People even laughed.  Nancy supposed they ate dinner, watched movies, made love.  She felt like an alien, an outsider, completely separated from all of them.

There was a sharp rap on the door. "Campbell?" a man's voice said.

"Come in," she called back.  She unfolded her legs and put her feet on the floor.  She kept the blanket, though, hoping it would hide her shaking.

The most ordinary man in the world came in and shut the door behind him.

Observe, observe, observe, Vince had said a hundred times a day.  But this man, Nancy knew immediately, she could walk past a hundred times and never see him.  Average height, average weight, middle aged, balding.  Medium brown hair, brown eyes.  Unremarkable features.  Twill pants and a button-down shirt.  Brown shoes, just a little worn.  Normal, average, unremarkable in every way.

His eyes regarded her with dull curiosity.  His voice was flat, neutral.  "Nancy?"

"Yes."

"I'm Szabo.  I'm the station chief."  He held his hand out; his handshake was unmemorable.  "How are you?"

"I'm okay," Nancy lied.  His eyes acknowledged that lie with a bare flicker.  He allowed it.  "Do we know … do you know yet what happened to Vince?"

"No," Szabo answered.  If he was lying, Nancy couldn't identify it with certainty.  He pulled a chair over and sat in front of her.  "We had planned to debrief you here, but Control wants you back in New York."

Nancy flinched.  Of course he did.  So he could fire her in person.  If she was that lucky.  What was the phrase for agents who were no longer valuable?  Terminate with extreme prejudice?

"Do you think you can travel?" Szabo continued.

"I … yes."  Nancy had no idea.  She was trembling so hard she didn't think she could walk.  Drive a car, walk through an airport like the world was still normal?  The whole idea made her want to vomit again.

Szabo studied her.  There was, she knew, far more intelligence behind those eyes than he showed.  He knew everything.  "I don't know," he said uncertainly.

"I can travel," Nancy said more firmly.  "Just tell me what you want to do."

He nodded, unconvinced.  "I'll have an agent go with you as far as Berlin.  He'll put you on a direct flight to the States.  I'd send someone with you all the way, but I just can't spare anybody if you can make it on your own."

"I can."  It didn't sound so bad, after all.  Get on the plane, pretend to sleep, hide under a blanket.  She could do that.  

"All right.  Romanov will meet you in New York."

Nancy blinked.  "Lily?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Control says so."

"Oh."

The man stood and put his chair back by the desk.  "You leave in an hour."

Nancy nodded.  "Okay," she said.  There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

The man left the room.  Nancy lurched forward, grabbed the trash can, and threw up bile again.

* * * * *

Control glanced up as Simms came in and gestured impatiently to a chair.  "Report," he snapped.

Simms sat down across from him.  "The sniper's name was Jorge Udovic."

"Was?"

"Shot dead by Prague special unit police."

"Convenient."  Control signed the paper, put it in his out basket on the corner of the desk next to Simms, and sat back, his long fingers folded over his chest.  "Tell me about the late Mr. Udovic."

"He served five years in the Soviet army," Simms reported.  "Trained as a sniper, naturally.  Left the army six months ago, came home to Prague to look for work.  Hadn't found any."  He glanced at the document.  Expense report.  Nothing unusual. 

"Not much call for snipers in the private sector."

Simms nodded.  "Yesterday his wife left him.  With a Norwegian.  He spent the night drinking, and this morning he climbed into a tower and started shooting everyone who didn't look like a native."

Control considered this information.  "And the police conveniently killed him before he could be questioned."

"They brought in his priest and his mother.  Neither one could talk him down." He glanced at the expense report again.  One tank of gas, one dinner.  One dinner guest, Romanov. 

"And then?"

Simms blinked.  Control was expensing dinner with Romanov?  Putting it in writing?  On the way back from Norris' house, informing the widow, official business, sure, but what the hell?  You couldn't expense dinner with your mistress.  Even if you were Control.  Could you?

"Simms?"

The lieutenant started.  "Ahhh … yeah.  Udovic said he was going to surrender.  Started down the steps, pulled a handgun on the cops waiting for him.  He took about ten rounds before he fell."

"I want more," Control said quietly.

Simms glanced at the expense report one more time, then forced his full attention back to his boss.  He could not afford to give anything away.  Especially when he was so probably wrong.  "Szabo doesn't know anything about him off hand, but he's looking into it.  We're working a list of all the victims, dead and wounded.  So far no obvious relationship between them, but we'll work it to the end."

Control nodded.  "Vince was black, pretty obviously a foreigner.  But Nancy Campbell's a redhead.  Why not her, too?"

"She's a brunette now," Simms answered.  "Vince thought the red hair was too easy to spot."

"Yes.  Good.  When will she be back?"

"Szabo's going to have her escorted to Berlin tonight.  She'll be on a plane for New York in the morning."

"Call Romanov with the flight information.  I want her to meet her at the airport.  We'll debrief here.  Though I don't imagine there's much point."

Simms nodded.  "Lily went home?"

"Yes."

"How'd she do with the widow?"

Control shrugged.  "As well as could be expected.  She held together, but she's pretty rattled.  At least I think she is.  Hard to tell with that one."

"Yeah," Simms agreed.  "She keeps her cards pretty close to the vest."  Like you do, he added mentally.

"Don't we all, in this business?" Control mused.  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.  "All right.  Let me know if anything else turns up.  Oh, and keep State up to speed.  They'll need to handle getting the body back for us."

"I've already been in touch with them."

"Good.  Good."  Control stood up stiffly.  "I'm going home.  You should, too."

Simms shrugged.  "I want to follow up on a few things first."

Control looked at him.  "Don't get in the habit of sleeping in your office, Simms.  Once you start, it's damn hard to stop.  Always one more thing you want to wait for."

The younger man turned and glanced significantly at the luxurious couch in the center of Control's office.  "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"Too late, huh?"

"Yes, sir.  Too late."

* * * * *

"This feels wrong," Lily said.

Control paused, supporting his weight on his arms.  Though there was undeniable need where their bodies were joined, he was fully prepared to roll away from her.  The rapes were long over, but the wounds still sometimes surfaced. "Why, love?"

Lily did not, however, push him away.  "It feels like we're celebrating."

"We are celebrating," he answered.  "Not that Vince is dead, but that we're still alive."

"Ahhh," she breathed in agreement.  She moved against him, and he picked up where they'd left off.

Later, slaked, they lay comfortably tangled in each other's arms.  "He was wrong, you know."

"Hmmm?" Lily answered.

"Vince.  He thought your greatest strength was your way with men.  He was wrong."

"I don't have a way with men?"

"Oh, you do," Control assured her.  "You do.  But more than that.  Much more than that.  You keep secrets.  No matter how dark, how dangerous – no matter how much it hurts you.  You keep your secrets.  You kept them so well that he never even knew you had them."

Lily thought about it.  "I wonder what he'd think about this secret," she mused, trailing her fingers across her lover's chest.

"Oh, he would take you to the woodshed for this," Control answered.  "You and me both."

"You think you're more dangerous to me than Harley Gage was?"

"Harley Gage was never dangerous to you."  He stroked her hair lightly.  "And he surely didn't expose you to the danger that I do."

"Hmmmm."

"I think I startled young Simms today," Control said.  "He got a look at my expense report and about swallowed his tongue."

"Because my name was on it?"

"I think so."

Lily pushed herself up to look at him.  "You think he suspects?"

"No." Control shook his head.  "I just think the idea that I got to have dinner with you rattled his cage.  Has he ever asked you out?"

"No.  Yes.  No."

Control laughed.  "Which is it, darling?"

"When I first started, when he was in the field, he sorta … hinted.  Very polite, very vague.  And then the Harley episode happened, and I never heard another word about it."

"Ahh.  Well, the spark still lingers."

"Worth remembering, I suppose.  Just in case I need to wield my mythic powers over him."

"Tease him if you must," Control answered, "but no touching."  He laced his fingers behind her neck and brought her face down to kiss her savagely.  "You are mine, Lily.  I won't share."

"And yet you're upset because I sent the teenage twins home," she teased.

"Well, that's a different matter."

"Uh-huh."

He grinned.  "I would not trade you even for teenaged triplets."

"Identical triplets?" she suggested.

"Well, maybe identical triplets …"

"You're a rat."  She rolled and pulled him over on her.  They kissed intensely, but it was promise rather than prelude; they were both too tired, physically and emotionally, for an encore. 

Much later, when they were settled like spoons and on the verge of sleep, Control said softly, "I saw myself in Vince's widow."

"Hmmm?"

"I saw myself," he confessed, his voice still low.  "If they came to tell me you were gone … I don't think I could be as … as gracious as she was.  I don't think I could hide … and it won't be gentle.  There won't be condolences, just reports."  He tightened his arms around her.  "I don't know how I'd get through it.  I can't even stand to think about it."

"Ahh, kedves," Lily murmured, wrapping her arms over his.  "Don't, don't.  It's only shadows.  I'm right here."

"And you," he whispered sadly, "I saw you, too.  And it wouldn't be any gentler for you.  No one would break it to you softly, you'd just hear through the regular channels.  And I don't know how you'll deal with it, either."

Lily shook her head.  "Don't worry about me, love."

"Why?"

"Because I don't intend to survive you."

"What?"

"Nothing, kedves."  She rolled over and re-settled in his arms.  "Go to sleep."

"Lily …"

"Shhh," she murmured.  "Sleep, love."

He didn't want to sleep.  He wanted to ask questions.  But he didn't want the answers.  He didn't want to think, or to talk, or to grieve. 

In two minutes, he was asleep in his lover's arms.

* * * * *

Nancy Campbell left Customs and walked onto the wider concourse.  It was bright and full of people.  She felt dull and achy.  She'd slept all the way from Berlin, and she was still tired.  Sleeping on airplanes didn't count as real sleep. 

Grief folded around her like a heavy blanket.  She wanted to go back to sleep, preferably forever.

"Hey."

Nancy spun.  Lily Romanov was at her elbow.  Ah, great, Nancy thought tiredly.  Down check right from the gate, let her sneak up on me.  "Hey."

"You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," Nancy lied.

"Sure."  Lily turned, and instinctively Nancy followed her.  "You have luggage?"

"No."

"Good." 

Though the older woman was shorter and seemed to move effortlessly, Nancy had to rush to keep up with her.  "Lily?  Do I still have a job?"

"Do you still want a job?"

"I asked first."

"I don't know."

"That's not very reassuring," Nancy said.

Lily glanced at her.  "I'm not here to reassure you."

"Why are you here?  They didn't think I could get from the airport to the office on my own?"  Nancy bit her tongue.  You couldn’t get from your dead trainer to a safe house on your own, now could you? 

But Lily didn't say that.  She didn't say anything.  She just kept walking, threading through the maze of disorganized tourists and disgruntled businessmen like she owned the whole airport.  Nancy had to trot to keep up with her.

They breezed out the door and into the short-term parking lot.  "Lily?" Nancy said, in a more civil tone.  "Why are you here?" 

The older woman paused at the side of a black Mercedes sedan.  "Damned if I know."

Belatedly, Nancy realized that this was Lily's car.  Damn, she thought, how many pay grades above me is she?  She climbed into the passenger seat, with her backpack cradled on her lap.  "This is nice."

"Uh-huh.  Got it used from a diplomat.  All tricked out."  Lily threaded the car out of the lot the same way she's gotten herself out of the concourse, too fast and apparently effortlessly. 

"Are we going to the office?"

Lily nodded.  "You're debriefing with Simms."  She glanced over.  "Just tell him what happened, let them get it on paper.  Nothing big and formal."

"I don't even know what happened," Nancy answered.  She swore inwardly as she heard her voice crack.  Damn it, she was not going to cry again.  "One minute we were talking about lunch and the next he … he …" She stopped and took a long, shaky breath.  "Do you know who shot him?"

"We think so."

"Who?" Nancy demanded.

"I can't tell you yet.  I don't want to color your narrative."

"What?"

"We want your story, as you remember it.  Not as you've amended it to fit the new facts.  Debrief first, and then I'll tell you what I know."

Nancy glared out the window for a long time.  It made sense.  Of course it made sense.  But she hated it.  "Was it my fault?" she finally asked.

"No."

Romanov seemed very certain of that.  But Nancy didn't believe her, not entirely.

"I want to see Irena," she announced.  "I want to go to the funeral."

"Hell no," Lily said.

"But you said it wasn't my fault …"

"That's not the point."

"He was my partner," Nancy insisted.  "I have the right to …"

"No, you don't," Lily said, just as firmly.  "He was your partner.  Not your husband, not your father.  You don't have any right to anything, where Vince is concerned.  Understand?"

"He was my friend.  I'm going to the funeral."

"No."

"You can't …"

"Stop," Lily snapped.  "Before you tell me what I can't do, sweetie, you better ask somebody.  You are not going to Vince Norris' funeral."

Bitch, Nancy thought viciously, I'll go if I want to, you can't stop me.

Maybe you can, she allowed, after a moment.  Damn, maybe I won't even survive this 'nothing big and formal' debriefing.   Ah, God, Vince, I wish you were here to tell me how much trouble I'm in.

Lily's tone softened. "Vince's family has no idea what he really did for a living.  Irena knows, but not his children, not his sister and brothers, not his mother.  Not his neighbors or his friends or the people he sang in the church choir with.  Nobody knew.  And nobody can know.  It'll only hurt them if it comes out.  Especially the children."

"I won't tell anybody," Nancy protested.  "You know I won't …"

"No, I don't know," Lily answered quietly.  "And I'm not going to take the chance with his family."

"What, you think I'm going to have some big breakdown and start screaming that Vince was a spy?"

"Well," she said, without bite, "it's not like we've never known you to break down before."

"You bitch," Nancy said out loud this time. "You just said what happened in Prague wasn't my fault, and now you're saying I can't go to my friend's funeral because of it."

She half expected the older agent to pull the car over and shoot her right there.  Instead, Lily didn't even seem angry.  She just seemed very cool.  "What happened to Vince wasn't your fault.  What you did as a result was."

"I had his fucking brains all over my shirt!"

"And you went to fucking pieces," Lily answered.  "You can't go to the funeral."

Nancy took a deep breath and tried to sound calm.  "I won't go to pieces.  I promise."

"No," the other woman answered.  There was no room for negotiation in her tone.  But she added, "None of us ever go to funerals if there's family.  Ever."

The rookie opened her mouth, then closed it again.  She hadn't known that.  She'd jumped to the conclusion that she was being singled out because she'd frozen up in Prague.  When she thought about it, the policy made a cold kind of sense.  She wanted so much to see Vince one more time, to tell him she was sorry, to tell Irena she was sorry …

… and Irena would ask questions, and she would be kind, and Nancy would cry and want to tell her everything …

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Lily half-shrugged and drove in silence.

"Why are you here?" Nancy asked again. 

"I'm supposed to take over your training."

"What?"

"Control – and Simms – want me to decide if you can make it as a courier.  If you're solid enough to go back into the field."

Nancy groaned aloud.  "Aw, man."

"Yeah," Lily agreed.  "It might be better if you didn't call me 'bitch' again."

"Damn," Nancy breathed.  It wasn't just that she'd called her a bitch; she had the feeling Romanov had heard that before.  It was that she had completely misjudged the situation.  She had never considered that Romanov, a senior agent, might have her future in her hands.  Failure to properly assess the situation.  Another down check.  "Damn."

"So we're back to, do you still want the job?" Lily said. 

"Of course I …"

"No.  Not 'of course' anything.  We need to get through this briefing, and then you need to think about it, long and hard.  Take your time.  Meet with the Company shrink.  Don't answer until you're really sure.  This is the rest of your life we're talking about."

Nancy nodded slowly.  "If I want it … you get to decide if I can have it?"

"I get to recommend."

"And I'm sure Control listens to all your recommendations."

Lily glanced at her again.  "Sure.  When they fit what he wants to do anyhow."

"He must think I'm a complete idiot."

"He thinks you might be salvageable."

"He does?"  The idea surprised Nancy, and made her feel warm for the first time in days. 

Lily nodded thoughtfully. 

"And … what do you think?"

"I think I'm completely unqualified to train anyone," Lily answered.  "And I've said so, loudly and repeatedly.  Which has gotten me exactly no where.  So here's the plan.  We're going to go meet with Simms.  And then we're going to take my training budget and hang out.  Whatever you want to do."

"And figure out if I can still do the job?"

Lily shrugged.  "We'll leave that until the last day."

Nancy looked at her.  "Just like that?  Just …screw off for three weeks?"

"Yep."

"Can we do that?"

"I have my assignment," Lily said easily, "and you have yours.  We'll do anything we can get away with.  It's the Company way."

* * * * *

Control leaned one hip easily on the wide sill of the one-way glass and watched the debriefing.  He wasn't interested in what Nancy Campbell said so much as how she said it.  She was clearly nervous, agitated; her hands moved continuously, her voice occasionally cracked.  But she wasn't crying. 

Simms was very calming.  He went over her story meticulously, repeatedly, his voice even and non-judgmental.   Lily just sat and watched.  She didn't speak, didn't move.  Her face was her usual emotionless mask. 

Control hated that mask.  It meant that she was hiding everything, that she had cut herself off.  She would listen and see and take in everything, give back nothing.  Most people didn't even realize she was gone.  Even when she wasn't looking at him, he hated her emotional absence.

The rookie was so young, so pretty and fresh, with all her emotions right there on her face.  By comparison, his lover was frozen, closed, years of stress and sleeplessness etched in tiny lines around her eyes and mouth, mature, experienced – magnificent.

On the day they met, Lily Romanov had not been as young as Nancy Campbell was.  Lily Romanov had never been that young.

There was nothing new in the rookie's story, in any of the times Simms led her through it.  Nothing new in the reports from Prague, either.  It was beginning to look like Vince Norris really had been killed by an insane sniper with a grudge against foreigners. 

Control was not entirely convinced by that explanation, not yet.  But he knew Szabo personally, knew that the man would work every possible angle before he gave up.  He was boring, thorough, and reliable.

Lily wasn't happy about her new assignment, but it would keep her safe and close for three more weeks …

… which wasn't, Control told himself firmly, why he'd given it to her.

He wondered if when he knew he was lying to himself it still constituted a lie.

* * * * *

Simms led the rookie through her story three times, with three different sets of questions.  The story never changed.  He hadn't expected it to.

Satisfied that he knew all that she did, he answered her questions.  To the best of their knowledge, still, Vince Norris had been shot by a madman because he looked like the foreigner he was.

"That's it?" Nancy protested, incredulous.  "They shot him because he was black?"

"Because he didn't look like a Czech," Simms corrected lightly. 

"But it had nothing to do with the job?  It wasn't about the message or anything?  It was just because of the way he looked?"   

"As far as we know."

"What's that supposed to mean?  You're not sure?"

Simms considered.  "Nothing in this business is ever certain. But the overwhelming weight of the evidence we have at this time is that Vince's death was not related to Company activities."

Nancy shook her head.  "I can't believe that.  I can't believe it was just coincidence."

"We're still looking into it."  Simms stood and gathered his papers.  "Do you have any other questions?"

Nancy looked across the table to Romanov.  The older woman had been silent, unmoving, throughout the interview.  She didn't offer any help now.  Nancy wanted to ask him, do I still have a job?  But she knew he wouldn't answer, at least not directly.  When they decided to fire her, they'd let her know.

She shook her head.  "No, I'm good for now.  Thank you for letting me know what you know about Vince."

Simms nodded.  "We'll set up some meetings with the Company counselor for you.  Aside from that, take a little time off, think about what you want to do from here.  Miss Romanov will be meeting with you over the next few weeks.  You're off active duty for the rest of your training period."

"I understand."

Simms left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Nancy folded her arms on the table and put her head down.  "Oh, that just sucked."

"You did fine," Lily said. 

After a long moment, Nancy realized that the other woman was waiting.  Waiting while she rested, while she got herself together.  Silent, patient – maybe counting the seconds, keeping score?  More marks against her?  She sat up.  "Now what?"

"I have to clean out Vince's office.  Gather up his personal things.  You can help, if you want."

Another test, Nancy thought.  She wants to see if I'll cry again, if I'll come apart.  "Sure."

Lily stood up.  "We'll stop and see Munchie on the way, see if he has some boxes to spare."

"Who's Munchie?" Nancy asked.

A flicker of – annoyance? – flashed across Romanov's face.  It was gone in a blink.  "The man in the mail room.  The friendly one you talk to every morning."

"Oh.  I never knew his name."

"Nobody does," Lily answered.  Her voice was again neutral.    

Nancy followed her out, chagrined and confused.  Yes, she saw the little man in the mail room every morning.  In a wheelchair.  He was always friendly, always smiling – and he always addressed her by name.  As an agent, she should have made it her business to know his.  Observe, observe, observe, Vince said a thousand times.  She had not observed what was right under her nose. 

From Romanov's comment, though, no one else did, either.  Nancy guessed that the older agent considered this worse than unprofessional:  she considered it rude.  Nancy had to agree.  Her rudeness, and that of her fellow agents, embarrassed her.  She had been brought up better than that.

She followed Lily down the bland corridors of the building.  She felt like she ought to apologize, but Romanov didn't really seem angry.  She didn't seem to feel anything at all.  She just stated things and went on, unreadable.  I don't get her, Nancy thought in frustration.  I can't figure her out.  How am I supposed to get her to let me keep my job if I can never tell what she's thinking?

"I wish I could talk to Mark," she said.

"Mark who?"

Nancy swallowed.  She hadn't meant to say that out loud.  Mark had been in the field with Lily; maybe he knew her a little better, could give her some tips or tells on the woman.  And also, though she was loathe to admit it, Mark would give her comfort and support when no one else would.  She was probably falling in love with Mark.  But she hadn't meant to say it.   She shook her head.  "Never mind."

"Mark O'Donnell?" Lily pursued.  "Mark with the scar?"  She gestured to the center of her forehead.

Nancy nodded.  "We've been … seeing each other.  Since the party."  It had become, in Company lore, the party; no further explanation was needed.  "But he's back in the Balkans now.  There's no way to reach him."

Lily nodded thoughtfully.  "Go see Munchie, get a couple paper boxes.  I'll meet you in Vince's office in a couple minutes."

"Okay, but …" She stopped, because Lily was already striding down another hallway.  With a sigh, Nancy made her way to the mailroom.

She reached the half-door and looked in anxiously.  Munchie was in the back corner of the room, fiddling with the copy machine.  "Hey, uh, Munchie?  How are you?"

He turned and grinned.  "Hey, Nancy.  I heard you were back."  He wheeled to the door, took both her hands in his and gave them a squeeze.  "How you doin', honey?"

His kindness and warmth brought unexpected tears to her eyes, and she blinked frantically.  "I'm okay."

"Sure you are," he agreed, releasing her hands.  "You'll be just fine.  Let me see if I've got any mail for you."  He wheeled to the tall sort rack. 

"Thanks.  And I'm also supposed to ask if I can have a couple boxes.  We're going to clean out Vince's …" She stopped again, choked, tried again.  "We're going to clean out Vince's office."

Munchie glanced back at her.  "I'd talk to Romanov before you do that."

"I did.  She sent me."

"Oh."  Munchie brought her a small pile of mail, then wheeled back towards the copy machine, where a neat stack of paper boxes waited.  He plucked two and brought them back to her.  "She's letting you help her."

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully.  "I kinda thought she'd keep it to herself.  She and Vince were pretty tight."

Nancy's resentment flared.  Vince was my partner, she thought.  Lily was just someone he trained years ago.  I should get to clean out his office.  I was the one with him when he died.  Why does she get to be the queen goddamn bee around her?

Munchie and Lily were friends, she remembered, and for all she knew, this friendly, smiling man reported every word that she said.  She tried to bite all the anger out of her voice.  "She's taking over as my training agent."

"Huh."  Munchie handed the boxes up to her.  "Well, she's the one to help you, I guess.  With what she's been through and all."

Nancy's cheeks flared bright pink.  Of course, of course.  Romanov had been captured, tortured, raped in Central America, seven weeks, and she'd come back to work when everybody said she wouldn't.  It had been before Nancy had joined the Company, but it was legend.  Everybody knew. It wasn't any wonder Lily got to be the queen bee.

It wasn't any wonder she was Control's favorite.

She was going to cry again.  "Thanks, Munchie," she mumbled.  She took her boxes and her mail and went to the elevator.

They must think you're a hell of a big problem, she thought, if they pulled Romanov out of the field to have her deal with you.  They must really want to keep you.

Control thinks you might be salvageable.

So Control had gotten her the best help he had.

She nodded to herself.  Salvageable.  Yes.  She was salvageable.  She was going to keep her job, and she was going to be brilliant at it.  She was going to be the slickest, smartest courier they'd ever seen.  Well, at least since Romanov.  Salvageable, my sweet ass.  I'm going to be the best.

* * * * *

The hand-written post-it note on the door said, "Vince is dead.  Stay the hell out."  There were initials scrawled beneath it; Nancy was pretty sure they were 'LR'. 

No one, apparently, had opened the door.

She considered, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.  Vince's office had been her second home for months.  She had always been welcome there.  But now, with Vince gone … finally, she tried the knob.  The door was locked.  

The door had never been locked before.  Nancy set the boxes down and stepped to one side to wait.  She hoped no one would walk by.  She didn't want to have to explain.

A few minutes later, Lily returned.  She deftly picked the lock and opened the door. 

"Don't you have a key?" Nancy asked.

"Why would I?" Lily returned.  "I suppose there's one somewhere."  She kicked the boxes in and entered the office.  "Box up anything that looks like it's personal.  Start there."  She pointed towards the bookshelves, while she planted herself behind the desk.

Nancy took several framed pictures down and placed them gently in the box.  Vince and his wife.  Vince and his wife and their five children.  Vince's oldest daughter in her senior picture.  That one was almost new; they'd come in just before Vince and Nancy left for Prague.  Vince been so proud of Rochelle.  She was so smart and so pretty, too, and such a nice, polite girl …

Nancy bit her lip, hard.

Behind her, she could hear the drawers opening and closing swiftly. Romanov wasn't lingering over this task. Suddenly Nancy didn't want to, either.  She didn't even want to be doing it.  It had seemed like such a privilege, something worth fighting over.  Now it was just oppressive and hard.  The room was full of memories, and their task was to strip it down to an office again.

Most of the shelf was full of manuals and binders, but a few looked unofficial.  "These books," she began uncertainly.  "I don't know for sure which ones are his."

"If there's any doubt, box 'em," Lily answered.  "Simms will have to go through it all anyhow."

"Oh."

"Nobody carries boxes of documents out of this building without a pass," Lily explained.  

"I know.  I just thought … never mind."

Romanov continued with the drawers. 

"I thought Control might sit in on the debriefing," Nancy ventured, working the first set of shelves from top to bottom.

"Simms will report to him on it," Lily answered off-hand.  

"I know, but … I mean, an agent killed on duty, I thought that would rate, you know, Control's personal attention."

The older woman sat back and looked at her.  "He's not handling the details personally.  That doesn't mean he doesn't care."

"I didn't mean it that way, I just meant …" Nancy stopped, shook her head.  "I don't know what I mean."  She looked at the endless manuals for a moment.  They were heavy with dust; Vince didn't have much use for them.  Everything worth knowing was already in his head.  "It means a lot to me, that he thinks I'm salvageable."

"Ahh."  When Nancy turned, Lily was looking into drawers again.  It almost looked like she was trying not to laugh. 

The phone on the desk rang, startling both of them.  Lily snagged it.  "Romanov."  Then, "Okay, thanks, I'll send her."

She put the phone down.  "Alpern wants to see you in Communications."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Go ahead, I'll finish this."

"Okay."  Baffled, Nancy trotted down the hallway to the huge communications hub.  She'd only been there twice, once on her initial tour, once with a message.  What did they want with her? 

The hub was cool and buzzing quietly.  Alpern, the shift head, met her at the door.  "We got your call through," he said.

"My call?"

"You can use booth one," he said, pointing to the first of a series of doors at the back of the room.  "Line seven."

"Ooo-kay," Nancy answered.  Bewildered, she followed the instructions.  Behind the indicated door was a tiny room, very much like a phone booth.  Lovely, Nancy thought.  I shut the door, they gas me, the floor opens to drop my dead body into the incinerator.  One failed agent dispatched, no fuss, no muss.

She shut the door, sat down and picked up the phone.  It buzzed.  She remembered to push the line button.  "Hello?" she said quietly.

"Nancy?"

"Mark?"

"Hey, how you doing?  I've been worried sick about you."

Nancy sat back, tears streaming down her face.  "I'm okay, I'm okay …"

"You don't sound okay."

"Oh, Mark, I've been so … I've been so …" She gave up and wept. 

Mark spoke to her, but she didn't know what he said.  It didn't matter.  It only mattered that he was there, that she could hear his voice.  It was impossible.  He was on a mission, in the field, nobody could reach him – and certainly not for anything as silly as a stressed-out girlfriend. 

But she had voiced her wish, and like magic Lily Romanov had made it come true.

Oh, but Nancy wanted to hate her new training officer.  And oh, but Lily was making it impossible.

She listened to Mark talk, and she poured her heart out to him, and she got the comfort she wanted, needed. 

It occurred to her, perhaps five minutes in, that maybe this line was bugged, that maybe Lily and Simms and even Control were sitting in some little room listening to every word she said, judging her fitness to continue based on what she said to her boyfriend.  But she couldn't stop, and it was probably too late by then anyhow.  She talked, Mark talked, and for a few minutes she felt warm and safe and human again.

A discreet red light on the side of the phone began to flash.  Nancy wondered aloud if there was another call on the line. 

"It means our ten minutes are up," Mark explained.  "We're about to get cut off.  Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Nancy said, wiping her eyes.  "I'm so much better than I was before.  Really, I am."

"Good.  I wish I could be there with you.  I'll get back as soon as I can.  I want to be there for you."

"You are, Mark.  I know you are."

"I'll try to call you again.  Nancy, I want you to know, I …"

The light turned solid red, and the line went dead.

Nancy put down the receiver.  She sat very still, composing herself.  Then she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and stepped out of the booth.  Alpern was in the middle of something; he merely glanced her way and nodded.  Nancy nodded her thanks back and fled to the ladies room.

There was no hope of looking like she hadn't been crying.  She did the best she could, then went back to Vince's office.  Lily was putting the lid on the second box.  "Good, you can help me carry this stuff," she said.

Nancy nodded and picked up the first box.  "That was really nice of you.  Thank you."

"Sure."

They made their way to Simms' office and deposited the boxes next to his desk.  Simms was not there.  "He'll figure it out," Lily said.  She pushed her hair back with both hands, and for the first time, Nancy could see the weariness in her.  "I need a drink."

"If I start drinking," Nancy said seriously, "I'm not going to stop until I fall down."

Lily nodded.  "I'll drive."

* * * * *

They had burgers at a small, dark little bar. Nancy didn't think she was hungry, but the burger smelled so good she couldn't resist a bite, and the rest went down easily, with beer.  They ordered stuffed mushrooms and onion rings.  She switched to bourbon.  It all went down easily.

She started talking.  She was careful, at first, picking just the right words, just the right topics to make Lily think she was confident and competent.  Lily listened.  She listened very well, Nancy thought, and she ordered bourbon often.  Nancy drank, and she talked.  The more she drank, the less careful her words were.

"Do you think he's gay?" she said suddenly.

Romanov looked at her over her Guinness.  Nancy wondered if that was still her first beer.  "Who, Mark?"

"Control."

"Nancy, you're officially drunk."

"I know."  Nancy did, too.  Her toes were tingly.  Her nose was warm.  "But do you think he might be?"

Lily began to laugh.  "No, I don't think so."

"But he could be," Nancy protested. 

Romanov laughed harder.  "I don't think so."

Nancy was suddenly indignant.  "Look, I know you like him, but facts are facts.  He hasn't been seen in the company of a woman since … since … forever.  His closest friendship is with another man.  And another thing."  She leaned over the table and gestured Lily closer, so that she could whisper her dark secret.  "Vince told me he used to wear bow ties!"

"Bow ties are evidence of homosexuality?"

"Shh, shh!"  Nancy protested.  She looked around, afraid that someone had overheard.  "They could be, couldn't they?  And besides … and besides …" She bit her lip, then leaned closer again. "And besides, I hit on him and he just gave me this little knowing smile, like he had some secret.  So that's got to be it.  Right?"

Nancy was drunk, and knew it.  What she didn't understand was why Romanov, who she knew was much less drunk, slid towards the floor, laughing helplessly.

"You're laughing at me!" she protested.  "Here, let me help."

She stood up, steadied herself with one hand on the table, and reached her free hand down to Lily.  The older woman took it and tried to haul herself up, but Nancy slipped, and she fell back on her butt.  She couldn't stop laughing, and the whole situation was suddenly funny to Nancy, too.  "Here, wait, I'll help you …" she began, and then laughed so hard she slipped back onto her chair.  "Wait, I can help, I can help."

"I've got it," Lily answered.  "Just stay put, I'm okay."  She clambered back into view and sat on her own chair.  "Damn.  Good thing we weren't on barstools, that might have hurt."

Nancy was still giggling madly.  "You fell down."

"You're drunk."

"I'm drunk, but you fell down."  She looked at her glass sadly.  "Can I have some more?"

"Sure, why not."  Lily gestured to the bartender, who brought another glass.

"I think you're about done here," he said dourly, indicating the giggling rookie.

"I think you're about right," Lily assured him.  "Thank you."

When he left, Nancy leaned conspiratorially across the table again.  "You didn't answer the question."

"What was the question?"

"Do you think he's gay?"

Lily shook her head.  "When did you hit on him?"

"At the party.  While we were dancing.  But he just sorta shrugged me off."

"Maybe you're just not his type."

Nancy sat back.  "Look at me.  I'm everybody's type."

Lily laughed again.  "Okay, sweetie.  Finish your drink, and then we're going home."

"Well do you?"

"Do I what?"

The trainee sighed heavily.  "Do you think he's gay?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Lily considered the question for a long moment.  "There are stories.  About a Russian ballerina."

"Yeah, so?"

"So they're pretty detailed stories.  Explicit.  Too factual to be discounted."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Nancy, my sweet, it's time you learned, every man who doesn't want to bed you is not necessarily gay."

"I didn't say that!  I just think he is."

"He's not."

"You're sure?"

Lily giggled again.  "I'm as sure as I can be, okay?"

Nancy sighed.  "Did you sleep with McCall?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"I hear stuff.  Around."

"Don't believe everything you hear."

"I don't.  That's why I'm asking."

Romanov considered again.  "Who I sleep with is none of your business, unless it's you.  The same holds true for Control.  And everybody else.  What we do when we're not working is nobody's business."

"What about that other guy?  What's his name?  Kostmayer?"

"Drink up.  You're going home."

Nancy slammed her drink back.  "I left him," she announced, quite suddenly serious.

"Mark?" Lily guessed carefully.

"Vince.  His face exploded, I felt it hit my shirt, I heard the shot … I just ran.  I didn't even … wait … until he fell, I didn't … check.  Maybe he was still alive.  I didn't wait, I didn't see.  I just ran."

Lily stood up and drained the rest of her beer.  "Good for you," she said quietly.  "Stay alive.  That's the first rule.  You did good."  She grabbed the rookie by the arm, hauled her to her feet, and marched her out into the cooling night air.

* * * * *

Nancy lived in a tiny apartment four blocks from the Company-leased temp housing that that Lily had lived in.  Judging by the condition of the furniture, it had come with the apartment, and had been there for thirty or forty years.    

There was a rose-colored cover over the ancient couch, neatly smoothed, with burgundy throw pillows on each end.  Framed posters, photos of musical instruments and roses, hung on the walls.  Pink curtains.  Nancy had tried to make the place look like home.  Instead, it was just sad. 

The rookie was drunk, no question, but she was not puke-in-the-Mercedes drunk, much less falling-down drunk.  Lily stayed while Nancy showered – forever – and tucked her into bed.  As much exhausted as intoxicated, she promptly fell asleep.  Lily checked the apartment for car keys, but there were none.  She left her phone number and locked the door behind her as she left.

At her own apartment, Lily shucked out of her own clothes, which reeked of stale beer and cigarettes, and into clean, equally casual ones.  She called the office.  No news on Vince's death, no clue yet when they could deliver the body.  She reported her activities to Simms.  He grunted non-commitally and hung up on her.

Lily shook her head.  "I have got to stop letting him hang around with Control."

She wandered the apartment, restless.  It was still early evening.  Control would not be joining her, now or later; they rarely risked more than one or two nights a week together, and certainly never two in a row.  The minute anyone found out about their relationship …

Lily shook her head.  She wasn't hungry; the burger had filled her up, and the stout beer filled in the gaps.  Her laundry was done.  She had the files on Vince's failed trainees to go over, but she wasn't in the mood.  No bills to pay.  She flicked on the TV and surfed the channels, but nothing caught her interest.  She had movies on tape, but they bored her, too.  Books, likewise. 

Generally, on the few nights she was in her own home, she was perfectly content on her own.  Tonight the apartment felt like a jail cell.

Vince's death felt like a weight across her shoulders.  Nancy's fast-changing attitude, now needy, now abrasive, was exhausting.  Lily wanted to be with her lover, but it was a dull-edged want, certainly not worth calling in the dangerous marker, having him break pattern to see her.  The secrecy of their relationship, usually merely annoying, was suddenly oppressive.  She wanted to call him and say, 'Meet me for drinks at Windows, and then we'll catch a show.'  But that couldn't happen.  Not this night, not any night, not ever.

Not even if she quit her job, moved out to the suburbs, and had his children.  Hell, she'd see less of him then than she did now.

Lily stuffed her knuckles in her mouth and very quietly screamed.

Then she straightened and sighed, wiped her hand on her pants.  She got her box of paints and stencils from the kitchen cupboard and went into the bathroom.

The jungle room, she mused.  The room had originally been painted pale green.  She had stenciled a small, demur line of leaves over the bathroom mirror.  Then she'd painted over them and replaced them with much larger, bolder leaves.  She liked the effect.  She painted lines down each side of the mirror, and across the bottom.  Then around the sides of the shower surround.  Then around the door.  Above and below the towel bars.  Around the sink, the toilet tank, and the tiny linen cupboard.

The rest of the pale green space was so small it looked ridiculous, so she filled it with leaves as well. 

The tiny bathroom had become a jungle.

Control had bought her flower stencils for Christmas, orchids and tiger lilies, and bright paints in every color.  The jungle was blooming.

She picked a spot and a bright pink base color and set to work.

The minute the brush met the wall, her phone rang.

"Oh, God, please don't let that be Nancy," she said aloud as she went to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey, you naked?"

Lily grinned.  "I'm not, but I can be."

"Ah, skip it, then," Kostmayer answered.  "McCall stood me up.  You wanna go to a ball game?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Like … now?"

"Yeah."

"Who's playing?"

"Yankees, Indians."

"The Yankees suck this year."

"I know.  But hell, they ought to be able to beat the Indians, anyhow."

"Okay."

"Good.  Grab a jacket.  I'm out front."

Lily laughed.  "Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"That's what you love about me."

* * * * *

It was, as Harry Carey would have said, a beautiful night for baseball.  Cool, not cold.  Cloudless sky, pale blue fading to navy.  Light breeze coming in off the left field fence.  Empty seats in abundance.

"Cold beer here."

"Right here," Kostmayer called.  "Two," he said, without checking.

"This is probably enough for me," Lily said, chugging a quarter of the lager.  "I already had a stout."

"Early start tonight?"

"Long story."  She gestured towards the field.  "Who's this loser?"

Mickey squinted.  "Cadaret. Left-handed pitcher."

"Yeah," Lily said dryly, "I probably coulda' guessed he was left-handed, just by the way he throws."

"Ah, shut up."

"So McCall stood you up, huh?"

"Uh-huh.  Says he's working with a client."

"And he didn't include you?  How sad."

Mickey shrugged.  "He does handle things on his own sometimes.  But I sorta get the feeling he ditched me for a woman."

"The historian."

"You know about her?"