Michael Long walked into his bedroom and dropped a half-packed duffel bag on his bed. Quickly on his heels was his fiancée, Steffanie Mason.

Steffanie, whom had been nicknamed Stevie for most of her life, sat down on the bed and looked up at him. A definite sparkle of fear shined through her striking blue eyes, but Michael's back was turned. Stevie always thought that Michael was not one to pick up on subtleties, but she was wrong. Michael knew she was nervous – it was easy to tell with her for two reasons: her voice got shaky when she would speak, but when she noticed that herself, she would then get extremely quiet.

The two of them were college sweethearts, and neither of them had been with anyone else through almost their entire lives. They were both late bloomers in the dating realm and they were each other's first everything and it had firmly remained that way for years.

Michael was in his early 30s and stood at six-foot-two. He moved gracefully about the bedroom with long strides. He towered over Stevie's five-foot-eight inch frame, and frequently joked with her about how often she fell behind when they would walk together. His main defense was that with smaller legs and a shorter stature, she should be able to walk faster. Stevie always sought out curbs, ledges and inclines to increase her height when she stood next to him.

Stevie's large, blue eyes were accompanied by wavy blonde hair that she wore shoulder length and a round face with, what Michael described as, pouty lips – developed from years of trumpet lessons. In fact, her hook to get Michael interested in her in college was during a party when she drunkenly asked "Wanna know why you should date a trumpet player?"

Michael's figure was just about as slender as Stevie's, but stretched to accompany his height. He too had blue eyes, but they blended in with his darker toned skin as opposed to Stevie's pale complexion. He kept his light brown hair well-trimmed and spiked, and never let go of the military hair regulations that seemed to follow him since his discharge from the Army almost seven years ago.

He had a chiseled face which often gave off an imposing, yet natural glow of leadership and authority. Stevie once told her mom that his face could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself; something she soon would regret as her mom and Michael would playfully gang up on her and never let her forget what she had said.

Often times, Stevie would bash away Michael's loving compliments. She would consider herself blonde, short and plain, but Michael never saw her that way. Those blue eyes of hers could always throw off his train of thought, and her blonde-but-not-too-blonde would brighten up any room as well as his day. He loved her smile, it was cute, and seemed to be permanent. When he turned around to look at her, he could see a hint of one, but there still was plenty of worry behind it. "Stevie?" he asked. A touch of concern was in his voice.

The two of them loved each other – it was blatantly obvious. Michael knew, deep down in his heart, he would do anything for Stevie.

Almost anything.

Stevie sat there silently for a few minutes, as she slowly spun a diamond ring around a certain finger on her left hand that Michael had placed there a few months ago. She thought about all the planning that was on the horizon in contrast to what Michael was about to do. "I don't like this… I don't want you to go."

Michael stopped his packing and sat down on the bed next too her. He ran his fingers through her hair. "You know I have to go, Stevie," he said, "we've been working too hard on this case. The Bureau has been interested in this for over a year and I've been on it for six months. We're taking everything down in a few nights."

"Who's all going?" Stevie asked.

"Paul and I are leaving tonight. Lonnie and Muntzy are already in place," Michael said. He walked inside their oversized closet and unlocked a safe. Tucked inside were his FBI identification and badge, his standard-issue Glock 22 handgun with holster, and a few fully-loaded magazines.

He clipped the holster around his belt, and tossed his ID and badge on the bed. Stevie picked it up and looked at it. The leather, dual-sided with clasp wallet contained his FBI identification on the left and his badge on the right. The gold badge was heavier than it looked, and the identification card itself was behind a plastic window. The most prominent features on the card were the large FBI lettering, Michael's picture, the words Special Agent, and his signature on the bottom.

Stevie could not have been more proud of Michael when he joined the FBI about six years ago. His medical discharge from the Army took a toll on him, and a lot of the recovery process was psychological as much as it was physiological. His last few years in the Army involved counter-intelligence work under Operation Iraqi Freedom.

She was his support when he came home, and in the tumultuous months that followed between his discharge and when the FBI snapped him up. Michael's academic and military background made him the poster child for the post 9/11 military, particularly for those who joined before 9/11 and then got caught up in the chaos that ensued afterword.

Michael loved his job almost as much as he loved Stevie. His involvement in the FBI wasn't originally part of the plan. All through his life, he was extremely interested in politics, and envisioned himself running for Congress as a Representative. He studied Political Science for two years before he enlisted in the Army when he was 20 years old. He wanted to run for office upon his discharge, using his active duty experience as part of his platform, but just two years into his enlistment, the towers came tumbling down.

Like many in the military at that time, the surge of patriotism hit Michael like a bolt of lightening. Before he knew it, he was overseas in Afghanistan with the Army Special Forces and had no plans to quit anytime soon. This, of course, caused a significant rift between him and Stevie at the time, who originally had no problems with him in the military, considering there wasn't a lot of action to see before 9/11.

Once the towers fell, however, Stevie found herself worrying daily, if not hourly while Michael was overseas. And when he switched from Special Forces to Counter Intelligence, what he and the military called COINTEL, she couldn't handle it much more and left him.

It hurt her more than it hurt him, or at least that's how Stevie felt. Because Michael was on the other end of a satellite phone with bad reception, during one of the rare times he was able to call home.

Then came the phone call to Michael's parents that his unit had been captured. They called Stevie immediately, and she stayed in touch with them until the word came months later that a gravely injured Michael and a few other soldiers were recovered upon escaping. She was there when he came home, and told him she would be there for him for as long as he would have her.

A wedding was now in their future, and when they got engaged a few months ago, cries of "finally" came from both of their friends and families. Michael finally felt secure enough in not only his future, but also their future together. He had half a dozen years in at the FBI, and while his political aspirations could possibly be a thing of the past, he was comfortable with what was ahead.

Stevie handed him his badge and ID and hugged him tightly. She nestled her head underneath his chin and lightly sighed. "I still don't want you to go," she said. She looked up to face Michael; her forehead just barely reached his nose, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Michael lightly laughed, "I knew we shouldn't have seen Star Wars at the theatre downtown," he said. His smile faded soon when he realized Stevie didn't find the humor in the matter. He stooped a bit down to her level and cradled her face in his hands. Her skin was always incredibly soft, and he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.

Her blue eyes were starting to glisten and Michael could see a tear or two well up. Not even gravity could normally make Stevie's tears fall; they just sat there and magically drained elsewhere it seemed. But tonight her normally strong demeanor gave way and the tears made a beeline down her cheeks. Michael moved his thumbs to stop them, to do anything to comfort her and make her feel better. She thrust herself against him and held him tight. Michael kissed the top of her head and held her tightly in kind. "Shhh," he whispered, "I got out of a lot tougher situations over there. Think of this as a business trip to Vegas."

"Something just doesn't feel right," Stevie said. Michael was about to interrupt but she caught him before he could, "I know you said this is just industrial espionage. Just please be careful, Michael."

Michael nodded and picked up his duffel bags. He kissed Stevie on the top of her head and walked downstairs with her.

"What's all that?" she asked, and pointed into the kitchen where the tops of some flowers were just barely visible. She started to walk into the kitchen for a closer look, but Michael grabbed her and pulled her back.

"Just something for later," he said with a smile and a wink. He led her out to the street of their Georgetown home where a taxicab was waiting. The driver took his bags and placed them in the trunk. Michael turned to Stevie for one more kiss which she obligingly returned. She was about to speak when he cut her off. "I know," he said, "I'll be careful."

Stevie nodded. She held his hand tightly, "I know you will," she said. She smiled for the first time in a few hours.

Michael kissed her again, this time the two lovers let it linger, neither of them wanted to break their connection. Stevie did, only because she knew she couldn't let him go if she kissed him any longer.

"Go see what's in the kitchen," Michael said as he got inside the cab. He lowered the window and looked up at Stevie, one of the few times she would be taller than him. "I'll be back soon. I promise."

As Michael's cab drove away, another one of Stevie's former gravity defying tears fell down her cheek and onto the street. She walked back into their home, by herself as she had done a number of times. She couldn't place why she was worried so much about Michael going undercover to Las Vegas. In fact, his partners Lonnie and Muntzy had been in deep cover for months, and unheard from in awhile. There should be more reason of concern for them than Michael.

Michael's team was close, and Stevie sometimes felt like an outsider in the process because he was the only one in an overt relationship. But no matter what, when it came to various social outings, the team embraced her and made her feel welcome. Michael wasn't the oldest of the bunch, that honor was of Paul Taylor, their team leader who was a widower. Lonnie and Muntzy were in their late twenties and entered the FBI straight out of college. They knew no other life. And, what no one else knew that Stevie did, they knew each other… Extremely well.

Stevie almost forgot about what Michael left for her in the kitchen. He was always leaving little surprises for her to find randomly, and tokens of love for when he would go overseas, on assignment or undercover.

She remembered seeing flowers as Michael hurried her past the kitchen a few minutes ago. When she walked into the kitchen she smiled and sighed at the same time. Sitting on the counter was a bouquet of fresh roses of all different varieties and vibrant colors. And while there was a mix, she could tell there was an over abundance of yellow roses – her favorite color. On one of their earlier dates as they were passing through a rose garden, Stevie once told Michael that she could never pick a single rose to enjoy as she loved them all.

The flowers were not the only things on the counter however. This was new, she thought, as Michael normally left just one thing. This time, a slim white box accompanied her bouquet. She opened it and gasped. Laying inside was a gold heart-shaped necklace; it wasn't solid, instead made up of different interleaving bands. She was about to put it on when she noticed some writing on the inside of the box. She read it over and smiled. It was a quote that Michael apparently remembered from long ago.

While they were in college, they spent a weekend at the Kansas State Fair, and one night they visited a Fortune Telling Booth. Michael thought it would be cheesy but Stevie thought it would be cute.

The woman who claimed to be a shaman told them their love was eternal and transcended all bonds and levels of life. She equated their love and life together to roses, which at that time excited Stevie because she had not mentioned her love of roses to the woman.

After they left the booth, Michael poked fun at what the woman said, while Stevie found it to be incredibly romantic. She had long forgotten it, and figured Michael did too, but was beyond surprised when she saw it, scribbled in his handwriting, written on the lid of her necklace box.

You may break
You may shatter the vase
But the scent of the roses will hang around it still
The scent of the roses will linger forever.