(7)
The only time she came to see him was when she was with another. In a sense, Rollin understood well enough. If Miss Carter was feeling some of the things he was then perhaps she was teetering on the edge of caution; particularly if she was unsure how to progress or was wondering if they should. But he longed to be alone with her for just a little while so they could talk. He needed to know what she was thinking.
Two weeks passed and Rollin was recuperating at home, in his L.A. apartment, and happy to do so. Even as a kid he always hated the hospital. He had been in his Uncle Nicholas hospital room when he passed and, as a child, it gave him nightmares for a week. Therefore, relaxing in his own place, with his books, music and the company of an occasional theater friend stopping in was bliss.
His friends outside of the IMF were told he took a fall and injured a shoulder. That seemed satisfactory and they merely commented on his weight loss and the dark circles developing under his eyes.
Rollin really wasn't eating well. He knew it. But he simply was not hungry. He also found himself experiencing pangs of depression … He was advised that it was natural after the ordeal he had been through.
Phelps told him once he got back into shape they'd have him do some simple missions initially, maybe overseas in France or Greece, just so he could get away and enjoy himself – "All to aid in your recuperation." He said in that jovial manner that was so common to Jim.
As he delivered the news, assuming Rollin would quite rightly be pleased that he would be back to work sometime soon, the actor noticed how well-groomed and dressed Jim was on this day.
Cinnamon, dressed in Dior and looking particularly beautiful, had also been there during Jim's visit. She told him Jim gave her a lift and they, along with Barney and his wife Phyllis, were going out to dinner that evening. She must have read something on Rollin's face because her mild smile diminished and Cinnamon suddenly seemed to realize she might have somehow hurt him.
With all the enthusiasm he could muster, Rollin forcibly placed a smile on his lips and told them he hoped they all had a great time.
A month after his return to Los Angeles, his wounds nearly forgotten, Rollin started back at his local gym, eating better and trying hard to tone-up. An assignment was just around the corner and he needed to be physically and mentally strong for it.
He was on a stationary bicycle, looking out of the large window facing the street, when he spotted Cinnamon. She was exiting a fabric shop and her arm was entwined with a handsome man's; someone Rollin had never seen before. They appeared to be talking merrily and a little too chummy, Rollin thought.
They then kissed directly on the lips just before she got into her car.
Rollin stopped what he was doing, his jaw clenched, and he could not help it. He was angry; seeing red.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, sitting calmly on the sofa in her living room, wearing an elegant flowered lounging dress and stirring a cup of tepid tea. She watched as Rollin paced in front of her.
"I don't know." He said, agitated. "I just thought we had … something."
"We do." She said, earnestly. "We're workmates and friends. I trust you with my life, Rollin. Isn't that enough?"
"It should be. It has been in the past … but it's not." He muttered.
He came over unannounced.
Rollin had called Barney the day before, asking him if any of them – as far as he knew – were currently on a mission. He told him Willy was in Brazil. They needed his muscle there for an operation. But, as far as he knew, himself, Jim and Cinnamon were resting. Rollin then asked Barney about the supper he and Phyllis had with Jim and Cinnamon. Barney admitted it was an odd night. Jim tried to keep conversation light and moving but Cinnamon was completely preoccupied the whole night.
"Why was she with Jim? Are they seeing each other? Is she seeing anyone else?" Rollin asked pointedly.
"You should probably ask her." Barney replied.
And he did. Rollin came over to her home, she let him in, and he immediately asked her if he had done something to displease her – besides getting injured on a mission.
Hesitating, Cinnamon asked him if held like a drink, indicating the bar as she poured tea. Rollin was not a man to drink tea. It was either dark coffee or alcohol if a case called for it but, as a spy, he really did not indulge much in either – which was surprising for an actor.
"I'm just seeing and feeling things now that confuse me." He admitted, ignoring her question. "Before I was shot I never really felt my mortality. All these years I danced with danger. I saw both Barney and Dan wounded but I always managed to skip by the guy with the hood and cycle."
"Until a month ago." Cinnamon added, holding her teacup.
He looked at her and nodded. "I never thought it was important to voice the things I was really feeling because I knew there would be time. Oh, I've always known our work is dangerous but … Now I realize that time truly is fleeting. I only felt this way one other time."
"When was that?" Cinnamon asked, sipping her tea.
"Last year when you were caught behind the iron curtain." He said and met her stunned eyes. Rollin paused before saying, "I really thought I had … we had lost you. I was so relieved and wanted to talk with you then – but you pretty much clung to Jim the entire way back to Los Angeles." Rollin looked away from her, a bit saddened. "You do not have to answer if you don't want to but – do you and Jim have something going on?"
"No." she said very simply, "Jim's life is his work and I am an adult single woman. I date, Rollin, but I'm not exclusive with anyone right now. Jim and I went to dinner with Barney and Phyllis because it was their wedding anniversary. We were asked. Barney probably would have asked you to come along too but you were still recovering."
Rollin rounded the coffee table and sat beside Cinnamon on the sofa, "Have you ever considered getting married?" he asked, tentatively.
"I have." She admitted, very aware of how close they were to one another. Cinnamon suddenly realized Rollin had not lit up a cigarette since he came into her house. Was he being polite since she quit or was he trying to tell her something?
They were quiet and it was getting warm. Rollin leaned in ever so slightly in invitation but felt Cinnamon's hand and slender fingers were on his chest in an instant, holding him back.
"But I'm not ready." She said, "I may be someday to start a long serious relationship. But meanwhile there are oppressed countries that need our aid, crimes inside and outside of the United States which need thwarted, and so many more missions to complete." Cinnamon nearly felt a physical pain when he pulled back. Rollin would never know how difficult this was for her. "What we do is bigger than the both of us – right now."
She sincerely cared for him, had worked with Rollin longer than any of the other agents. He was handsome and a good man; they flirted and had a comradery that was unique and true – but his injury affected her too. She nearly lost him and, in a way, failed him. That pain was still with Cinnamon.
Besides, neither were yet willing to stop being agents and, for Cinnamon Carter, that meant not allowing herself to get in too deep. She hoped he understood.
"I better go." Rollin said and stood.
"You don't have to." Cinnamon said, gently. "Why don't you get that drink and we'll sit here and talk for a while."
"Talk?"
"I really want to, Rollin." One of her hands lifted to cover his as it dangled by his side. "I'd like to know how brave young Rollin Hand, the actor who was going to take New York and Hollywood by storm, got mixed up in this crazy business. And maybe I will tell you how a pretty but too serious law student found herself modeling then approached by the most interesting people, asking her if she would like to take an active part in serving her country ..." Cinnamon dropped her hand and chuckled gently.
Rollin looked down at Cinnamon and hesitated. He then also smiled, "Why not." They had to start somewhere. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a small scotch. Perhaps they weren't meant to be together in the here and now but – in the future? Only time would tell.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.
"No, go ahead." She almost said 'light one for me' but forced herself not to. Some missions, Cinnamon thought as he again sat beside her, were far more difficult than others.
They talked until dawn then went to breakfast together.
Rollin reported in for his mission a week later. This one was in Paris, France. Jim told him Cinnamon would be waiting for him when he got there.
"You don't mind, do you?" Jim asked, knowing Rollin thought he was going it alone on this mission.
"No," Rollin replied, with a hidden but sly smile. "Not at all."
THE END
June-July 2016
Happy 4rth of July to my American readers!
(Sincerely hope you enjoyed this Mission: Impossible fiction and please leave a note, review or critique if you get chance. With much appreciation - Becky)
