September 24, 1975

Washington, DC

Pearl spent several days agonizing over her decision. Ever since lunch on Saturday, she'd carried a scrap of paper with Peridot's phone numbers on it, debating whether to call. Every time she worked up the nerve to pick up a telephone, she was interrupted, or distracted, or felt a last minute twinge of fear or guilt that prevented her from dialing.

She wasn't entirely sure it was the right thing to do. That was true. But mostly she felt bad about not consulting Garnet and Amethyst. It felt like a betrayal not to bring them on board with something so important. Especially when she figured - she knew - that they were so opposed to her doing anything publicly. But at this point, she was willing to at least consider going behind her back.

She still didn't fully trust Peridot, not really. She seemed curiously naive in her faith in government, something Pearl had mostly shed a long time ago. But she was at least sincere and honest, and wanted to do the right thing. And Pearl couldn't help admiring that about her. There was no reason to disabuse Peridot of anything so long as she tried to do good work. Besides, a smart girl like her should learn those lessons on her own.

And, she thought, maybe part of her did want to keep it a secret. It had been a long time since she'd kept a secret from Garnet and Amethyst. And, she reasoned, they kept plenty of things from her. Whatever their excuses - security or deniability - it galled her that her closest friends and partners, people whom she would trust with her life, still didn't trust her enough to tell her everything she would need to know.

If she couldn't trust them, and they couldn't trust her...then who?

With these thoughts clanking around her mind, Pearl went about her daily business on Tuesday, finishing her transcriptions and dropping them off at a post office. Buying a few small groceries and depositing the electric bill (because of course Garnet and Amethyst wouldn't take care of it). She treated herself to lunch at a small diner, nibbling furtively as she skimmed through Gore Vidal's Burr.

Vidal usually irritated her, but she did enjoy this book for deflating the American myths she had once sincerely believed. For showing America's Founders to have been a flawed, egotistical mass of very ordinary men more interested with their place in history than doing actual good. And she laughed out loud upon discovering this bon mot:

"The public is always relieved to find that once the chief officers of state are elected they do not sincerely want change."

She could guess what Mr. Vidal thought about Senator Church and his friends!

Thus the words of a professional cynic, and ingrained bitterness and indecision, and the leaden logeyness of an overcooked roast beef sandwich, momentarily dialed down Pearl's ardor for truth telling. She put Peridot out of her mind as she went back to her apartment, hoping instead to get some more work done before her partners came home.

And then - maybe then - she would talk to them about it. If she didn't, though...maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, either.

"If there's nothing else I want from our relationship - and there really isn't - it's trust. You have to trust me, and I have to trust you. No secrets, no lies, no keeping anything about yourself from me."

"Well, that's not really feasible when you're dating someone who works for the FBI."

"I'm not going to ask you about national secrets or anything like that, silly. I mean personal things. Things about yourself. I am an open book, and I hope you are, too."

"I'll try."

Pearl remembered this conversation more vividly than anything else she did with Rose Quartz. More than the parties and concerts they attended together, the movies they watched, the lovemaking and laughter and meals and all the million commonplace things you take for granted in a relationship.

She remembered Rose's curious smile, loving yet sad, understanding that Pearl would struggle to keep her promise, but appreciating that she'd make the effort. Rose was so easy to read...at least Pearl thought so. And that's why she loved her.

She also remembered, as they lay in bed together that night, curious details, things she probably saw and experienced a million times but didn't care register, didn't really care about. The murky orange-brown light of the hotel room, the peeling wallpaper, the faint smell of cigarette smoke mixing with the musty blanket, the din of rock music from an adjacent hotel room. The constellation of freckles on Rose's shoulders, the moistness of her hand, the way her bright red hair shone even in the dim light, the love and tenderness in her eyes.

"My Pearl," she muttered with that heavenly voice, stroking Pearl's cheek with her hand. Pearl blushed and felt a surge of warmth, reaching up to grab Rose's arm, staring into her eyes and stroking her wrist. She really wished that she could live up to Rose's expectations of her. That she could be a fraction as warm and wonderful as this woman she'd fallen for.

But she doubted she could. And that fear of failure never failed to cause her pain.

Pearl met Rose around Christmas 1966, at some party a colleague dragged her to. The world had started to change beyond recognition, thanks to Vietnam and Civil Rights and rock music and race riots, but she still clung to her old illusions about the FBI. Even though the past few years had taught her how little real value she had. Most of her colleagues had been fired or quit, unable to take the workload or punished for not meeting The Director and Miss Gandy's impossible standards.

Peggy Royal was only the first, and not even the worst. Just a month or so prior to the party, Louise Schaal followed her. After three years of loyal service to the Bureau, enduring long hours, low pay and a million indignities with grace, humor and unfailing cheerfulness, she made the ultimate mistake: she became pregnant. Once her bosses found out, it was only a matter of moments before they made their decision.

"I don't understand," she'd wailed as she cleaned out her desk. "I've given so much to the Bureau, and they're firing me, why? Why?"

Pearl struggled to comfort her. "Well," she said, "I'm not too surprised. I mean, if you have children, you can't be reasonably expected to do this job..."

"It's not fair," Louise pouted. "I can't help that we want to have kids. I mean, they don't expect us to be human here. Just a bunch of goddamn machines spitting out type."

Pearl didn't know what to say that. She promised Louise that they'd stay in touch, but it was the last time Pearl ever spoke to her.

Besides Pearl, only Eleanor remained of the original group of twelve. And she had turned herself into an emotionless robot, accepting, never thinking of speaking criticism or getting pregnant or having any life outside the Bureau. She was auditioning for Miss Gandy's understudy, Pearl thought, sacrificing her soul for it.

Pearl kept her agonies to herself, always playing prim, proper and cheerful at work, then going home to scream into a pillow. To doodle furiously in a diary that she wrote in every day, then burned because she couldn't stand to read back her words. To try and distract herself with books and music and television and found it made her feel worse.

Louise was right - she couldn't be human in that job. No one could, but especially not a woman, who had to work twice as hard, endure indignant leers and innuendos and occasionally even physical contact from male colleagues, and the endless, unsympathetic scorn of Miss Gandy, who'd abandoned her womanhood to the job long ago, and expected everyone else to do the same.

Pearl couldn't even remember the name of the girl who brought her to the party. Just another young twenty-something girl who came in just long enough to have her dreams crushed, then drifted on to another job, poisoned for life. But Pearl went, making, as she occasionally did, an effort to be sociable.

It was a restaurant somewhere in Georgetown. Pearl, still wearing her work clothes, was easily the most conservatively dressed person there - women wore sundresses and halter tops, the men wore their shirts open and hair long. Pearl instantly felt out of place and retreated into a corner as her colleague peeled off to join some girls her own age.

She stayed long enough to get a drink or two and to watch the young people dancing as a mediocre house band played Beatles tunes. She wished she could join them. She wanted to fit in. But she couldn't. And she knew she was just dragging the party down by being there.

Just as she prepared to leave, she accidentally bumped into a heavyset woman in a pink dress, knocking her into the wall.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry," Pearl said, flustered. "I didn't mean..."

The woman responded with a warm, open smile that suggested instant, eternal forgiveness. And Pearl's heart sank immediately.

"It's perfectly all right," she said. "We all have our moments."

"Me more than most people," Pearl said, her idea of a joke. Except the woman laughed heartily, startling Pearl, yet also flattering her.

"So, what brings you to Veronica's shindig? You don't seem like the party-going type."

"Oh, I'm here with...a friend," Pearl said, watching her colleague dance with a mustachioed young man on the floor. (What would Miss Gandy say?)

"Hmm," the woman said with quiet sympathy. "Well, I know Veronica going on five years. She's a nice young woman, but she does get really into these parties...they're not for everyone."

Who the hell is Veronica? Pearl thought. She couldn't remember if her coworker had told her, or, for that matter, whether she really cared.

"My preferred night is staying home and reading," Pearl said with a little hauteur.

"That's wonderful," the woman said. "I'm always looking for a mind at work."

Pearl smiled, much more broadly than she intended. Usually other women her age (though was this woman her age? Pearl couldn't tell) found reading dull and a waste of time.

"My name is Pearl," she said, extending a hand. "I suppose bumping into you is not a proper introduction."

The woman laughed and shook it. "No, but it's certainly memorable! Rose, Rose Quartz."

"I should have guessed from..." Pearl gestured to Rose's hair. Rose laughed again, her whole body shaking with delight.

Am I really that funny or is she just being polite? Pearl wondered. My jokes have always been wretched. Or maybe she likes me. Then she decided, there's no way you could fake laughter like that.

"What do you do for a living?" Rose asked.

"I'm a typist for the FBI," Pearl said.

"Oh, that must be fascinating!" Rose said, though her face seemed uncertain.

"Oh no. In fact, it's terribly dull, soul-crushing work." Pearl said it with light inflection which she hoped masked her pain.

"Well, I suppose being a typist isn't the same as actually fighting crime," Rose said.

"Yeah," Pearl said, feeling comfortable enough to vent a little. "Not what I went to law school for. But, it is what it is."

"Well, I'm sure a bright girl like you will find something worthy of your time and talents," Rose said, beaming at her.

"I appreciate that," Pearl said sincerely. She froze, so unpracticed in small talk that she couldn't think of what to say, or ask next.

Fortunately, Rose figured it out. "I work as a seamstress in a fabric store in Rosslyn," she said. "Doesn't pay much, but it allows me to use my skills and, you know, live my life the way I want to. And that's not a small thing."

"That's very neat," Pearl said.

Rose giggled. "Okay, maybe we need to work on your slang a bit."

"Granted," Pearl admitted. "Still, I admire that...I'm a bit jealous that you get to do something you love every day."

"You'll get there some day," Rose promised, as if she had some way to deliver on it. But Pearl appreciated it anyway.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, silent, lost in each others' eyes even as the music played in the background.

"If you're not comfortable here, we could go somewhere else," Rose offered.

"Oh," Pearl said, blushing again. "That's all right. I mean, I wouldn't want to take you away from the party..."

"Veronica holds one of these things every other weekend," Rose scoffed. "She won't mind if I duck out. So, what do you say? Wanna get food or a drink somewhere a little more private?"

Pearl stared again, uncertain about Rose's offer. Until she again noticed the warm, welcoming sincerity in her new acquaintance's eyes. And all of her reticence melted instantly.

"Why not?" she said.

They ended the night in bed together. And Pearl wondered how something so commonplace could make her so happy.

Pearl didn't agonize over their relationship. She'd never thought of herself as gay - she had dated men as recently as the previous year - but loving Rose just seemed natural, right. A perfect fit. While she wasn't about to run out and proclaim her sexuality, still a very dangerous proposition in 1966, neither did she feel any shame or discomfort.

Besides, she compartmentalized so much of her life anyway that hiding a romance, and her sexual orientation, just seemed one more secret among many.

She was who she was. And so was Rose, thank God. But that made it even harder to accept Rose's request to be truthful about her life.

And whatever Rose said, work made that even harder.

They'd been dating about a year when Pearl received a tap on her shoulder from Miss Gandy. She went into the woman's office, fearing that she'd done something wrong - one always assumed that with Miss Gandy - and stood in front of the secretary's desk while she finished a report.

"Pearl, you've been with the Bureau for four years now," the woman said, her voice bright and friendly. (Which always unnerved Pearl - she inevitably hid a dagger in a velvet sheath.) "I must admit that I'm very impressed with your work. You work quickly and accurately - you are more word perfect than any girl I've ever met."

Pearl blushed with surprised satisfaction. "Thank you, ma'am," she said modestly.

"And you have been very discreet in your personal life," Miss Gandy added, "not doing anything outside of work to make us regret hiring you."

Pearl averted her eyes, thinking about Rose. "Of course not, ma'am."

"Very good. Of course, we know that young women like yourselves hope to get married and have children and do womanly things. And that's fine! Totally understandable. But this job demands total, absolute commitment that doesn't always accommodate those desires. We don't mind if you see someone, but we prefer that you don't do anything that might detract from your work or else...reflect badly on the Bureau."

"I understand, ma'am," Pearl said, starting to grow impatient. She felt a pang of bitterness for her departed coworkers, which registered fleetingly on her face. If Miss Gandy noticed, she didn't show it.

"With your mixture of skill and discretion, I'm thinking there are better uses of your talents within the Bureau."

Pearl perked up. This certainly was unexpected.

"In particular, we're looking for someone able to handle extraordinarily sensitive documents for an extraordinarily important program. Matters of national security."

Pearl felt a lump growing at the back of her throat. An incredible mixture of emotions went through her - pride, fear, confusion, angst. Gratitude. And perhaps resentment.

"Can we trust you?" Miss Gandy asked, her voice suddenly hard, fixing Pearl with a challenging stare.

Pearl knew that, whatever she felt, she could only give one answer. Anything else would be a colossal admission of failure.

"Of course, ma'am."

"There was another assassination last night," Sapphire intoned. "Riccardo Caiazzo, alias Ricky Capuano, a member of the Chicago Crime Outfit, murdered in a beach house in Garden City, Georgia. Neck snapped like a carrot. No weapon, no fingerprints or leads, except that a witness claims a woman had visited him shortly before his death."

"So a mob boss was murdered," Amethyst groaned. "Big furry deal. What does that have to do with us?"

"He was on a list of Congressional witnesses, but never appeared before the committee or its staff. He was hiding out. Looks like Project DIAMOND got to him first."

It didn't take a psychic to put two and two together. Garnet and Amethyst exchanged a worried glance.

"Do you know any more about Project DIAMOND then what you've already told us?" Garnet asked.

"Hmm." She sat back and thought, playing at summoning psychic thoughts or spirits or whatever, inevitably making Amethyst shake impatiently while awaiting the answer.

Finally, she answered:

"From what I've learned, Project DIAMOND is precisely what we guessed before. It's a program to silence witnesses with potentially damaging information about FBI and CIA intelligence operations. Especially those being summoned before Congress to testify in public."

"Then why aren't they going after high-profile witnesses?" Garnet asked. "I mean, the Director of the CIA was their very first witness..."

"Because they can count on them to be silent or to give them as little as possible. People like the ones on the list don't know, or don't care about discretion."

"Plus, they're too famous to kill," Amethyst guessed. "Like, if you murder the head of the CIA or some dude who worked for Nixon, people would notice. Kill a mobster or a Chilean exile or an informant, no one will care, or will chalk it up to something less nefarious."

Sapphire nodded. "Precisely."

"But Pearl's whole thing is discretion," Amethyst said. "That's what I don't get. She wouldn't talk even if she wanted to."

"Seems like they don't want to take that chance," Garnet said. Though internally, she wondered about that, wondering how much they could trust Pearl at this point. If there were things she'd kept to herself despite everything.

"What does Pearl know that's so dangerous, anyway?" Amethyst asked Garnet, her braggadocio giving way to fear.

"She did a lot during her days with the FBI," Garnet reminded her. "Had access to privileged documents that spelled out things the rest of us could only guess at."

Amethyst nodded as she and Garnet stood up to leave.

"Thank you, as always, for your hospitality," Garnet said to Sapphire.

Ruby waited impatiently until the twosome exited the room, then listened as they chatted with Bismuth before leaving the store. After another moment, she came forward and groaned to Sapphire.

"What are we doing?" Ruby barked.

"What do you mean?" Sapphire said.

"Are you sure we want to get mixed up with them?" she asked, disgusting dripping from that last word. "Looks like they're onto some heavy stuff."

"It's not a question of want," Sapphire said. "We're already mixed up with them. As to anything else, it's Fate. Beyond my control."

Ruby balled her fists and grimaced, irritated by Sapphire's stoicism.

"I mean, you don't have to tell them anything..." she insisted.

Sapphire shrugged. "If they show up, I might as well. Garnet is an old friend. Besides, just speaking to them lands us in trouble, whether or not I actually say anything. What choice do I have?"

"I hate it when you talk like that," Ruby groaned.

"When don't I talk like that?" Sapphire teased.

The two shared a laugh and a smile. Ruby clutched Sapphire's hand and kissed it gently.

"I'm just worried, is all," Ruby insisted. "You're too young and pretty and amazing to end up a corpse."

Sapphire just laughed. "If that's my Fate, so be it. But I'm thinking the two of us have a long and...interesting life ahead of us."

Ruby forced herself to smile, but she didn't feel too certain of that right now. This all stank to high heaven, and the last thing she wanted was for Sapphire to get hurt.

"I just wish I could be as sure as you," Ruby admitted, drawing away.

"What will be will be," Sapphire said again, blowing out her candle.