The bell in the nearby church tower had just tolled.  He had not paid any attention to the hour it had struck.  In his mind, he was going over and organizing the events of the past twenty-four hours in the file cabinet of his memory.  So much had occurred.  So many small items were flagging his attention, yet his concentration wandered, returning to the incident earlier this evening.  What should he do now?  How should he handle this newest problem in his relationship with Corrie?

He was sitting in the ruins of one of the offices at the station.  It was dark, with only the light from the corridor emergency lights to cast phantom shadows into his realm.  He had stormed out of the hotel hours ago, how long he could not remember.  He had walked for some time, not sure where he had gone or how long it was before he found himself standing outside the building that housed Berlin Station. He had gone inside and up to the empty office, if only for a place to go and think. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically, but he knew he would not fall asleep until this new wrinkle was straightened out.  

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, thinking back to earlier this evening.  He and Corrie had returned to her hotel room after dropping Kostmayer and Roberts off at the airport.  He was planning to stay in Berlin a few more days, until the doctor had released Corrie.   Then he and Corrie would return to the States for a few weeks of rest and relaxation.  Those plans had changed, in the blink of an eye, when he found a button on the floor of the room... a small, white, pearl button, something so simple, yet so complicated.

"Woman, how many times do I have to warn you about losing your buttons?" he had joked, handing it to her.

"Damn, I thought I'd picked all of them up," she had replied.  "Mickey is such a jerk," she finished.

"What's Mickey got to do with your buttons?" was his simple question.  He wished now he hadn't asked it, that he had never seen the damn button.  The argument that had erupted from this simple question played out in his mind.

"I couldn't get the stupid things undone with these idiot bandages on my hands," she had said.  "I wanted to get to the station and tell you about the fishing trip I remembered and was in a hurry, so I asked him to help me.  Being the turkey he is, he just grabbed the nightgown and pulled off the buttons.  It was a brand new nightgown too," she had said, trying to sound angry, but laughing.

"Let me understand this, you asked Kostmayer to help you with the buttons on your nightgown and he ripped them off?  Just like that?  He grabbed your nightgown and ripped them off?"  The anger in his voice built with each sentence.

"Yeah, I said hurry, and he hurried."  She had started to laugh, and then caught sight of the look on his face.  "Whoa, there big boy!  Stop right there! I think you're overreacting.  It was nothing to get bent out of shape over," she had started to say.

"Nothing?" he roared.  "Kostmayer grabs a hold of your nightgown, with you in it, and rips the buttons off, and you think I am the one overreacting?"  He was quite sure they had heard him shout this all the way down in the hotel lobby, but he did not care.

Corrie had just sighed and walked over to him and put her bandaged hands on his chest to try and calm him down.  "It wasn't like that.  Not the way you're thinking.  Relax, it was just Mickey being Mickey.  A joke.  There's nothing to get upset about."

He could not believe his ears.  The woman he would willingly die for had just told him not to be upset that another man had ripped her clothing half off as a joke, a laugh.  

"Kostmayer put his hands on you… " he had started, but she interrupted him. 

"Come on, Mickey is like a brother to me, you know that.  There was nothing the least bit sexual about it.  Stop acting like the big macho protector already," she had snapped at him.

His patience had reached its end at that point.  He had actually yelled back at her, "Kostmayer is not your brother!  There is no blood relationship between you.  He is a man, a male predator!  How can you stand there and think otherwise?" he had shouted.  "How can you be so, so... ?"

Before he could finish, she yelled back in his face, "So, what?  Stupid?  Childish?  Dumb?  I've known Mickey for a long time, now.   I know him better than some of the people in my own family.  Evidently even better than you," she had spat at him.

"I was trying to think of the word naïve," he had spat right back at her.  "But stupid would also work.  I've known Kostmayer a hell of a lot longer than you, Madame, and I'll tell you this.  I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.  What makes you so damn sure he wouldn't try something with you?" he had demanded.

"I know because I had told him not to a long time ago," she had said through clenched teeth.  "And I promised him that I would rip off his testicles if he ever forgot!" she finished.

The small, calm island of common sense in the back of his mind whispered, 'I can just see you doing that', but the outraged male in him was shouting it down.  They stood glaring at each other for several long minutes, neither willing to back down, neither wanting to give ground or apologize.   Both of them were defiant and too damn stubborn for their own good.  Finally, his anger overtook his common sense, and he had grabbed his suit jacket and slammed the door when he left.  And now, here he was, sitting alone in the dusty rubble of the office, alone with the memory of their latest argument.  Alone.

The church bell tolled four. He had stopped his brooding long enough to pay attention this time.  He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to clear the cobwebs that were gathering behind his eyes.  He still did not know what to do next.  His heart told him to go back to the hotel and pull Corrie into his arms and hold her as tightly as he could.  His mind told him she should be the one to come to him and apologize for being, what? 

He stood up and walked over to the window.  The eastern horizon was becoming a little brighter with the approach of morning.  He stared at the street, not seeing any of the early morning activity, as he tried to answer the question, what?  Corrie was the most unusual woman he had ever met, that was for sure.  She had been raised within pack of seven brothers on military bases around the world by parents who taught their children to be individuals with open minds, and instilling in them many admirable virtues, including the notion that they were never too old to learn something new.  She was truly unique.   She had to be to have won him over after his many years of feminine mistrust, isolation, and loneliness.  But what should his next step be?   How could they possibly reconcile their difference in opinions regarding the way Kostmayer behaved?  Was he overreacting as she said?  Or was she being naïve?

As he stared blindly out the window, there was a subtle change in the shadows within the room.  He refocused his eyes on the windowpane and saw a reflection standing just within the door of the room.  He knew it was Corrie even though he could not see her clearly.  He knew every inch of her body.  He turned slowly, unsure of what he should say, if anything at all.

Then, as if in a dream, Corrie started walking towards him.  A voice in the back of his mind told him the bandages were off her hands.  'It's way too soon,' he thought silently.  He focused on her hands.  Even in the shadowy twilight he could see that they were both red, like terrible sunburn, with patches of flaky skin.  She had received those burns trying to rescue her doomed friends, just a few nights ago, when a bomb exploded in the Communications Room. 

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Woman, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to take those bandages off too soon?  You're risking infection," he said in his stern 'Control' voice.

"Yeah, well, there are a lot of people who will testify to the fact that I can be pretty stupid at times," she said quietly. 

"You are not a stupid person, Corrie.  You can be damned stubborn, opinionated, and look at life from a vantage point that no one else can see from, but you are not stupid.  I am sorry for saying that," he confessed.

"You don't need to apologize.  I forced you to say it.  I stuffed the words into your mouth and then slapped you on the back to make you spit them out.  I wouldn't blame you if... "

Before she could finish, he reached out and pulled her to him.  He wrapped his arms protectively around her, nearly crushing the breath from her.  Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, "Dear God, help us.  One of these days we're going to kill each other because we are both stubborn, thick headed fools." 

After an eternity of comfort, he loosened the grip of one arm and reached into his back pocket.  Pulling a handkerchief out, he handed it to her and whispered gently, "Woman, my shirt is not a Kleenex."

"Then don't make me cry," she whispered back.

"Then don't make me angry," he returned. 

"Then don't stop loving me," she returned.

"I could never stop loving you, not even after I am dead," he whispered ever so quietly.

"Terrific.  We can spend eternity together in hell battling through one knock down drag out after another.  Doesn't that sound pleasant?" she mused.

"Heavenly," he replied.

An hour later, they had returned to the scene of the argument.  He had helped her undress, into a new nightgown, made without buttons, and was sitting at the little table in the room replacing the ointment and bandages on her hands.  They had not said very much up to this point.  Corrie had said, as they left the station, that she needed to explain some things to him, so he waited patiently for her to start.  Finally, as he took her second hand tenderly in his own, a shuddering sigh escaped her and she sat up, ready to begin. 

"I guess we both agree I need to improve my relationship skills if we are to survive together.  I haven't really had much practice at this.  You see, I've only known two men in my life," she said in a quiet voice.

"Known?" he asked.

"Yes, as in the biblical 'to know'. There's you, of course, and… "

"If it's someone I know personally, please, don't tell me.  We agreed at the beginning that this was information neither of us needed to know about.  How many partners we've each had, or who they were, isn't important to the here and now," he told her honestly.

"Please, let me finish. I want you to know about this part of me, before I met you.  The only other man I ever loved, ever gave myself to, was named Terrance McGill.  I met him when I was ten and he was fourteen.  He was a friend of the boys.  I didn't think he knew I existed, but I noticed him.  He was tall and lanky, with the wildest shock of red hair you can imagine, and emerald green eyes.  He had a smile that lit up rooms.  I thought he was nice."

"Nice?"

"Yes, nice.  Not like my brothers.  He didn't tease me about things like the boys did.  If they were torturing one of my dolls, Terry would get it back for me.  When they were picking on me, he would subtly change their focus of attention.  He even taught me a few moves I still use today when the guys get on my case," she chuckled.  "Anyway, our dads were stationed together for about fourteen months, then his dad was transferred out.  I was heartbroken, but couldn't say anything or my brothers would have really enjoyed tormenting me then."

"They have that streak of kindness in them, they do," he sympathized.

"Yes, real saints they are.  Anyway, you could have knocked me over with a feather a few months later when I got an actual letter from Terry, telling me where his dad was stationed and asking if I would like to write to him, keep in touch about what was going on at our base.  We did.  To make a long story short, by the time I got to college in Washington, Terry was at Fort Bragg.  We would get together as often as we could, which wasn't a lot, all things considered.  But it was enough.  We fell in love and he asked my dad for permission to marry me.  Dad wanted us to wait until I finished college first and Terry agreed.  He was in advanced training with the Green Berets by then and I was just finishing my sophomore year.  We were careful.  Terry didn't want me getting pregnant and him most likely going straight over to Vietnam when he finished training.  I was very happy," she whispered.

"I understand.  They say that the first love is the best love," he told her softly, caressing her hand gently. 

"Yes, but there are exceptions to every rule.  Anyway, he shipped out near the end of my junior year.  I was already being scouted by the Agency, and Terry wanted to be back from Nam before we had to make any major life decisions.  Two months before graduation, dad knocked on my dorm room door early one morning.  He had flown in from Japan so that he would be the one to tell me Terry wasn't going to come home." 

Corrie sat quietly.  She had a far away look in her eyes, but he noticed that there were no tears.   He gave her a few minutes, and then said softly, "I am sorry.  I know how hard that must have been for you."

She looked up and smiled into his eyes.  "Yes, and no," she said honestly.  "That's the one good thing about youth.  You bounce back.  I graduated; I joined the company; I was trained to be a lean, mean fighting machine; and I kept going.  I enjoy the work.  The people are always different; there is always something new and interesting, places to go and things to see.   I'm always learning new things. Life with the company has been good," she finished.

"But?"

"But?  Yes, well, the 'but' was that I had developed a minor problem.   I would meet great guys, good-looking, intelligent, and interesting.  I would enjoy talking with them, going out and doing different things, but there was never any magic, no spark or zing. That part of me, the part that could feel love, for all intents and purposes, was dead.  And you know my upbringing.  I wasn't raised to be a slut.  I had to care, really care, about someone before I would even think about doing the horizontal hokey-pokey with them."  She looked into his eyes and reached up and gently touched her bandaged hand to his cheek.  "And I won't lie to you and try and tell you that Mickey wasn't at all interested, that he didn't make an effort.  When I told him honestly how I felt, he understood and backed off.  He told me that Nam had messed up more people than the country could hold.  He also assured me that if I couldn't be his old lady, then he would settle for being a friend and a brother to keep my butt in line.  Then, after you and I got together, he told me frankly that he was very happy for us, and that you would be much better for me then him.  So you see, there really was nothing to get upset about in the button thing.  He was just acting like any normal smart ass brother would under the circumstances." 

"Yes, I can see that now.  But I didn't know any this earlier.  If I had, well, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have acted like such a Neanderthal," he confessed. 

"No dear, not a Neanderthal.  You were just acting like a normal, jealous male.  But now that I've told you my sad tale of woe, you have to know just how much you mean to me, how much I love you. When you took me in your arms and kissed me that first time, I can't explain it, it was like electric shock therapy.  Every nerve in my body came alive again.  Call it kismet, or karma, or fate.  Or maybe it was that roundhouse punch of yours… or the vomit," she finished with a gleam in her eye.

"If I live to be a hundred, I will never hear the end of that, will I?" he sighed.

"Not a prayer in hell," she told him laughing, and then turned instantly serious. "You have rescued me from the desert and have led me to the waters of life.  Your love refreshes my soul daily."

"As you do for me," he whispered to her.

"Know this, my love. I take you, my tall, dark, handsome idiot, as my one, true, soul mate, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, through good times and bad, till death do us part…and then through all eternity, because I love you so.  No other man can ever come between us."  She whispered this last sentence with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine.  And she sealed her vow with a kiss.

* * * * *

Two days later, her Berlin doctor gave his blessing for Corrie to leave town with the understanding that she would check in with doctors in the States during her leave.   Control was of the opinion the doctor had made this decision just to rid himself of a most difficult patient.

The two travelers were packed in a flash and Warren happily delivered them both to the airport.   He would be greatly relieved when his superior was back where he belonged.  And he and Ed Matsue had agreed that shipping Corrie off and handling the work of rebuilding the Com room without her would be much more desirable than dealing with a bandaged and frustrated Corrie on doctor restricted light duty.  The work would be difficult without her; they would be exhausted, but their sanity would still be intact.  And may God be with Control as he escorted Corrie to her family. 

Their plane had just reached cruising altitude when Control had had enough. Turning in his seat to face Corrie, he grabbed her forearms and separated her fidgeting hands. 

"Let's set some ground rules here before you drive me to strangle you. The good doctor has seen fit to let you travel on the condition that you leave those little sterile white cotton gloves on your hands during the day, for one week. Now, in my book, one week is comprised of seven days and seven nights."

"Yes, dear," she smiled.

"Seven, not a minute less. And while we are in New York, and I am busy cleaning off my desk in preparation for our vacation, I am going to arrange for you to be seen by a specialist at the hospital burn unit, just to soothe my worried mind.  Is that understood?" he asked his frowning companion.

"If I have to," she sighed.

"Yes, you have to.  And even if I have to pull Kostmayer, or some other agent, off their present assignment to escort you, you will go," and he placed her hands down on her lap, making sure they stayed separated. 

"Ugh," was her only reply.

"And… "

"There's more?" she asked, exasperated.

"Yes, a great deal more.  And, while we are in New York, I figure two to three days, "

"I wouldn't take any bets on that."

"You will behave yourself and conduct yourself like someone on vacation," he finished.

"Ah, what do you mean by that?" she queried.

"I mean you will leave your weapon in the apartment at all times.  You will not wander the corridors of my office trying to mass the secretaries in insurrection.  You will see the sights, visit museums, shop, visit your Godmother, or jog in the park, in the daylight and not trying to entice muggers out of the bushes to apprehend.  Or better yet, you can run up and down the stairs of the Statue of Liberty until you drop of exhaustion.  You can remember, I am sure, how to act like a normal person?" he asked.

"Hmm, it's been a while," she replied with her lip curled up in a snarl.

"Corrie, I am asking you this as a special favor.  I am getting much too old, and definitely too tired after these last weeks, to deal with you behaving like a hyperactive chipmunk," he said sternly.

The snarl turned into a leer and a twinkle in her eye. She whispered huskily, "Okie Dokie, big boy.  But I would give my pension for you to chase me around with a catch net and…"

"Corrine!   Behave yourself!  While that thought opens the door to many possibilities… "

"Like cohabiting the washroom together right now to… "

"I have no intention of being arrested on an international flight for lewd and lascivious conduct.  Now settle down, like a good little girl, and I'll tell you a story," he said laughing, and placing his arm around her shoulders.

"Oh goodie," she said and wiggled her bottom in the seat to get more comfortable.  "A fairy tale or an action/adventure story?" she giggled.

"How about the story of my life," he replied.

"Cool, I like science fiction mysteries," she laughed.

He pinched her in her side and hissed, "Corrine Elizabeth Margaret Murchison, I will send you back to your parents, stuffed in a box, wrapped in duct tape… "

"Sounds kinky."

"…If you don't start to behave soon."  He tried to make his voice sound stern and hard, but his chest was bouncing with laughter.  "What did I ever do to deserve this torment, I'll never know," he sighed.

She looked up into his eyes and smiled tenderly and said, "You got lucky."

"That I most certainly did," he answered and bent his head and kissed her.

After showing his gratitude to her for a few more moments, he sat back in his seat and asked, "Where do you want me to begin the story of my life?"

"Well, your real name would be helpful," she answered.

"You don't believe 'Blaisdell' is the family name?" he asked.

"If there's one thing I've learned from you in all the time we've been together is that nothing about your family is as it appears.  For all I know, 'Blaisdell' is your mother's maiden name and your family name is 'Disney'," she told him seriously.

"You're close, but no cigar," he laughed.  Yes, my mother's maiden name is 'Blaisdell' and no, the family name is not 'Disney'.  Actually, there is nothing really special about my family.  We're just ordinary people in an ordinary family… "

"And I will bid on that prime piece of property that includes a bridge," she mumbled under her breath.

"…From Iowa," he finished, poking her in the side again.  "It is the truth, so help me.  I come from good German stock that immigrated to the farmlands of Iowa back in the middle 1800's."

"I thought that was Amish country or some other religious sect like that," she said.

"Yes, there are Amish, and a few other sects there, but we were not part of either.  We were just good German farmers looking for fertile land.  My great-grandfather immigrated because he was the youngest of five sons and had no hope of inheriting any of the family lands.  He wanted his own farm and his own home and not be beholding to any of his brothers.  He fell in love with the countryside in Iowa and taught his children to love the land and the freedom he found here in the United States.  He passed that on to his sons, which included my grandfather.  Granddad taught himself to read and write English, besides German, and decided that his family would be properly educated.  He married a schoolteacher and, like your mother, my grandmother taught her children many things, including honesty, loyalty and love of country.  My father, their second son, loved the learning process, went to college on a scholarship, and became a college professor in History and Political Science," he told her.  "So you see, there really is nothing that unusual about my family," he finished.

"Sorry, friend, I know there's more to the story, but I'm not sure what.  Don't sit here and try to lie to me.  I know when you aren't telling the truth and that also includes when you aren't telling the whole story, so out with it, man.  My patience is wearing thin!" she told him in a no nonsense voice.

"Can you please tell me how you ended up in communications and not in counter intelligence?  You would make one formidable interrogator, do you know that, my darling?" he asked sweetly. 

"Stop changing the subject and get on with it.  I'll be too old to care by the time you finally get to the good stuff.  So, your father is a professor, huh?  Where did he teach?  Who did he teach?  What's he doing now?  And tell me, WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME for heaven's sake?  I'm not getting any younger here!  Out with it!" she said, bouncing up and down now in her seat.   He was sure the people across the aisle were staring at them.

"Settle down, my dear," he said soothingly.  "You'll give yourself the vapors," he laughed.

"I am not a southern belle," she snapped.

"I've noticed," he replied.  "My dad taught at several well known colleges during his career.  One, I believe, was named Princeton and another one was named after one of the presidents, I think."

Corrie was kneeling in her seat by this time getting ready to strangle the man she loved.  He was laughing at the twisted look on her face and trying to keep her from hurting her hands wringing his neck.

"Okay, okay, I surrender," he laughed.  "Sit down and I'll get to the good stuff as you ask." 

When Corrie had returned to a properly seated position, he put his arm around her shoulders again and continued, "Dad had teaching positions at Princeton, George Washington University, and the University of Iowa, among others, during his career.  He taught a great many students who went on to do great and glorious things in government service.  One of whom was named William Donovan… "

"Wild Bill?" she interrupted.

"The same," he replied.  "In fact, that's how dad got drafted into the OSS during World War II," he finished almost casually.

"That's it, I want a divorce," Corrie snapped.  "For cruel and unusual mind games," she finished.

"You can't get a divorce until we are actually married, darling," he soothed.  "You asked, and now I am telling you all of the gory details.  Yes, my dad was in the OSS with your Uncle John, as a matter of fact.  He recognized me at your brother's wedding.  He said I am the spitting image of my father."

"Okay, okay, I can handle this," she said, taking a deep breath.  "Now, for the million dollar question, please, before I split a gut, please, tell me your real name," she begged almost piteously

He smiled an almost evil smile and said, "You'll be disappointed, I'm afraid.  There's nothing the least bit unusual about the family name."

"Tell Me!" Corrie hissed.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I was christened Jakob Robert Braun."

"James Brown?" she whispered in a stunned voice.  "That's it?  The big mystery is James Brown?" 

"Don't forget my middle name too," he laughed.  "My father's name is Paulus Jakob Braun.  Paul, as first-born of us twins, was christened Paulus, after dad, and Martin, after my paternal grandfather.  I was named Jakob, James, after dad, and Robert, after my mother's father.  When my father went to work for the OSS during World War II, he changed our names to English.  Thus the men in the family became Paul James Brown, Paul Martin Brown, and myself, James Robert Brown.  When Paul and I were applying for our various government positions, we opted to use our mother's maiden name, Blaisdell, so that no one would think we were riding on our father's reputation.  It's all very simple.  Happy now, dear?"

She looked deep into his eyes, what he referred to as her soul-searching look.  "Yeah, thrilled," she said.  "You have thoroughly enjoyed yanking my chain all this time, making me believe you were hiding something awful about your last name.  James Robert Brown, you have caught the disease.  You are now officially classified as 'twisted'," she said, patting his hand. 

* * * * *

It took a while for him to get the key in the lock.  It was late, well after ten o'clock, and he was just getting home.   His stomach was rumbling at the aroma coming from the sack of the Chinese take-out he carried.  He hadn't eaten since early that morning when he and Corrie had bagels and coffee before going their separate ways.  He hadn't talked to her all day, but he knew she had to be home.  One of the living room lights was on low, casting just enough candle power for him to note the pile of boxes and bags, bearing the logos of a great many of New York's finest stores, sitting just outside the bedroom door. As he got farther into the room, he noticed the body lying on the couch and recognized the love of his life.  She was barefoot, with her feet up on the arm of the couch.  She had a large, zip lock bag of ice wrapped around her head and she was feebly waving at him.

"Been home long?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes," she answered

"Is Corrine single handedly trying to jump start the economy?" he asked.

"No, she's just trying to kill her one and only Godchild," she replied with no enthusiasm.

"Did you hog all of the ice?" he asked, placing the take out sack on the coffee table.

"I am neither cruel nor heartless," she responded, swinging her feet off the armrest and pushing herself up to stand.  She lightly patted his chest with one hand and headed into the kitchen. 

When she returned, he had removed his jacket, tie, and shoes and was himself lying on the couch.  She wrapped his ice bag tenderly around his head, then crawled over him to rest in the crook of his arm and replaced her ice bag.

An hour later, he awoke to the sound of Corrie mumbling to his stomach to be quiet. 

"Sorry, it's protesting the lack of fuel for the activities that have been demanded today," he told her.

"And I take it you are expecting me to do my duty and feed it?" she asked simply.

"I cooked," he answered, waving to the sack of Chinese on the coffee table.

"Brute," she called him as she heaved herself out of his arms and crawled over his body.

"To the kitchen, witch," he murmured, and she grabbed the two ice bags and the take out sack and shuffled off.

Fifteen minutes later, she woke him up again, saying, "The butler is taking the night off.  If you want it, you have to come in the kitchen and get it."

"Bitch," he mumbled under his breath as he hauled himself off the couch.

Sitting across from each other at the small kitchen table, they idly caressed the fingers of their free hands as they ate mechanically. 

"Bad day at Black Rock?" she asked.

"Worst yet.  The line of people waiting to see me snaked through the office as far as I could see and the piles of reports and folders on my desk, well, it reminded me of my childhood visit to the great Sequoia forest.  And, to make my day, McCall resigned," he ended flatly.

"Nice trick.  How'd he pull that off?" she inquired.

"He almost shot a fellow agent in a rage this morning and that was enough for him.  He's fed up with everything and everybody.  He wrote a letter and called it quits," came his unenthusiastic reply.

"That simple, eh, just write a letter and say goodbye and the company stamps his forehead and gives him a going away watch?  My bet is that the boys at Langley are calling for his head on a stick.  What will you do?" she asked seriously.

"I'm not sure yet.  I know it will involve quite a bit of string pulling and the calling in of a great many favors owed to me," he replied.  "I take it your day was just as much fun?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. Corrine is a woman possessed.  She is on a mission and let no one get in her way.  As we speak, a well-known supplier of all things kitchen and cooking is preparing a large crate to be picked up by a well-known global shipper some time tomorrow.  This said shipper has specific orders to deliver said crate to Berlin Station to be held there for my return. It contains everything and anything Corrine Matthews feels is absolutely necessary for a woman cooking for her man."

"I'm here, in New York.  Why is she shipping it to Berlin?" he asked fuzzily.

"Oh, don't worry.  Your crate is coming by local shipper.  Corrine, in her loving, wonderful way, has purchased two of everything.  One set to stay here, with you, for my occasional visits to your kitchen, and the other set is off to Berlin.  It is Corrine's hope that once I find a suitable place to call home in that great city, I can use the new stuff to practice creating divine meals fit for my king."

"Oh," was all he said.

"Yeah, my feelings exactly," she replied

"I can just see Warren's face now, when a crate of cooking utensils shows up and he tries to figure out how they fit in one of the computer terminals he is expecting.  What's that mountain sitting by the bedroom door?" he inquired.

"That mountain is just a small portion of the feminine accoutrements my Godmother feels I require being the consort of a man in your exalted position.  She has gotten a map and has divided the city into four sections.  Today's haul represents the purchases from only one section of her map.  There are three shopping zones remaining.  I am doomed!" she whispered.

He patted her gloved hand gently.  "I'll miss you when you're gone," he sighed, and then stood up.  He helped her put the barely touched remnants of dinner in the fridge and the plates and utensils in the sink.  Putting his arm around her shoulders, he said, "Come, woman, its time for bed."  She did not protest in the least about leaving dirty dishes in the sink.  'How this man has corrupted me', she thought.

As they entered the bedroom, she asked, "Are you planning on showering tonight?"

He collapsed on the bed and said, "I hadn't even thought about undressing at this point," he sighed in delighted comfort.

"Sounds like a plan," she answered as she walked around the bed and grabbed two of the hand crocheted afghans Granny Murchison supplied to each of her grandchildren and their partners on a regular basis.  They were the best, large, warm, and made specifically for the person intended. She threw one lovingly over him, then wrapped the other around herself and flopped contentedly on the bed beside him.  He rolled partially over and kissed her gently on her cheek.  She turned her head and nuzzled noses with him, then said, "Not tonight, honey.  I've got a headache."

He cuddled into the nape of her neck and murmured "As you wish," and fell instantly asleep. 

"You're a prince," she replied and joined him in the land of nod.