"DAMN IT, WOMAN!  Why do you behave like a stubborn mule, just because I asked you to stay?"

He was becoming angry, but then, so was she.  Keeping her voice as calm as she could, she replied, "Because it takes one to know one," and turned her back to him so she could finish packing her bag.

"I'm behaving like a mule?" he asked, his voice getting still angrier.

"You know, you're right.  You're acting more like a jackass than a mule!" she mumbled over her shoulder.

Walking over to her, he grabbed her arm and turned her around, forcibly.  His eyes were cold with anger now, but she would not back down and glared right back at him.  "I am asking you to stay here and not go back to Berlin.  What is so wrong about that?"  He said each word of the last sentence, individually, as if he were talking through clenched teeth, his free hand punctuating the air as he said each syllable. 

"You just don't get it, do you?  You're asking me to stay.  Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why do you want me to stay?  It's a simple question," she asked as she pulled her arm out of his grasp.  This argument had been waiting in the wings since she had arrived three days ago.  Now she was due at the airport in an hour and he was bringing this topic up, again!  Each of their visits over the last several months had ended the same way, with angry words and shouting.  Aarrrggghhh!

It had been far more than a year since the attempt on his life that had seriously wounded her.  Their love for each other was still as strong as ever.  When they were away from each other, they were miserable.  However, when they were able to sneak time to get away, to be together once more, it always ended this way.  They had to resolve these problems, soon, or the love they shared would be totally and irrevocably destroyed.

He stood there, looking down at her, as if confused that she would ask that question.  "Why?  Because I love you, that's why.  Is that too hard to understand?" he demanded.

"I understand that you love me," she said in a tired, gentle voice.  "I love you too!  More than I've ever believed possible to love someone.  But why do you want me to stay now?  That's what I want to know," she said, her voice cracking at the end.

"What's 'now' have to do with it?  You're right, I must not be getting it.  What is it that you are asking me," he said, calming down a bit.

She took his hand and sat down on the bed, pulling him down to sit next to her.  She sighed deeply, calming herself and trying to collect her thoughts and words.  Finally, she said, "Ever since I was shot, you have been behaving like a wimp.  No matter what I say or do, you treat me like I'm some kind of fragile, sickly child and I hate that!  And now you ask me to stay here.  Why?  Are you saying that you've made up your mind and you want to get married and start a family?  Or, do you just want to get married, and not have kids?  Or are you asking me to stay here and we keep everything a deep dark secret and pretend we still hate each other's guts?  Do you even understand yourself why you are asking me to stay?"

He exhaled slowly and took his hand from hers.  Then, not sure then what to do with his hands, he took her hand again.  Caressing her fingers for a few moments, he finally said, "I don't know, I haven't thought it all through yet.  I just know that each time you leave, I start to worry about you.  I worry about what your next assignment will be, where you will be going, what you will be getting into, who is going to back you up on the mission, can they be trusted, and it's driving me crazy.  I thought if I asked you to stay with me, you would..." and he let his voice trail off. 

Putting her free hand on top of his, she patted his hands and said, "My poor darling!  This whole thing must be a nightmare for you.  For as long as you can remember, you have been the master of your fate, the perfect 'Control' for any operation in the company.  You've had a clear and precise picture of the work that needed to be done, how to do it, when, where, and why it had to be done.  And suddenly, after so many years of shining sanity, you are brought down to the level of a normal human by this thing called love.  Then, before you even have this new sensation figured out and under your control, an evil specter, from the shadow world you live in, attempts to rip it violently from you, before your very eyes.  And ever since that horrendous night, all your finely honed instincts keep telling you to grab hold of that beloved thing and keep it safe, hold it tight to you to protect it from further evil.  My poor, helpless, confused, darling," she spoke softly, as if to a hurt child.

There was silence between the two for several minutes.  She knew that if he had tried to speak just then, his voice would have betrayed the depth of the emotions running through him.  That would have gone against all of his Company training.  You must never let an enemy, or anyone else for that matter, see, or even have a suspicion of, what your true feelings were.  It was a sign of weakness and could mean the difference between the potential success and failure of an assignment, or even life and death.

"So," he said, finally, almost painfully, "what do we do now that we have identified this disease that has taken hold of me?"  He sat very still, with his shoulders slumped, staring at the floor.  It seemed he was almost afraid to look at her.

"I don't know.  I don't have all of the answers.  I do know that I don't want to give in to this disease.  I will fight it tooth and nail because I love you so very much and I think you are well worth the trouble and effort.  I also know that most of the cure for this, and the healing, must come from within you.  You are the master of your inner self and no one else.  But how we go about all this, I'm not really sure.  I would bet my last dollar, though, it will involve commitment, patience, trust, pain, love and understanding, and probably buckets of tears, too.  It won't be easy."

Nodding in agreement, he continued to stare at the floor.  After several long, silent moments, he stood, pulling her up to his arms.  Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, "Thank you for not giving up on me.  I promise, I will try, really try, not to smother you with my protection, and try to stop being such a wimp.  It's just that I love you so," and he stopped, not daring to say another word.

She murmured agreement into his shirt and was glad he could not see the tears running down her face.  They stood that way for several minutes until she sighed and pulled back from the embrace.  "It's getting late and I have to go," she said.  Dear God, how easy would it be to just give in and stay here with him, but she knew how wrong that would be for both of them.  His constant fear would smother, not only their love, but also their friendship and caring for each other.  Yes, she had to go, and go now.  Grabbing her bag and her purse from the bed, she kissed him gently, touching his chest as she did, and fled the apartment. 

She cried all the way to the airport. She cried during the flight to Berlin.  Once home in her apartment, she neglected her life long habit of immediately unpacking by dropping the bag in a corner of her bedroom.  Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the shirt that was there, his shirt, one that he had worn and that smelled of his presence.  She curled up on top of her bedspread, hugging that small part of him to her and she cried again.

His response was quite different.  He thundered into the office with the roar of a Force Five hurricane and began devouring work at a ferocious pace.  Barking orders to his beleaguered secretary and aides, he drove himself through the remainder of the day, and the rest of the week, like a man possessed.  He approved several missions that were in the planning stage and authorized the case managers to recruit their teams.  It barely registered in his consciousness that one of the most dangerous mission plans called for a female agent who spoke Arabic and who was good with a radio.  In the orderly filing cabinet of his brain, he had his beloved filed under "E" for electronics, not "A" for Arabic or "R" for radio. 

It came as a horribly rude shock a few days later when he received a note from her saying that she was heading to the Middle East and would be out of Berlin for six to eight weeks. There was nothing he could do now.  It was all approved and in the works.  Anything he tried to do to stop the mission, or prevent her from going, would kill any chance he had of saving their relationship.  'God, please go with her and protect her and bring her safely back to me.  And God, please give my staff strength.  They are going to need all the help they can get the next eight weeks,' he prayed aloud.

As fate and Murphy's law would have it, the eight weeks turned into fourteen, and then into twenty very long weeks and still the assignment went on.  She was deep under cover, in a determined effort to carry out an attempt to crossover one of their moles, a woman, who was being investigated on the charge of immoral conduct by the Islamic government in power.  It was not going well, but Corrie doggedly continued her efforts to smuggle this brave woman out of the country.  Failure to do so would mean the woman's death by stoning and Corrie Murchison would not allow that to happen to anyone.  And Control knew that as well as he knew Corrie.

After twenty-six of the longest weeks in recorded history, a cipher crossed the desk of the head of European Headquarters.  Terse and to the point, it read, "Both out safe.  Detailed report to follow."  He read it five times, giving his full attention to each of the seven words printed on the paper, making sure that the proper section identification was there each time.  A wave of pure relief washed over him and he wanted to jump up on his desk and shout 'Hallelujah!' at the top of his lungs, but he dared not do it.  His new secretary, the sixth one in recent months, would have definitely put in for an immediate transfer if he had done something so uncharacteristically happy and joyful.  Word in the office had it that Headquarters was considering offering premium pay to any one brave enough to accept assignment as his secretary.  He didn't blame them one bit.  His moods had truly been of legendary proportions lately.  But now, he could relax.  She would be coming back and he could breathe again. He muttered a prayer of thanksgiving to the gracious God who was returning the woman he loved safely from her mission.  And he also thanked the Almighty for getting him through these past weeks without killing, or seriously damaging the psyches of, his secretaries and his aides.

It was a bright, sunny Paris afternoon.  The new secretary to the man in charge of the European Headquarters of the CIA was busy sorting some letters before filing them when the door to the office opened, and a woman entered.  She was in her late thirties, short, petite, with blond-turning-to-brunette hair.  Dressed in a denim wrap skirt and flowered blouse, and she had a bright, friendly smile on her face.  As she approached the desk, she said, "Hi, I'm Corrie.  You're new here, aren't you?" 

The secretary returned the smile and replied, "Hello.  I'm Amanda, and yes, I've only been working in this office for about two weeks now.  What can I help you with?"

"Well, I'm wondering if Himself, the Elf, is in this afternoon?" and she nodded towards the inner office.

The secretary chuckled.  She had never heard the man inside the office referred to in any way other than 'That SOB' since she had arrived.  "He's definitely not acting elf-like today," she said. "You may want to sneak out now before he even knows you are here to see him," she said returning the friendly smile.  The two women liked each other immediately.

Winking, Corrie told her new friend, "Well, then I am exactly what you and the rest of his obviously brutalized staff need right now.  Trust me, he will be a changed man when I get through with him."  With the secretary laughing her approval, she turned and let herself noiselessly into the inner office, closing the door silently behind herself.

He was standing by one of the many bookcases crowding the room, with his back to her, idly flipping through a book.  She stood quite still, just drinking in the wonderful sight of him.  Suddenly, sensing her presence, he straightened, closing the book and turned to face her. In two strides he came to her, picked her up off her feet and brought her to him in a giant bear hug.  He rained kiss after kiss on her face, her hair, and her neck; anywhere he could in sheer delight to see her.  It took him a few minutes before he realized she was gasping for breath, being crushed by the strength of his embrace.  Putting her gently down on her feet, he inched away to give her breathing room. 

They stood silently gazing into each other's eyes, he, lightly holding her waist, she, lightly touching his chest, as if in physic communication with each other.   Finally, in a voice hoarse with emotion, he told the woman he loved, "When I found out that they were sending you, I wanted to cancel the operation, to shut it down before you could get on the plane.  But I knew if I did that, it was the end for us.  You would hate me forever; you would never forgive me. That would have been far worse to me than if you were dead, knowing that the love we felt for each other had turned to hate and loathing.  So I did nothing, and you went, and I died a little more each day that you were there, in danger of being caught and stoned, yourself.  And now you are here, in my arms again, and I feel like a new man.  Corrie, you know I am not a religious man, but I prayed.  I prayed for the first time since I was a boy, and I prayed for you.  And for whatever reason, God decided to answer my prayers and bring you safely back to me."  Saying that, a tear rolled out of the corner of his eye and down his cheek.

She reached tenderly up and wiped the tear away and caressed his face gently.  "I know, my darling, because I was praying too, for you, and for the people around you who had to put up with you once you realized I was on that team.  And based on the fact you have another new secretary, you must have been positively charming." 

The laughter in her voice sounded like angelic music to his ears.  He nodded his head, and whispered, "I think that if the mission had gone on one more day, the first recorded mutiny in the history of the CIA would have rocked this building.  The staff would have cast lots to see who won the privilege of shooting me.  Then, my mutilated corpse would have been thrown from the top of the building.  Thank you for coming back and rescuing me from this ignoble fate."  He bent to her lips and kissed her tenderly. 

They stood together, just holding each other and breathing in the glory of the other's presence.  After a few minutes, Corrie pushed her head off his chest and said, "Someone else is happy to see me.  He's being very persistent to get my attention."

Control looked innocently down into her eyes and replied, "What can I say, he has a mind of his own.  He's missed you and doesn't want to be ignored." 

With a wicked grin on her face, Corrie led him to the couch and pushed him down into a sitting position.  Kneeling between his legs, she slowly undid his belt buckle, his trouser button, and then slowly, erotically, unzipped his zipper.  Speaking softly, she greeted 'her friend' and released him from his confinement.  Control groaned an almost animal groan and ran his fingers through her hair.  She stood up, and untied the wrap skirt, and he helped pull it off her waist.  She was wearing a blue lace garter belt and no panties.  Climbing on to his lap and kneeling to face him, he guided her hips to him and he entered her.  In the next minutes, their spirits flew through a world of joy and ecstasy and love they had never known could exist between two people.  When they gasped their joined climax, they sat and cried gently and happily in each other's arms for some time.

A little over an hour later, the door from his office opened and Control and Corrie walked out into the reception area.  Corrie waved goodbye to his secretary, shook a warning finger at him, and left.  Control walked over to the desk and said, "I need to cancel my two appointments for this evening, at 6:00 with Hughes and at 7:30 with Anderson.  Could you call them, please, and reschedule something for tomorrow for me?  And, ah, Miss ah, I'm sorry, what is your name again?" he asked, scratching the top of his head.

She looked up at him and replied efficiently, "Phillips, Amanda Phillips, sir."

"Well, Miss Amanda Phillips, I just want to thank you for all you have done these last two weeks.  I have appreciated your efforts, even though I may not have mentioned it before."  With that, he turned and went back into his office. 

Stunned, she reached sightlessly for her phone and dialed the extension numbers of the men she needed to call and made arrangements to reschedule the requested appointments.  When she had finished, she buzzed him on the intercom and gave him the new times for each meeting.  He thanked her again.

The rest of that bright, sunny Paris afternoon flew by on the wings of the birds reeling in the sky.  At five o'clock on the dot, Control walked out of his office, pulling his shirtsleeves down and buttoning the cuffs, his suit jacket casually thrown over his shoulder.  Stopping at her desk, he smiled and said, "Miss Phillips, I'm heading home for the night.  Thank you for everything today and I hope you enjoy this beautiful evening."  With that, he turned and left the office.

She reached for her phone and dialed the number of the man she was planning to meet for drinks and dinner that night after they both got off work at headquarters.  When she heard his voice on the phone, she stammered, "Stan, the weirdest thing just happened.  I'm not sure just what happened here today, but I want you to know ahead of time, I intend to get very, very drunk this evening." 

Not long after leaving his office, Control opened the door of his apartment and called Corrie's name softly.  She responded from the kitchen and he hurried his pace to find her. She was just putting a roast in the oven, along with a potato casserole.  She set the oven timer and hurried to his waiting arms.  She was wearing her favorite 'grubbies', a lightweight pair of baggy sweat pants and a giant, oversized T-shirt.  After a warm welcome hug and kiss, she told him that she had had a delightful afternoon shopping and that she had everything ready for their evening together.

Smiling like a Cheshire cat, he said, "Lead me to Wonderland, Alice."

Corrie laughed and took his hand and led him through the apartment, into the master bedroom.  It was aglow with lit candles, and smelled of the fragrant flowers sitting in huge bouquets around the room.  By the bed sat a bottle of wine, two glasses, a plate of crackers and cheese, and the bottle of herbal massage oil that he found so arousing.  Continuing into the candle-lit bathroom, he made note of the patchouli scented incense burning on a plate, the small stool with a bottle of wine, two glasses, a bowl of chocolates, and a bowl of strawberries waiting on it, and the bottle of bath salts waiting by the tub.  On the sink were two washcloths, one for each of them, to wash one another Japanese style before getting into the exquisitely hot tub together.

Pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her, and raising his eyes again, he said, "For that which we are about to receive, let us give thanks."