Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just toying around. Don't sue me.
It was only 9:45 p.m., but CONTROL's annual New Year's bash was already in full swing. Agents 12 and 44 were permanently stationed at the bar, drink in hand, as was their custom every year. Out on the dance floor, Hymie was cutting a rug with Dr. Simon, who, for once, seemed more interested in groovin' than in trying to understand the intricate circuitry that made up CONTROL's finest cybernot. Off in the corner, Admiral Hargrave slept contentedly, propped against the mahogany paneling of the banquet room, and the Chief, in a rare moment, looking completely relaxed, stood near the fireplace, amiably conversing with Dr. Parker.
Missing from the celebration were agents 99 and 86. Their absence hadn't gone unnoticed, especially from the Chief, but he reasoned knowing those two they were probably somewhere together, spending a few quiet moments together – they had been doing that more and more frequently since they had returned from the island of San Jirman. Sensing something important had happened in their friendship, but realizing the intimate nature of it, the Chief had wisely refrained from asking too many questions. They'd show up. If they wanted their end-of-the-year bonuses, they'd have to.
On the other side of Washington, D.C., in a small Italian restaurant located just across the river from the Watergate hotel, Maxwell Smart and the lovely Agent 99 were nestled in the back corner of La Trattoria, sipping a glass of wine and enjoying a much-needed, but rarely experienced, break from their cloak-and-dagger lives as spies. Max listened as best he could as 99 regaled him with tales from her Christmas trip back home only a few days earlier, but he couldn't help but become distracted as the flickering candlelight caught the deep chestnut of 99's hair.
He often caught himself daydreaming whenever 99 was near. He didn't quite know why, but it happened nonetheless. The Chief would be explaining the details of a guaranteed suicide mission, stressing the danger of it, the importance in CONTROL protecting some well-known scientist or political leader, and Max would inch closer trying to inhale the scent of 99's hair and distinguish the shampoo she used on it. Usually, the Chief would stop after Max inhaled a mouthful of her hair, but sometimes he got away with it, and 99 would be none the wiser of his trips to fantasyland.
But now was not one of those times.
"Max? Max, have you listened to a word I've said?" 99 waved her hand in front of her partner, who was sporting a goofy grin and staring at the wall behind her head.
Max, realizing he'd done it again, shook himself and offered 99 an apologetic smile.
"Gee 99, I'm really sorry. I got as far as the cat climbing the Christmas tree and then I got … um, distracted." He gave her a puppy-dog look. "Sorry."
99 let out a sigh. "That's OK, Max. I guess it wasn't that funny, anyhow." She picked up her fork and began to move her spaghetti across her plate.
Darn. Max knew he had said the wrong thing. That happened … a lot. But it normally didn't bother 99. He wondered what was wrong for it to matter this time.
"99, it was funny. I really liked the part where the cat started yowling from the top of the tree," he told her, smiling. Leaning over, he placed his hand over hers on the tabletop. "I didn't mean to zone out on you. I was just …" he trailed off, wondering if he should tell her what he was really thinking, why he had tuned out their conversation.
99 looked up as Max's voice trailed off. "You were just what, Max?"
Max's throat suddenly felt very dry. He reached for his wine. "That is, I was um …"
She looked at him with frank curiosity. "Yes?"
Mentally telling himself to get a grip, Max set his mouth in a firm line and decided to take the plunge into honesty. "Well, if you have to know, 99, I was thinking about your hair."
Whatever 99 had been expecting, that answer was definitely not it. She scrunched her nose and lifted an eyebrow. "My hair?" she echoed.
"Your hair," Max repeated. "I was thinking about it."
Still trying to make sense of the turn the conversation had taken, 99 hoped further questioning would help her understand what was going on. "What about my hair?"
"Well, it's uh," Max moved in his seat, thinking the honesty route might not have been the best idea. "It's … a nice color. Very dark," he said in a hesitant manner.
"Do you like the color?" 99 asked, suddenly becoming rather self-conscious.
"Oh yes! Yes," Max quickly assured her. "I think it's perfect. And it smells good, too," he added before he could stop himself. "Like lavender." He mentally kicked himself for adding the lavender afterthought. Guess what's she's going to ask now? he chided himself.
But 99 didn't ask how he knew that. She could recall numerous times she had caught Max leaning into her hair, but never letting on that she was aware of his actions.
"That's very sweet of you to say," she told him, gracing him with a brilliant smile.
"That's me, sweet," Max replied, temporarily out-of-commission after being on the receiving end of one of 99's gracious smiles.
99 covered a smile by dabbing at her mouth with a napkin and then glanced down at her watch. "Oh goodness, it's almost 10 p.m. We should have been at CONTROL an hour ago." She stood up and reached for her purse.
Max, in turn, looked at his own watch and winced as he realized 99 was correct. "Well, at least the Chief knows we're coming. He probably expected that we'd be a little late anyhow," Max told her, laying the amount of the check on the table and reaching for his coat.
"Why's that, Max?"
"Well," he started as he lifted her coat and helped her into it, "I'm usually late for just about everything, but you're rarely late, so when you put both of us together, it works out that'd be only a little late," he finished matter-of-factly.
"Right, Max."
"In fact," he continued. "Now if it were merely me, the Chief would expect me to be really late, and you to not be late at all, because we wouldn't be together, see? But let's say you were running late, but I was on time…"
99 rolled her eyes at him as they left the restaurant.
The party was still going strong when Max and 99 arrived. The Chief, spotting them, made his over to them to say hello.
"Max, 99, glad to see you could make it," he told them, handing them each a glass of punch.
"Sorry we're so late, Chief. We went out to dinner and kind of lost track of the time," Max explained.
"Yes, I was telling Max about Christmas at my mother's, and it took a little bit longer than I thought," 99 elaborated.
The Chief smiled. He had been right. He loved it when that happened. "No need to apologize or explain anything. People have been coming and going all evening. I'm just glad you made it," he told them. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I see the Admiral over there talking to the lampshade."
99 laughed as the Chief left them and made his way to the other side of the room.
"Poor Admiral Hargrave."
"Don't feel bad for him, 99. He's probably having a great time talking to the lamp. After all, he's getting to do all the talking," Max told her, oblivious to her humorous tone.
99 smiled at him. "Right, Max."
"So you want to dance or something, 99?" Max asked. "I've been working on my moves."
"I don't know, Max," 99 hesitated. She still remembered that last time Max had danced with her. It had taken a week for the bruises to go away.
"Aw c'mon, 99. I've been practicing. Honest." He gave her his best puppy dog look.
99 couldn't resist. "How can I refuse that?" she laughed, giving him her hand and sending up a silent prayer as she allowed Max to lead her onto the dance floor.
True to his word, Max managed to not mangle 99 as they danced the night away. But after five songs, 99 had called it quits, telling Max she needed to powder her nose and that she wanted to look at the lights of Washington for a few minutes.
Max, patiently waiting for 99 to emerge, had been waylaid by Hymie, who insisted on telling Max about his recent visit to the CONTROL lab. Unable to say no, as Hymie practically dragged Max to the punch and oil bowls, Max had seen 99 emerge from the ladies' room, point at the balcony and smile. All he could do was nod his head and hope that he could be there shortly.
But that hadn't happened, and now Max had listened as Hymie regaled him with story after story.
"10 …9 …"
Max looked up at the clock as people began congregating in the center of the room and chanting, counting down the final seconds of the year. His eyes darting back and forth, he quickly scanned the room, searching for 99, finally finding her on the other side of the room standing near a window overlooking the city. Realizing that Hymie was still talking about his latest check-up, Max desperately put his hands on Hymie's arms, trying to quiet the cybernot.
"Hymie, I can't talk to you right now!" Max practically shouted at him.
"Nobody can ever talk to me," Hymie complained, beginning to recite his by-now routine speech that nobody loved him.
"8 … 7 …"
"I'd love to listen to you, pal, but I have to make it across the room in less than 10 seconds," Max exclaimed, shoving Hymie aside and sprinting across the room.
"6 … 5 …"
He was almost there. He could see 99 still gazing out the window, watching as the new year slowly crept over Washington. Only three seconds left. If he didn't make it to take advantage of the best tradition he'd ever heard of, he kick himself for the rest of the year.
"3 … 2…"
99 heard someone run up behind just as the crowd began to yell "Happy New Year" and a moment later found herself being unceremoniously spun around as a warm pair of arms slid around her waist while the sounds of bells and poppers filled the room. Before she could speak, Max brought his lips to hers and kissed her soundly.
The sounds of the room faded away as 99 let herself melt into Max's arms and responded to his kiss, bringing her own arms around his neck. While it was not an extremely passionate kiss, it was much more than the chaste kisses she and Max had shared in the past. After a moment, Max ended the kiss, pulling away from 99, but still keeping his hands firmly around her waist.
"Happy New Year, 99," he grinned, revealing the same dark, red lipstick on his lips that 99 was wearing.
"Happy New Year, Max," she smiled right back. She had noticed that Max hadn't removed his hands, so she had no intention of doing so, either. "You scared me there for a moment when you first came up behind me," she told him.
"I did?" he looked worried. "Gee, 99. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to take advantage of … I mean uphold the tradition of ringing in the New Year with a kiss," he said, recovering from his slip-up.
"And there was nobody closer?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, the Chief was right next to me," Max admitted. "But somehow, I don't think he would have gone for it as well as you did."
99 blushed at Max's innocent, yet accurate, statement.
"Yes, well," she fumbled. "I'm glad that you chose me and not the Chief," she finally settled on saying.
"Me too," Max agreed. "I had a lot of fun," he grinned.
"Max!"
"Aw, c'mon 99. You have to admit – it was fun!"
99 smiled at him, refusing to concede the point, but giving him a look that said she completely agreed.
"You know something, 99?"
"What's that, Max?"
"I think 1968 is going to be a good year for us," he said, adding a quick, "At CONTROL," as an afterthought to cover his small slip.
99 gave him a quick smile. She had noticed his slip. But she didn't disagree with him. "I think so too, Max. 1968 will be a great year."
"I'm glad we agree. Now let's get your coat and I'll drive you home. Maybe we can stop by the Lincoln Memorial and see Honest Abe for a few minutes before I drop you off," Max suggested, taking her by the hand and leading her across the room.
"Sounds wonderful, Max."
99 allowed Max to bundle her up and then double-checked to make sure his gloves and hat were secure before heading out into the chilly night air of a new year and possible new beginning.
THE END