Warren Peterson knew he should have stayed in bed this morning.  One more day like this and he would put in for the South Pole route himself.  Dealing with penguins and sub-zero weather had to be better than trying to cope with the insanity prevalent at the station the last few weeks.  Between multi-million dollar equipment that continually behaved like a spoiled child, the formidable ever-present figure of Control, there from headquarters on a fact-finding mission, and the day to day zanies who inhabited the station, penguins were beginning to sound delightful. 

On entering Ops this morning, he had been greeted by the news that the new surveillance computer shut itself down during the night and would not blink even the smallest telltale light.  The news had not been much of a surprise.  The high-tech, state of the art piece of mismatched components hadn't worked properly since being installed four weeks ago.  Warren was convinced the unit was a plant by the other side to drive them all insane.

The second announcement he received had been that Control was not yet in.  This news did come as a surprise as the man seemed to always be there.  From the day, two weeks ago, when he felt strong enough to return from a serious illness, Control became an office fixture who never seemed to tire, no matter how many hours he put in.  As a point of fact, Control had still been in the office late last night when Warren had left.   He had Corrie in his office for her evaluation review, which had begun just after lunchtime.  Warren had been greatly concerned by the fact the review was still going on late into the evening.  He had heard raised voices at the beginning of the meeting, but all seemed calm when he left.  Corrie had even smiled at him when he had gone in to say good night.  Had something happened after he left?  The night crew didn't report anything unusual, unless Corrie swore them to secrecy and enlisted their help in the disposing of Control's body. 

He had decided his imagination had gotten the best of him and called his secretary, Alex, into the Ops room.  In the middle of their discussion about Control, Corrie came in, humming a circus tune.  She had been carrying a box with coffee and bags from a deli near her apartment.  Smiling a Cheshire cat smile, she had greeted them both and handed each a cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, made to their exact preferences.  Corrie indicated that she also had a cup of coffee and a bagel for Control, nodding towards his office door.  She did not react in surprise when told that Control had not yet come in.  In fact, she didn't react at all.  When Warren asked her straight out if anything had happened the night before, or if she had any idea as to why Control had not shown up at his usual early hour, Corrie had just shrugged her shoulders and said, "Maybe he got lucky last night."

Warren had gotten many strange answers in the two years and four months that he had known Corrine Elizabeth Margaret Murchison, but this one beat them all.  Warren had choked on his coffee, and Alex had exclaimed,  "That's more than I want to think about before breakfast, or even after breakfast for that matter!" 

Corrie had smiled like a cat with a pocket full of canaries and then a voice from the back of the room asked, "What's too much to think about before breakfast?"  

Warren and Alex had stayed frozen in place, unable to think of a proper reply to Control's question.  Much to Warren's horror, the smile on Corrie's face had turned to a wicked leer and she actually had the nerve to say,  "Oh, we were just wondering if you were late coming in this morning because you got lucky last night."

Control had stared down into Corrie's five-foot, one inch height from his six-foot plus position.  In a voice sounding as hard as his gaze, Control had answered, "Miss Murchison, I am not in the habit of speculating on what subordinates do on their personal time, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from doing so with mine.  It makes you sound," he hesitated a moment, "envious."  With that, the man from headquarters had turned, nodded to the still silent figures of Warren and Alex, picked up the cup of coffee and bagel bag sitting on the desk, and went into his office.

Corrie, not the least bit taken aback, had stuck out her tongue at the retreating back, and took a long drink from her coffee cup.  Then, before her friends could recover their voices, she had curtsied to both and patted Warren on the shoulder saying, "I will now retreat to the Comm Room and engage in a battle to the death with the demon machine from hell.  Please, tell my family I died giving my all for God, country, and raisin bagels."  With that, she had turned and left the room, humming "Send in the Clowns".

Without speaking, Alex had retrieved the large bottle of headache capsules from the desk drawer and had poured out the daily allowable maximum dose for both she and Warren.  Neither spoke as they returned to their own desks to try and bury themselves in their work and forget the scene they had just witnessed.

Four hours later with no word from Control or Corrie, Warren had felt it was safe to leave the confines of his office and check the situation in the Communications Room.  His secretary told him that Control had remained behind his closed door all morning, with no communication with the outside world.  As he walked into the Comm Room, the sight that greeted him had made him wish he had never left home that morning.  The disemboweled viscera of the unit in question were spread out across the length of the room in neat, precise rows.  Corrie's shoeless feet and legs had been the only part of her visible, sticking out from behind the defunct console.  

As Warren stood there, computing how many paychecks it would take to cover the cost of this ruined piece of government issued property, Control had entered the room.  Coming to a dead stop next to him, Control had stood quite still for several minutes, the muscles in his neck and face contorting in spasms at the sight before him.  Without a word to the Acting Chief of Station, he had turned and left the room.  Warren went further in to shock.  He had expected an explosion of gigantic proportions, complete with shouting and cursing, but there had been none.  

Feeling weak in the knees, he had returned to his office and asked Alex if sandwiches could be ordered in.  He didn't feel well enough to leave the building.  He intended to remain in his office, and quietly clean off his desk. The buck stopped there.  He, and he alone, had been responsible for giving Corrie the authority to destroy government property.  He had planned to be ready to leave when Control came to inform him of his demotion to janitor at the South Pole Station.

Twelve hours after arriving at the station, Warren was surprised to learn that he was alone in the general work area.  Only the denizens of the Communications Room, which ran twenty-four/seven, shared his isolation.  While in search of some fresh coffee, Warren had happened upon John, the night supervisor in the Com Room.  John had just finished hanging up the phone and walked over to where Warren was filling his coffee cup and had said, "We're in luck.  A courier can have that replacement here by tomorrow afternoon.  She should have it all back together by the time night shift reports."

Confused by this, Warren had asked, "What part?  She, who?"  John handed him something that looked like a square shirt button and said, "That's it.  It's really stupid that something that small could cause so much trouble.  I don't know how Corrie found it.  It's just one chip out of dozens that make up the guts of that machine." 

Thanking John for the information, Warren headed back to his office.  Feeling better than he had felt in weeks, he had phoned his wife and told her he was on the way home.  He had also asked her to have a very large, very strong drink waiting for him. 

As he headed down the corridor for the last time that night, he uttered a silent thank you to the powers that guide the universe that the day had not been any worse.  He had to work on a plan to keep Corrie out of Control's way until he finished his job at Berlin Station.  As he began his drive home, he decided to sleep on the idea and maybe a plan would present itself by morning.

Ten miles away from Warren's parked car, the man in question was quietly letting himself in to a small apartment.  She was standing at the kitchen stove, breaking a handful of spaghetti into a pot of boiling water.  He came up behind her unnoticed, and wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her to him.  She turned in his embrace and returned his kiss for kiss and caress for caress.  Reaching behind her, she turned off the gas under the boiling water and allowed him to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom.

Unlike last night's slow, Bolero-like march through erotic foreplay and passionate intimacy, tonight their mood and actions were those of primal animals.  Their clothes were torn hurriedly off and tossed into scattered piles.  They didn't bother turning down the bed or putting on the bedside lamp.  They came together before they were even completely on the bed, she responding to his forceful taking of her with groans and bites to indicate her wild pleasure.  And when their passion was finally, totally, consummated, they lay exhausted in a tangle of arms and legs.

Lying face to face, with her surrounded by his arms, he tenderly kissed her hair, her ear lobe, and then her neck.  Sighing, he whispered huskily in her ear, "I've been wanting to do this since early this afternoon.  You don't know how close you came to becoming a legend in company folklore."

Her face buried in his chest, she nuzzled closer and asked, "How so?"

Caressing her breast tenderly, he said, "When I walked into the Comm Room this afternoon and saw you behind that console, I almost lost it.  Your skirt was hiked up and all I saw was your bare feet and very inviting legs.  I wanted to drag you out by your feet and take you right there in front of Warren and the boys in the bullpen."

"Why didn't you?  Warren and the boys could use some comic relief and..."

Before she could finish, he pinched her nipple in his fingers.  "I have a reputation to maintain as the hard ass from headquarters and you are not helping it, you hussy.  Now, are you going to make me that home cooked meal you promised or do I have to faint from starvation.  And it would be your entire fault, you know.  I didn't dare leave my office the rest of the day for fear I'd run into you and not be able to, pardon the pun, control myself."  They kissed passionately once more, draped a minimal amount of clothing around themselves, and headed to the kitchen.

An hour later, sitting across from each other at the small kitchen table, she served the first of many meals she intended to cook for this man.  He ate heartily, savoring the effort she had taken for him, and they talked and laughed with ease.  As he finished his second helping, he took her hand and lightly kissed her fingers. 

"What's that for?  Did I miss some food or something?" Corrie asked him, with a twinkle in her eye.

"I am thanking you for this marvelous, perfect meal and," he paused so long, she raised an eyebrow in concern, "and for showing this old company war horse that love and laughter still exist." 

She smiled her Cheshire cat smile and tenderly caressed his cheek. "It's not the age, it's the mileage," she told him.  "And laughter has been known to turn back many odometers.  You just needed to find someone who appreciates a classic when she sees one and knows how to make it run like new again." 

He sat still for a few moments before replying, "We need to have a very serious conversation soon.  I won't be staying here forever, you know.  I will be heading back to Paris headquarters by the end of next week.  We need to talk about it." 

"I know," she answered quietly, "but not tonight.  Like Scarlet O'Hara, we'll talk about it tomorrow."  Then, smiling like her old self, she said, "Tonight is for fun, and laughter, and passion, and madness!" she finished.

Chuckling, he asked, "Madness?  Is that going to be your defense for this morning?"

"This morning?  What... oh, yeah, this morning.  When I asked you..."

"In front of a horrified Warren and his secretary..."

"They're married you know."

"No, I didn't know, but it would explain a few things.  And you are changing the subject.  What on earth possessed you to make a comment like you did?" he said, trying, but not succeeding, to look stern and serious.

"Well, Mr. Company Hard Ass, I also have a reputation to maintain," she answered with innocent dignity.  "And I didn't want Warren to get any ideas to the contrary.  If I suddenly started being nice, they would know for sure that something was going on between us.  It's their company training in surveillance, you understand," she finished with a wicked grin.

He stood up, taking her hand and pulling her up with him and to him.  "I appreciate your tact.  That is one of the many qualities you possess that I love so much about you.  Now, why don't we go in the living room, put some quiet music on, settle in comfortably in a prone position on the couch, let your superb meal digest, and see where the evening leads us," he said, ending his sentence by nibbling her ear.

"Sounds like a definite plan.  I'll be right in.  I just want to clean off the table and get the dishes soaking," she said and started to pull away. 

Holding more tightly to her, he gazed down into her eyes and said, "Not tonight.  If necessary, I will write a note to your mother, personally taking the blame for leading her daughter from the path of cleanliness and Godliness."  Saying that, he reached under her loose top and caressed her breast, kneading her firm nipple with his fingers.

Groaning, feeling her desire for him start to burn in all her feminine parts, she whispered huskily, "When you do, please make it sound like I put up a valiant struggle."