"No, I don't plan on coming in early.  Just expect me when you see me."  He paused and listened to his secretary's questions.  "Tell them I'm still out of town, or I jumped in the ocean, or you don't know where I am.  I don't really care what you tell anyone.  I will be in the office when I am bloody well ready to be there."

He hung up the phone and sighed deeply. He was tired and getting shorter-tempered by the minute.  Upon his return from Washington and the meetings with the bean counters, he had spent the last three days working his way through the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated on his desk during his trip in the field.  Now, for the third night in a row, phone calls from the office had again interrupted his plans for a quiet evening with Corrie and her godmother.  Didn't anyone understand the words "only in an emergency" any more?

He shook off his anger and headed down the hallway towards the room he was sharing with Corrie.  Stopping at one of the bedroom doors, he knocked quietly and poked his head into the darkened room.  Corrine Matthews was resting in bed, her nurse/companion reading softly from a book of poems illuminated by the small bedside lamp.  Corrie's godmother was a mere shadow of her former indomitable self.  He had been truly shocked to see her condition when he returned.  For her sake, and for Corrie's, his heart prayed that she would not have to linger in pain for much longer. 

Her eyes, however, lit up when she saw him and she beckoned him to her side.  He took her hand in his, and said, "I'm sorry about the phone calls.  I hope they didn't disturb you." 

She shook her head and replied, "No, dear, I'm fine.  The calls didn't bother me at all.  They remind me that life is still going on outside these too quiet walls.  If you want, I could have Priscilla accidentally-on-purpose disconnect the line for a few hours so that you and Corrie can have some quiet time together," she said with an evil twinkle in her eye that reminded him so much of her godchild.

"Thanks, I may take you up on that if it keeps up," he answered honestly, scratching the top of his head.  "I just don't want them disturbing you.  You need your beauty rest," he finished, winking at her.

"Don't you worry about me, young man.  I'll be getting all the beauty rest I'll need soon enough.  You just get out of here and spend some time with Corrie.  You both need it.  Now shoo!" 

He bent over and kissed the frail woman gently on the forehead and wished her a good night.  Closing the door silently behind him, he stepped across the hall to the open door of the room he shared with the woman he loved. 

Corrie had already changed into her nightgown and was sitting on the edge of the bed.  She had a strange, wistful expression on her face and was cradling her "hugging shirt" in her arms.  As he watched from the doorframe, she began to gently stroke the fine cotton material with her fingers.

He felt his chest tighten, as it always did when he thought of how very much he loved her.  He wanted to pull her into his arms and crush her to him and would have done so, but the look on her face caused him to hold back.  There was something there, behind the far away look in her eyes that sent a cold chill down his spine.  He walked softly over to the bed and sat beside her.  After a few, long seconds, Corrie looked up and met his eyes.  She handed him the "hugging shirt" and said quietly, "It's time."

He looked at her for a second, not sure of what she meant.  "This one isn't gamy enough for you, is it?   I still haven't sent my laundry out after my trip and a few of those shirts would do the trick easily.  They could probably walk in here on their own strength," he laughed.

She gave him a gentle smile and said, "No, idiot, I don't want another shirt.  I want to trade up for the real thing."  She looked into his face and whispered, "I am tired of missing you and I am tired of living apart from you.  And I am tired of only having your shirt to hug before I go to sleep at night. My darling, you are my life and my reason for being.  I cannot imagine my life without you.  Would you do me the honor and blessing of marrying me?"

He looked into her eyes and saw the tears she held back.  Rising, he walked to the dresser and took a small box out of the top drawer.  Returning to the bed, he knelt down on one knee, opened the box, and removed the ring his grandfather had given to his grandmother so many years before.

"Corrine Elizabeth Margaret Murchison, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?  I ask you sincerely to share my life and all that I have, and to allow me to revel in your love for me.  I promise to be a faithful, caring, and loving husband, who will try to understand your many moods and your strange way of thinking with tenderness and patience.  I love you more than life itself," he finished as his voice cracked and his throat would allow no further words.

Softly, Corrie whispered, "Yes, I will."

He slipped the ring on her tiny finger and kissed her ever so gently and tenderly as tears ran down both their faces.  He pulled her off the bed and into his arms and they sat together on the floor for some time crying quietly together.

They neither knew nor cared how long they had been sitting on the floor when they heard a soft cough from the hallway and a light tap on the door. 

"Corrine is not sleepy and has asked me to go make some apricot tea.  Would either of you care for some too?" asked Pricilla, standing just outside the doorframe and showing not the least bit of surprise at their position on the floor.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," answered Corrie.

"Especially if it comes with a large shot of apricot brandy," added her lover.  "That is, of course, if you approve of strong spirits this time of night," he continued.

"Piffle, man!"

"Piffle?" he asked.

"I said piffle, and I mean piffle!  What kind of nurse do you think I am?  Giving alcohol to a frail, weak woman like Miss Corrine at this time of night especially with all the medications she's taking!" the nurse stated indignantly.  Then, a purely evil grin spread across her face and she said, "There's nothing like it for a cold evening like tonight.  Warms the bones.  It's just too bad the good stuff only comes in small bottles and not by the gallon," and she turned away to begin her tasks.

Corrie was giggling on his lap as he sighed deeply.  "Woman, you have perverted yet another human being with that twisted wit of yours."

"Not me, Mom!" came her defensive reply.  "I am only the sorceress's apprentice.  Pricilla has been turned from the light by the Mistress herself!  Speaking of whom, shall we go and break the news to her now or wait until morning?"

"Woman, are you insane?  That frail, weak invalid will have our heads on a pike if we don't go in there this second and let her be the first to know.  If I have learned one thing in our life together so far it is to greatly fear the weakest looking of the women of the clan.  Between Corrine and Granny Murchison, I'd like to figure out some way to include their secrets in the Special Forces Training Manual chapter on Torment and Torture," he laughed into the top of her hair.   "Let's go, but I'd bet my last cent her radar has already picked up the announcement and is broadcasting it on Radio Free Murchison already!"

Untangling themselves, they rose from the floor and headed toward the lioness's den.  Corrie tapped lightly on the door and called softly, "Is everyone decent?  We're coming in!"

"Drat!" came the reply from within.  "I was just going to start the Dance of the Seven Veils for Tom Selleck.  What are you two still doing up and about and clothed?" asked a snickering Corrine Matthews.  "When I was your age… Dear Lord, can it finally be?  Is that what I think it is glittering on your finger, child?  It's about time!  How long did you think I could hold on waiting for you two to get your act together and get the deed done?  I'm no spring chicken, you know."

Trying to get a word in edgewise, Control bravely started, "It wasn't my idea to wait… "

"Oh, stop your yammering, man!  I am fully aware of your version of the story.  Both of you come and give me a hug before I die of happiness!"

Thus commanded, the lovers did obeisance to their acknowledged superior, who, by this time, was sitting bolt upright in bed with no sign of the ravages of her illness to be seen.  As if on cue, Pricilla entered with the tray of tea things and stopped short, just inside the door. 

"Don't just stand there holding that pot of soaking dead leaves!" commanded the recovered invalid.  "Get me a pad of paper and a pencil!  Then go to the cupboard and get me a proper drink, whiskey, two fingers worth!  There's so much to do and thanks to this new generation who waits until the last possible second to make decisions, no time to get it done."

Corrie relieved Pricilla of the tray and the pad and pencil were fetched.  As the nurse/companion fled the room, the godmother continued her tirade, "And I suppose you two have not even thought of what kind of wedding you want.  How soon will it be?"

"Saturday," replied Control instantly.

"Three days!  How large?"

"Immediate family," replied Corrie without hesitation.

"Here?"

"Of course," replied Control at once, adding under his breath, "I'm not an idiot."

"Don't be so sure of yourself, young man," came the reply from his soon to be Godmother-in-Law, if there was such a thing.  "What denomination?"

"Ah…" they both hesitated.

"Don't worry.  I'll just call one of my cleric acquaintances," put in the party planner.

"Ah, Corrine?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't bother the Pope with this."

"Or the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"Or the Dali Lama."

"Or…"

"That's enough out of you two!  This is no laughing matter.  Besides, the Pope hasn't been feeling well lately."  The rapid fire questioning continued until Pricilla returned.  "Now you two get out of my way.  There are lists to make, caterers to call, florists…. Pricilla, where's the phone book?"

They returned, still carrying the tea tray, across the hall to their room.  Corrie poured a cup of brandy with a shot of tea for each, and they collapsed into the same large bedside chair together.

"Woman, what have we done?" asked the bewildered head of the CIA's Northern command.

"We have unleashed a terrible dark force on an unsuspecting world," answered his lover.  "We are evil."

"And we will surely be destroyed by the innocent who suffer from it," he replied, holding her and his teacup tightly.

* * * * *

Sixty odd hours later, the town house of Corrine Matthews was the scene of quiet readiness.  Still unable to believe that a woman, so near the end of her days, had accomplished what she had done in so little time, Control sat in the kitchen with Robert McCall, too stunned to talk.  How did the United States Government not detect and utilize the organizational abilities of this woman for any of its major operations in the last half-century was beyond his understanding.  After mulling this thought over for some time, he finally realized that McCall had been speaking to him.

"I say, old son, now is not the time for cold feet.  The living room is near bursting with family and the contents of an entire green house.  Enough food and drink has been laid in to feed a battalion and is in readiness.  And I know Corrie would appreciate at least some vestige of happiness to be apparent on your face.  Buck up, man.  Marriage is not the end of the world!"

"Robert, I asked you to be my best man to support me in this mission, not bury me," he sneered at his friend.  "I am not getting cold feet.  I would gladly leap into a viper's nest, as I have surely already done by meeting most of her family, to make Corrie my wife.  It's just, well, these last three days, well, maybe, the last week, what with finding Corrie here in New York when I got back…"

"My poor old friend.  You have been swallowed up by the whale and can't quite believe there are more people than just Jonah swimming around down there, now can you?"

"Robert, I would appreciate it if you would just make sense for a change.  What I'm trying to tell you is that I have lived through more chaos in the last two and one half days than you and I have endured during our entire careers with the company.  What with cleaning off my desk after a six week absence, and dealing with an avalanche of arrangements to get to this moment, in this kitchen," he stopped to catch his breath.  "Do you realize that we have almost one entire floor of the Waldorf reserved for IMMEDIATE FAMILY!  And I'm still trying to sort out in my head just how Kostmayer became the MAID OF HONOR no less.  And if I do happen to live through all this, you are planning on throwing an actual, full-fledged, everyone is invited, reception for us when we return from our honeymoon.  Please, old son, don't old son me today.  Just stand beside me and catch me if I lose consciousness at any point!  That's all I ask," he finished plaintively.

"That is my promise to you, old friend.  I've seen the enemy waiting outside these walls, and she is formidable.  Do you know, when I arrived this morning, and asked where you were, that frail woman in the wheel chair looked me in the eye and told me with a straight face, 'If he's wise, he's on his knees thanking his lucky stars for my goddaughter!'  Can you believe that?"

"Oh, yes, I can.  But are you sure she said 'goddaughter' and not  'granddaughter'?  There should be two wheel chairs cruising around the living room.  Corrie's Grandmother is here too."

"Good God, no, she must be in her nineties!  The woman I saw didn't look a day over seventy.  Wouldn't that be the godmother?" asked McCall.

"Not necessarily.  Besides having a lease on the Fountain of Stubbornness, the women in the clan also know where the Spring of Eternal Youth flows.  Don't laugh, but I've had this strange feeling that the women in Corrie's family are more than just long lived."

"You certainly can't mean that, can you man?  It's just nerves.  Ten more minutes and all will be completed.  Just sit there and take slow, deep breaths.  Would you like a paper bag?"

* * * * *

The living room was indeed crowded with family members.  Besides Corrine, Pricilla, Corrie's parents and grandmother, all seven of her brothers and most of their spouses had managed somehow to fly into New York for this afternoon's ceremony.  On the groom's side stood his beaming father, his twin brother Paul with his Annie, his son Bob and his wife Pam with his amazing grandson, James, in her arms, and his daughter Kate with her husband John.  His sisters had declined the invitation on the grounds that there was not sufficient time to make travel arrangements.  His father had muttered something about that being corrected in time for McCall's reception.

But none of this mattered to the man standing before the minister in front of the fireplace.  He only had eyes on the woman in the sky blue dress standing next to him with a crown of flowers in her hair.  She had floated towards him on the arm of her father not ten minutes before.  In his joy, he had assured the man he would take loving care of his only daughter for the rest of his life.  Now, he stood and heard the words of the cleric intone, "What God had joined, let no man put asunder.  By the power vested in my by God, and the State of New York, I now pronounce you, man and wife."

As applause and cheers drifted into his senses, he looked down into the eyes of Corrine Elizabeth Margaret Brown, nee Murchison, and kissed her ever so gently.  Then, leaning over to her ear, so only she could hear amid the tumult, he whispered, "How does it feel to be Mrs. Idiot?"

"The shoe fits," came her beaming reply.