When the feds had called his hotel this morning to tell him that they were abruptly canceling the operation -- no, they couldn't tell him why... just thanks, you were a great help, now go away and don't ask any questions -- he had been first angry, then relieved.  He'd picked up the phone right away to call Annie, to tell her he would be home tonight after all, but he'd changed his mind. He didn't get many chances to give her a happy surprise.

Taking one gloved hand from the steering wheel, he gently touched the single red thornless rose that nestled in the soft leather of the passenger seat. She wouldn't be able to see the color, but she would know the symbols. Red for his passion; a single blossom to say she was the only one in his heart; thornless to show that there was no impediment to their love. He smiled, suddenly feeling less tired.

The driveway and sidewalks around the house were clear of snow. They wound rivers of mysterious darkness amid the moonlit drifts that covered the lawn. The car purred to a stop in the drive and he walked silently to the front door, not wanting to take the time to put the car in the garage. His front door key made the barest click as he let himself in. He paused in the entryway to remove his gloves, savoring the warmth after the winter cold outside.

The house was almost completely dark. Annie had no need for lights, so she rarely turned them on when she was home alone. His own extensive experience in espionage had taught him to be equally comfortable in the dark, so he didn't bother to turn on any himself as he walked quietly around the corner into the living room.

He was surprised to notice the flicker of firelight coming from the next room. She didn't like to use the fireplace when she was alone; she was too afraid that an unseen spark would start a fire. Then he noticed the black wool overcoat thrown over the back of the chair by the window, barely visible in the moonlight reflected from the snow outside.

Laughter suddenly burst from the other room, a mingling of her silvery laugh and a man's deep chuckle. Soft music began to play. He recognized the Glenn Miller cd he had given her for Christmas.

He moved without sound to the shadows just outside the doorway and looked in. What he saw made him stand very still, drinking in every detail.

Annie was dancing in the arms of a handsome young man. Both had kicked their shoes off into a corner; the young man's tie was hanging loosely around the open collar of his black silk shirt. The firelight glistened off their hair -- his dark, almost black, hers red-blonde in the amber light. His strong arms held her possessively as she leaned against his chest. They moved slowly, rhythmically, in a slow circle. She put back her head to look up in his face lovingly after he bent his head to murmur something softly in her ear; he responded by kissing her tenderly on the forehead and hugging her tighter for a moment.

Paul's heart was in his mouth and the rose trembled in his hand. He remembered the first time he and Annie had danced. It must have looked very much like this, although he had been older than she, not younger. He felt somehow guilty, as though he had no right to be here spying on such an intimate moment. But Annie was his wife, and it should be him dancing in the firelight with her now.

He took one step forward, into the light, and stopped. The movement caught the attention of the dancers, who separated, startled. The young man's eyes widened, looking for a moment like a deer caught in on-rushing headlights.

"I would like my wife back," Paul growled menacingly, moving forward swiftly to take Annie's hand, which he raised to his lips for a courtly kiss. Still holding her hand, he turned to look at the young man.

One look was all it took. The young man bowed slightly, never taking his eyes from Paul's face, and walked swiftly to the doorway, stopping only to collect his shoes. He paused there a moment, glancing back over his shoulder.

Paul had swept Annie into a warm embrace, replacing her previous partner in the dance. She nestled now against his chest, the left hand that she draped over his shoulder pressing the rose gently into the back of his suit jacket. As they circled so that Paul had a view of the door, he noticed the young man watching them. Slowly, he winked.

Peter hummed contentedly as he scooped up his overcoat and headed for the garage door.