Quick to Temper

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"Are you all right?" he asked his associate, slightly tongue in cheek, as she sat in the passenger side of his sedan. "You took quite a tumble back there in the grass."

"All for the performance, Mr. Hand." Cinnamon smiled gently and blew a puff of smoke from her cigarette. It escaped out of the slightly cracked window of his car.

Their mark had been Bert Gordon, a deadly but superstitious criminal, and the IMF used all the best ghostly tricks Barney's technical and Rollin's theatrical training could devise. In the end, Gordon killed his own man, an equally as deadly gangster, and the police were – no doubt – detaining the kingpin for his murder.

Jim Phelps had his people pack up, load the van, and leave quickly. Then, when everything was put back in place, they separated. The team departed until they were once again called on.

Cinnamon lived not far from Rollin so he took her home.

"Here." He pulled a tissue from a box near his glove compartment.

"What's this for?" she asked, taking what was offered.

"Why don't you wipe that smudge off your cheek? Now that we're done you don't need to look like you're a refuge from a battered women's home."

Cinnamon shook her head and chuckled, stuffing the tissue into her purse. "I'm afraid I'll need concealer to get rid of this, Rollin." She took a last puff from her cigarette then squashed it in the vehicle's ashtray. When Cinnamon looked over at him, she was surprised to see her associate not only unsmiling but looking slightly disturbed. "Rollin?"

He pulled in front of her apartment building and shut off the car. Rollin Hand stared out of the driver's side window for a moment before he questioned: "Did Jim hit you?"

"Well, yes." Cinnamon eyed him quizzically, "I was the adulterous wife and he the drunk, jealous lout of a husband."

Rollin continued to look out the window. "You couldn't have just used make-up?"

Cinnamon was a little puzzled by his probing and the obvious strain in his expression. "It needed to look real. What if Gordon wanted a closer look?" She watched as Rollin's fingers on the steering wheel tightened.

He now looked at her, "So Jim Phelps hit you?"

Cinnamon shrugged a little, unsure what more she could say. "I'm fine, Rollin."

His hands slipped from the steering wheel and his head leaned back against the headrest, "He should never have hit you, Cinnamon."

"I …"

"I would have found another way to do it."

"Rollin, what is wrong with you?" she asked, genuinely confused. "You know Jim meant nothing by it. We're agents and sometimes we have to perform things we might not usually do." She wasn't sure she was getting through to him, "It was a part of the mission and it's not permanent. Just a little bruise."

"He never should have laid a hand on you, Cinnamon." Rollin repeated, unyielding. His eyes met her own, "There had to have been another way. The mark was not that necessary."

"It added clarity to my claim of Jim going wild …" Cinnamon stared at Rollin for a moment. It was night but there was a full moon. She could see his countenance; handsome, firm and troubled. Something was upsetting him. It was deeper than concern for her or anger at Jim Phelps' solution for a problem Rollin did not feel needed correction.

She had seen him like this once before when, during a mission, someone had slapped her. Rollin had jumped to his feet and was ready to stop him. It was not part of the mission and even Barney had wondered what their master of disguise was doing. Rollin Hand was a man of strong emotion.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Cinnamon.

He looked at her and nearly said no. Her gentle expression and searching eyes made him hesitate. So many men looked at her, saw the beauty and glamour, but never examined any further. He had and knew Cinnamon was not just lovely but educated and very sensible.

"Why don't you come on in for coffee and we'll talk." She said.

He yielded, got out of the car, and then moved to the other side, opening the door for Cinnamon. She pulled the keys from her purse as they walked to the door then let them both in.

The apartment was warm and traditional. Rollin had been in her place before. It was during the early days when Dan Briggs was still with the IMF. Rollin and Cinnamon had worked fairly close on a couple of assignments back then and they often had her going to his place or Rollin would make a run over here to discuss and fine tune plans. Their exchanges were always nice and comfortable and, during those times, they would indulge in a little flirtation. It was fun and harmless - until Briggs poked his nose into their business.

Just before Dan left them, he asked Rollin and Cinnamon to stay behind one evening after Barney and Willy departed his high-rise. Staring into his much beloved fish tank, he told the couple he suspected that their relationship was becoming a little too intimate for the agents to stay an effective working team. Both Rollin and Cinnamon were a little stunned.

No, of course nothing was going on between them. They certainly hadn't slept together even if the occasional intimate kiss they shared made them pause and wonder. The affection was pleasurable but they were merely playing; toying with one another and enjoying themselves. It was not to be taken seriously. Flirting. Attractive men and women did that.

It didn't mean anything … really. Much like a man hitting a woman hard enough to cause a bruise, all for the sake of a mission.

Cinnamon decided coffee was not strong enough and she poured them both a short brandy. She then sat beside him on the sofa and the couple clinked glasses.

He was still tense and thoughtful. She recalled Rollin behaving in a similar manner many months ago when Barney related the story about Cinnamon and Andre Fetchicov. He told his listeners how the handsome assassin pulled a gun on Miss Carter and tried to shoot her but Cinnamon had been clever enough to remove the bullets before the man retrieved his gun. It wasn't in their plan but she had thought ahead, knowing her target. Cinnamon recalled Rollin looking intently at her while she attempted to avoided eye contact with all her teammates, fearful they might see something in her she would rather keep secret. It had been a tough assignment. Andre was shrewd, handsome, and nearly made Cinnamon forget she was an undercover agent – but she was too good not to see him for what he truly was. Still, Rollin had perceived something in her, regret perhaps, and his expression showed trepidation and something more.

As it did now.

She was patient and waited for him until Rollin was ready to tell his story.

"When I was a kid …" Rollin Hand began his tale.

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(there is more to come)

Referred episodes:

"The Killing" season 2

"The Short Tail Spy" season 1