Kostmayer stood to one side of the concourse just outside Customs, lightly balanced on his feet, his hands behind his back. Blue jeans, leather jacket, perfectly casual.

Twenty yards away, two nervous cops had taken positions where they could watch him. They weren't being very subtle about it. They had also shared not-very-furtive warnings about him with the Customs agents.

Mickey wondered, not for the first time, what it was about him that made him seem so dangerous to some people. After all, he was basically a nice guy. Most of the time.

Just as long as nobody asked Nancy Campbell about that, at least for a day or two.

Kostmayer wiggled his eyebrows at the cops and looked away.

He straightened when he saw the red-head, and braced himself against her tackling embrace. "Hey, beautiful," he said warmly, trying to get his arms under her camera bags and around his fiancée's body.

Annie Keller didn't answer, for a moment, because her mouth was busy exploring his. She finally seemed satisfied of his identity. "You didn't have to come all the way out here to get me."

"It's raining."

"I won't melt."

Kostmayer shrugged. "Couldn't take the chance."

"You missed me," Annie accused teasingly.

"Me? No."

"You did. Admit it, you missed me."

"Nah. Not my style."

"Uh-huh." She dumped two of her bags unceremoniously onto his arms. "Make yourself useful. You missed me and you know it."

"Sweetie," Mickey answered, shouldering the bags, "I been so busy chasing other women, I hardly knew you were gone."

Annie glanced at him. "You're lying, of course."

"Call Lily. She'll back me up."

"If you said the world was flat, Lily would back you up." She bumped her bags against his. "Come on, admit it. You missed me."

Mickey thought about it to the end of the concourse. "Maybe a little," he finally admitted.

"Uh-huh," Annie answered smugly. "I knew it."

"But just a little."

"Uh-huh."

"And I was chasing another woman."

"Sure you were."

"I was."

"If you say so, Mickey."

Control turned off his headlights when he turned onto the cabin's winding drive. It was dark, raining, but he knew every turn of the twisting, climbing little road. It was just a precaution.

Outside the cabin, he parked the car and looked around. There was smoke from the chimney and light peeked around the edges of the tightly-drawn shades. Lily was here already. There was no sign of her car. She wouldn't have brought the Mercedes; there would be something rented under an assumed name in the little shed. He studied the woods around the clearing. Nothing alarmed him. Just the rain on the new leaves.

Just a precaution. Her message had said there was nothing to be alarmed about.

He went into the cabin.

It was bright and warm. As expected, a cheerful fire burned in the fireplace. The cabin smelled like roasting chicken and potatoes – and perhaps apple pie. Control frowned. Lily was a perfectly capable cook, when she put her mind to it. But she didn't, very often. It was probably not a good sign.

She came out of the kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand and her gun in the other.

"Because you're such a splendid shot when you're sober?" Control teased.

"Smart-ass," she answered. She put the gun on the side table by the couch. "Just for that I'm going to drink your wine."

She took a drink. He crossed the room, caught her in his arms, pressed his lips against hers and shared the wine in her mouth. "Hello, love."

"Hi."

"What's wrong?"

"Wine, dinner, pie. Then serious talk."

"Lily."

She slid out of his arms. "At least take your tie off."

He did so, and his jacket, too. "Happy?"

Lily nodded. "Simms is sending me back to the field full-time."

"The hell he is."

"Kedves …"

"No, Lily," he replied firmly. "I won't have it. I will not. You've done wonderful work with the logistical plans. He needs you here. I need you here." He shook his head. "I'll talk to him on Monday."

"And say what?" Lily prompted gently.

"That he needs you here," Control repeated firmly. "That he's not sending you back out there full-time. Especially not now. Central Europe is nothing but a hell hole, and it's getting worse every minute. Look what happened to Vince Norris, and Prague is one of the most stable cities in the Bloc … I won't have it, Lily. It's much too dangerous. You're not going." He took the wine glass she offered. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry."

Lily simply waited.

"I know what you're thinking," Control continued. He took a deep drink and swallowed. "You're thinking that if I make a fuss about this, Simms may become suspicious." He knew now why she'd called him. She'd wanted to tell him herself, so he had time to prepare his response for Simms. Good girl.

"More suspicious," she corrected.

"I don't care. I don't care what he thinks, or what he thinks he knows. You're not going back there. Not all the time. It's too damn dangerous."

"So we should send expendable people instead? People like Nancy Campbell, who have no experience and limited wits?"

"I didn't say that."

"Someone has to do this work, love."

He stared at her. "You want to go."

Lily swallowed. "I don't want to leave you, kedves. But the work needs to be done, and I'm really good at it. If anybody can get in and out of there alive now, it's me. And we both know it."

"You want to go."

She looked down and away. "Tell me to stay and I will."

Control continued to stare at her. He wanted to argue about this. He wanted her to dig in her heels and fight. He knew how to fight with Lily. He was damn good at fighting with her. But this – this passive submission, in pose and in words – this he didn't know how to fight against.

And she damn well knew it.

He drained the wine glass, drew his arm back. Then resisted the urge to fling it into the cozy fire. He'd just have to clean it up later, anyhow. "Lily …" he said sadly.

She looked up. "It's what I do," she said quietly. "It's what I am."

"No." He shook his head. "You are so much more than the job. How can you even think that now? You're my world, Lily. And if I lose you …"

She waited, in silence. Say the word, he knew. Say one word and she will stay. Without protest, without a word of reproach, ever. One word.

She wanted to go.

He closed his eyes. "Ah, Lily. My sweet love."

Her hand touched his. "Please," she said, very quietly. "Please, please understand."

"I do." His hand closed over hers, crushing hard. He dropped the wine glass to the rug and wrapped her fiercely in his arms. "I do understand, Lily. I do. I know you have to go. But you have to promise you'll come back to me. I cannot bear to lose you."

Lily looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. She couldn't promise she'd come back. She could only promise that she'd try. And they both knew that, too. "Did Robert ever tell you what I told him about us?"

"No."

"When I first met him, he tried to tell me that it couldn't last, that I'd end up alone sooner or later. And I told him that I didn't care. That I would take whatever time I had with you, ten years or ten minutes. And when it's over I won't regret a minute of it."

He thought about it while he held her, while he could feel the warmth and strength of her body against his. "No," he finally said. "It's not enough. Ten years is not enough. A hundred years would not be enough." He kissed her hair. "But you're right. I'll take whatever we have. And try not to waste any of it."

"You are so wonderfully reasonable," Lily answered, lifting her mouth to his.

I'm not, Control thought fiercely. I am not at all reasonable. No reasonable man would be here at all.

But he was not going to leave one minute sooner than he had to.

Simms took a deep breath and walked into his boss' office. "Talk to you a minute?"

"Sit," Control ordered. He shuffled papers ineffectively. "Damn it, where is that … what's on your mind?"

"Romanov."

Control stopped shuffling and looked up. "What's she done this time?"

"Nothing, that I know of."

"Hmmm."

Simms felt his gut clenching. "I'm putting her back in the field full-time."

Control went back to shifting papers. "Here it is," he said, with quiet triumph, pulling a sheet to the top. "Who's going to do the logistics planning?"

"She'll continue to do some. I'll do the rest."

The older man sat back and considered. Here it comes, Simms thought. If he's really sleeping with her, here's where he makes his stand. It would, no doubt, be prettily wrapped in logic, but he would not let her go back to the field.

"You need an assistant," Control pronounced.

Simms licked his lips. "Sir?"

"Go down to the pool, find yourself an assistant. If you're going to be adding this to your workload, at least you don't need to type your own reports. Take a designated assistant."

None of the other lieutenants had their own secretaries. Simms recognized this offer – order? – as the step up in status that it was.

He was being rewarded for putting Romanov back on the road?

What the hell was going on?

"Ahh … thank you, sir."

"Stop sleeping on your couch."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you tell Romanov yet?"

"Yes, sir. On Friday."

Control nodded thoughtfully. "She's going to wrap up the Campbell matter first, right?"

"She's to report in on that today."

"I'd like to hear her report. Call me."

"Yes, sir."

Control went back to his papers. Simms sat. "Something else?" Control finally asked.

Simms hesitated. "I gave Romanov the option of declining." His superior's eyebrow climbed, and he explained, "She's paid her dues. If she didn't want to go …" He shrugged. "She didn't argue about going. But she did say something rather interesting. She said it was starting to wear her down, and that she could see a time coming when she wouldn't be able to do it any more."

"She told you that?"

"Yes." Simms shrugged again. "I thought it was a rather remarkable piece of self-awareness. Most of our agents don't know they're burned out until years after everyone around them does."

Control nodded. "Interesting. And worth remembering. If she ever comes in and tells you she's done …"

"I'm not going to argue with her," Simms finished. "Exactly. That's why I wanted you to know."

"Thank you. That's useful."

Simms stood up. He was more confused now than ever. He'd been sure news of Romanov's transfer would get a protest from the boss. Instead, he'd gotten a promotion. And rather a large compliment.

He was reading the situation wrong. He had to be.

"Go find an assistant," Control said.

Simms went.

Just before lunch, Lily Romanov sat in Control's office with him and Simms, with the door closed, and told them in hysterical detail about the training exercise that had gone so marvelously astray.

The door to Control's office slammed open. Nancy Campbell stormed over to his desk, unsurprised and undeterred by the gun that appeared in his hand. "Put that away," she ordered. "Now look. I am sick to death of everybody around here making decisions about my life without even consulting me. I know you're in here talking about me, deciding what I can and cannot do." She swept her glared around to Simms and Romanov, then turned it back on Control. "Were you even going to bother asking me whether I can still do this job?"

"No," Control answered bluntly. He placed the gun on his desk.

"Well you should," the woman rampaged on. "Because what happened to Vince Norris was not my fault, and I'm not going to take the blame for it. And yes, I freaked out, if you had your friend's brains all over you you'd freak out, too. It happened. It's over. And all these games you people play, all this sneaking around and lying and all that, I don't care. Bring it on." She raised one finger warningly at Control. "I can play your games, and I can do this job, and you are not going to keep me from it. I'm going to be a damn good agent, and you are damn well going to give me the chance to prove it!"

She ran out of words, and out of steam. She became, by inches, aware that she was waving her finger in the face of the most dangerous man she'd ever met. That his blue eyes were raking over her like razors, as if he could see every single thought she'd ever had. Those blue eyes, that had been so warm, were suddenly ice. The gun was right there. All he had to do was pick it up and shoot her. He had doubtless done such things before, and probably on less provocation …

"All right," he said, very softly.

Nancy staggered. "All right?"

"Knock next time."

"I … I …"

"Out," he prompted gently.

She took her victory and fled.

Control looked across his desk. Lily was not laughing, but a quirky smile kept teasing at the edges of her mouth. "I blame you for this," he said sternly.

She shook her head. "You're the one who gave her to me."

He sighed deeply and turned back to the papers before them.

Robert, for one, found the tale of Nancy Campbell's storming of Control's office quite entertaining. "You might have known," he told his friend, "that she'd turn out that way if you gave her to Lily."

Control nodded grimly. "Just what I needed. Another one."

McCall sobered. "It is, actually. You need as many of them as you can get."

"I know." Control took a long drink of his friend's excellent Scotch. "I know."

"What is it?" Robert asked. "What's bothering you?"

Control considered his drink, and the light fixture, and the painting on the wall, moving only his eyes, swiftly, anywhere but at his old friend. Lily had left him before dawn; it was after sunset, and he could still taste her kiss, through the whiskey he shared with his oldest friend. He sighed and drank again. "She's gone back to full active duty."

"Lily?"

"Yes."

"I wasn't aware she wasn't already on full active."

Control glanced at him. "She's been coordinating logistics and communications for the past six months. Spending half her time here, sometimes more."

"At a desk."

"Yes. But now she's … gone back to the field."

Robert considered his own drink. "That can't come as a surprise to you," he ventured.

"No. I suppose not." Control's elegant fingers tapped the side of his glass absently. "It was Simms' idea, but she didn't put up much of an argument."

"Did you?"

Another pause. "Not with Simms, no."

"Control …"

"When I told Irena Norris that her husband was dead," Control went on suddenly, "the whole time I was telling her, all I could think about was how damn glad I was that Lily was there with me. That she was right there where I could see her, where I could feel her heart beat, where I knew she wasn't in any danger. This poor woman – her husband dead, her children's father dead, and all I could think about was keeping Lily safe."

"That's not really surprising," McCall offered.

"I couldn't stand to lose her again, Robert. I honestly don't think I could live without her."

Robert turned and leaned forward. "Did you tell her that?"

His friend's blue eyes turned on him then, tormented. "If I told her, she wouldn't go."

"Then why in bloody hell …"

"I can't," Control shouted. "I can't put her on a shelf! I can't ask her to change everything that she does – everything that she is – for me." His anger faded as quickly as it had flared. "I can't, Robert."

"Not even to keep her safe?"

After a long moment, Control shook his head. "Not even to keep her safe." He drained his glass and placed it gently back on the table. His manner became suddenly brisk. "So tell me, Old Son, how is it that I came to this place, where the least selfish thing I can do is let her risk her life?"

"You had an affair with a subordinate," Robert answered bluntly. Control scowled. "You knew exactly what she was when you started this, Control. You always knew what she was."

"And she always knew what I was," Control answered, nearly a whisper. "And that made her irresistible." He put his forearms on the table and leaned towards his friend. "'If one loves, one loves the whole person as he or she is, and not as one might wish them to be.'"

"Tolstoy," Robert identified at once.

Control nodded. "Give me wisdom, Robert. You have been her moral compass, and mine. Tell me what's right now. Tell me the greater good. Do I ask her to live, as a shadow of herself, but alive? Or do I let her be what she is, and risk everything? Tell me, Robert. Tell me where I go from here. Tell me what to do."

"Control, I …"

"Give me wisdom, Robert."

McCall considered for a long, long moment. Then he shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, my friend. I don't have any to give."

Control threw himself back in his chair, shaking his head as well.

At a loss for any better solution, Robert reached for the bottle and poured them both another drink.

The fresh-faced American girls stepped off the train in Gdansk, jostling together, their backpacks overloaded, and likely their wallets, too.

Nancy looked around, nervous and excited and ready to go. "Which way?"

Lily pointed towards an exit. "There's a youth hostel up the street there."

"A youth hostel. This really is the glamorous life, isn't it?"

"Well," Lily mused, adjusting her pack, "you know what Helen Keller said."

"'Life is either a daring adventure or nothing'," Nancy quoted at once.

"That," Lily agreed. "And also, 'Who the hell rearranged all the furniture?'"

Nancy laughed out loud. "That's not funny."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

"It's a little funny."

"It's not."

"You're laughing."

"Yeah, but it's not funny, it's sick."

"Oh, sweetie, you haven't begun to hear the sick jokes I know."

"I think I want to go home."

Lily laughed. "Yeah, we'll get around to that. Let's go."

She trudged across the platform towards the street. Nancy shifted her pack, looked around one more time, and followed.

THE END