Washington, D.C.

1966

"… then he says, 'Adam had to be Russian. Who else having only a naked ass and an apple would still believe he was living in paradise?'"

Philip wiped the tears from his eyes and stifled his laughter long enough to take a drag from the joint.

"Glad you can take a joke," Emmett commented.

"Yeah, I can't imagine that one was well-received back home," Philip responded, taking another hit.

"No." Emmett reached for the joint, "Speaking of things that won't be well-received at home, when Leanne finds out I spent half the night smoking marijuana in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere with you, she's going to stab me."

"So," Philip shrugged, "don't let her find out."

Emmett shook his head as he gave the joint back to Philip, "I'm not joking. I've seen her stick a knife in the ribs of a guy twice my size before the smile left her face."

"Well, don't drag me into it." Philip took another large hit, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke as he spoke, "This is your shit." Both men burst into laughter.

Once the laughter died down, Emmett's voice took on a serious tone, "I don't lie to her."

"Hm?" Philip shot him a confused look as he handed back the joint.

"I guess, after a while, the lying…" Emmett paused in contemplation as he took another hit and passed it back, "it's just nice to be honest with someone."

Philip slapped a hand on Emmett's back, "America soften you up, comrade?"

"No. Not America."

Philip took one final drag before grinding the joint out on the ground, "How is fatherhood?"

"It's good. Really good, actually." Emmett nudged Philip, "You'll see when you have your own miniature shit machine."

Philip made a face, "You're doing a great job of selling it."

Emmett laughed, "Well, be prepared. The Centre will ask about it soon enough."

"Right."

Responding to the sudden change in Philip's tone, Emmett asked, "You don't want children?"

"Does it matter?"

"For the sake of conversation."

"Doubt I'd be good at it. Never had much of an example of-" Philip stopped, beginning to question whether the question really was for the sake of friendly conversation. Deciding that, regardless of Emmett's motives, his answer would breach forbidden territory, Philip concluded, "It really doesn't matter. My apologies to the Centre, but I don't see it happening anytime soon."

"Things with Elizabeth?"

"The same."

Emmett responded with a sympathetic nod, "Marriage isn't easy for anyone, especially in this line of work. Just… give it time."

"Yeah."

"Listen, Philip. I get it. The nature of this thing… It's easy to lose yourself in it. But - what do they say? - no man is an island." Met with Philip's blank stare, Emmett continued, "You can't expect someone to be in love with a lie."

"I have nothing else to offer." Philip stated, losing himself in contemplation for a brief moment before noting Emmett's concerned expression. Quickly returning the smile to his face, Philip rose from the ground, "Alright, Freud, that's enough psychology for one night. Let's get out of here before your wife stabs us both."

"You're still awake," Philip didn't bother to check the lack of enthusiasm in his voice when he walked through the door to find Elizabeth sitting at the kitchen counter.

"Where were you?" Elizabeth asked without missing a beat.

In an effort to avoid her judgmental gaze, Philip opened the refrigerator door and pretended to peer inside, "Had that thing with Emmett tonight."

"I know." She glanced at the clock, "It should not have taken you this long."

Pulling a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, he nonchalantly commented, "Emmett and I started talking. Lost track of time, I guess." He moved the bottle to his mouth, uncapping it with his back teeth. "Sorry," he responded halfheartedly when she grimaced.

Elizabeth stood up and walked towards him. Stopping only inches away, she looked into his eyes. He held his breath, trying to read her next move as she spoke his name, "Philip?"

"Yeah?"

She tilted her head, looking at him suspiciously, "Are you high?"

"What?"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

Philip nervously smiled as he amended his answer, "A little."

"A little?" Her agitation was suddenly evident, "Look at your eyes!"

"I… I honestly can't," he smirked.

Elizabeth's face fell in disappointment, "You can't do things like that."

He rolled his eyes in response.

She shook her head, "What about the mission?"

"Guy didn't show, so-"

"-so, instead of trying to solve the problem, you proceeded to get high with Emmett?" She turned her head away as if to suggest that he wasn't even deserving of an icy glare, "How do you plan to explain that to the Centre?"

"I don't know, Elizabeth," Philip answered annoyed, "The same way I just explained it to you."

"I'm sure they will be thrilled to hear about how you and Emmett spend your time."

"Yeah, well, I was probably going to leave that part out," he commented sarcastically.

"I imagine you would," she muttered under her breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "Nothing."

Philip let out an exasperated sigh, "You're unbelievable."

"Excuse me?"

Anger rising in his voice, Philip responded, "You stayed awake half the night just so you could – what? Lecture me like a child? If you're not going to act like my wife, the least you could do is not act like my mother."

Elizabeth shook her head, "I was worried."

Philip rolled his eyes, "I highly doubt that the fate of the Motherland rested on one American showing up to a meet. The Centre will understand."

"No," she paused, "I wasn't worried about that."

"What then?"

The truth caught in her throat as she responded, "You." Their eyes locked for a moment before she looked away.

Philip stood up and moved towards her, "I'm sorry."

Rendered speechless by her own admission, Elizabeth didn't respond.

"Honestly, I didn't think that you… I am sorry," he reached to touch her face, but she immediately pulled back.

"I'm not-"

"- ready. I know. I get it." He raised his hands in frustration. Elizabeth attempted to back away as Philip moved towards her until she was practically backed against the counter, "You don't need to keep saying it."

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the inevitable. She has been waiting for this moment since the first time she rebuffed his advances. The moment when 'I'm not ready' was no longer an acceptable answer. The moment when he would present her with the choice of fulfilling her mission as it was assigned or reporting back to the Centre about her failure to follow orders. She had hoped that he would give her that at least – a chance to avoid the embarrassment of a lecture from Zhukov about the necessity of performing the duties expected of a good American wife.

As if he could read her thoughts, he backed down, shaking his head, "I need you to trust me."

"Trust?" She look confused, as if she had never heard of the word.

Sincerity in his voice, Philip answered, "Don't you understand by now that I would never hurt you?" She scoffed as he continued, "I swear. I wouldn't. That's the truth, Elizabeth."

"The truth." Elizabeth nodded slowly, "Right." She unexpectedly reached for his hand, taking it in hers.

Philip grazed his thumb across the back of her hand. When she pulled away, he acknowledged the small piece of paper that she placed in his palm, "What's this?"

"It's from the Centre," Elizabeth stated, successfully masking all emotion in her voice, "A response to your request."

"My request?" He looked down at the deciphered message, swallowing a lump in his throat as he read, "Elizabeth, I-"

"Don't." She interrupted.

"Give me a chance to explain," Philip pleaded.

"No, let me explain. We were sent here to complete a mission. Truth is nothing more than a luxury. A luxury that we willingly abandoned. There is no truth. There are no choices. There are only orders." She motioned toward the piece of paper still in his hand as she continued, "But, I suppose you understand that now. I certainly do."

He shook his head dejectedly, but didn't respond.

Satisfied that he had given up, she stated, "It's late. I am going to bed."

Philip simply nodded as she disappeared into the bedroom, eyes still focused on the translated code scrawled across the slip of paper in his hand:

REQUEST FOR NEW ASSIGNMENT DENIED.