Kit had called him suddenly, asked if he was at all busy, then told him to be at her small apartment as soon as he could. After she'd had a moment to think, she'd changed into a simple dress, as well. It'd be better for the both of them if she wore something that was easy to take off. Then, she simply waited, sitting on her bed and staring down at her body, her dress. It'd been too long since she'd invited someone over; she was too out of practice. But theirs was a long-standing fling; getting bored and inviting the other over for just one night had become their tradition. If she was going to fall back into her old habits, and given how her nerves had been she knew she must, he was as good of a start as she could hope for.
She was sure she'd given him the key. He'd been over too many times for her to have not, and she'd had enough copies made of her keys that it could quite possibly be the downfall of her organization. Despite that, instead of the creak of her hinges, or his footsteps in the hall, she heard a polite knock. Twice, a pause, then once more, all in the upper right corner of the door. His mother had taught him well, or his stepfather, perhaps. It was an old code to ensure safety, one that had fallen out of use even before the schism. They needed stronger security than that now: vernacularly fastened doors, careful doormen, messages sent in advance with precise arrival times noted. But these rendezvous had become the only things in her life that weren't VFD business. So even the coded knock was an extra precaution, and one she considered unnecessary. It would have been easier if he just entered. He had the key, after all.
But as she opened the door, she was greeted with a reminder. Two glistening hooks, the reason he was the one lover who hadn't received her key. "I would have left the door open. I'm sorry… you've had them for so long now, and yet I still forget." She offered a tired smile, then closed the door behind him. How did this routine go, again? "I suppose I should offer you something. Tea, or coffee, or wine-"
"Skip the pleasantries with me." Fernald looked up at her, their eyes meeting for the first time since he'd entered. "We may not be true associates, but there's no need for formalities. You know that."
"It makes me feel better, that's all. It's been longer than I care to admit since I've done this." She smiled again, that damn nervous smile. And to think, outside of those walls, she was regarded as a careful liar, a master of not revealing too much during coded communication.
"Then we'll go slow. Sit down, and we'll catch up." He was too blunt. No wonder he was never a good fit for their side. But it was comforting to her, then, that he could be so sure of himself and what he was doing. The assurance had always made him perfect for these nights. But then he added, "That glass of wine could certainly help you, too," and she immediately hated that she could no longer follow his orders.
"The wine would be inadvisable," she said, her hands moving to her stomach in spite of herself. The dress wasn't all that loose, and besides, it wouldn't be on forever. With how attentive he was, it wouldn't hurt her to lay her cards on the table sooner rather than later. It was probably better for the both of them. He would have to know that it would be different from all the other nights.
He glanced at her stomach, then back up to meet her eyes. "Are you-?"
"Yes." Even outside her apartment, it was the one thing she didn't have to be oblique about. Thank God. She didn't know if she could lie about it.
"Since I know you don't mind it when I'm rude-" She cut him off before he could finish. It had only been a month of being pelted with the questions, and already they were far too familiar. It would be easier if she skipped to the answers.
"Dewey, and yes, despite everyone's shock and disbelief, he does exist; four months, though it feels like barely a week what with how quickly my assignments have been moving-" She stopped. There was one more, that she hadn't yet been asked, but she knew given the circumstances Fernald would. "And no, nothing's happened to him. Or between us."
He gave her another one of those cutting glances, a look of straightforward disapproval. "Then why am I here?".
"For once, your relativism should help you understand me better. I'm not always noble." It was a confession she'd never wanted to have to make.
"I thought that was all you ever wanted to be. Working for everything worth preserving in a world full of misinformation, confusion, and fire. The last fighters against the wicked forces that threaten to darken our world at last, until there is nowhere quiet left." His voice had become a sneer, and no matter how strongly she allied with the noble side, she knew that such descriptions were fanciful at best, but he also almost captured the awe Kit had felt when she first heard those words. "I may be no volunteer, but I still half-remember the phrases. And I never forgot how you all think. In black and white."
She sighed. "You know it's impossible to maintain such values over an entire lifetime. One can try, but sooner or later, everyone learns that they are fallible. I've never said that I am perfectly noble. But I have noble intents, and I work towards noble goals. I put out as many fires as I can. I avoid starting them. That's all there is to nobility."
"Are you saying this is your moment of weakness, your single failure?" Good Lord, he was so much younger than her and yet so much sharper. Assertive, blunt. He cut through all her words and found the key point. If only she'd gotten to what she had really been trying to say.
"No, it's not like that at all. It's not just that I'm fallible, it's that-" She stopped. Inhaled. She wasn't as good at communication as him unless she'd rehearsed. But she had rehearsed, every day she had thought about picking up the phone and calling him again. So instead of trying to explain or refute, she slipped into the words she should have said from the start. "Fernald, one can only be noble on so many fronts. As a colleague of ours often said, you've got to pick your battles. I save my nobility for things concerning VFD and the schism, volunteers and villains. So I can't be noble concerning love."
"You admit to being complex." He smiled.
"If that's how you see it. I admit to my moments of wickedness, of villainy. I don't tell Dewey about all the other people I've seen in all our months together, and I don't tell any of the others about him. The only reason I tell you now is because it's become unavoidable. And even then, if next time, I pick someone less ambiguous…" She shrugged. "It's not as if I've never lied."
"But why do you even believe it's necessary? What do you gain from infidelity?" Fernald pushed forward; he always did. No matter what, she knew that though he may be available at any hour, no questions asked, he would always make her talk until he was satisfied. So she answered him honestly.
"Sanity. Pleasure. Fun. My work is serious. Relationships, and parenthood, and everything else I'm surrounded by is too. I need something that at the very least isn't so heavy. So earth-shattering." She looked into his eyes. He was so young, after all. Surely a young person could understand-they made so many stupid decisions, over and over again. "Damn it, Fernald, sometimes, all one needs is a meaningless fling to take her mind off the world for a little while."
"I couldn't have said it better myself." He came closer to her, before adding, "Though I suppose you volunteers do pride yourselves on your wording."
"I'm hardly a volunteer right now.'
He smiled. "Didn't you hear what you were just saying? For the moment, you don't have to be."