Control woke and went to the bathroom without turning on the light. The lights of the city far below washed the apartment in a familiar dim glow, and in any case it was his own apartment; he knew the way.

When he came back, the broad white bed was empty. He frowned, confused, at the smooth expanse of white comforter, the crisp pillows. Lily had been asleep on the far side when he'd left, the covers rumpled, the pillows creased and folded. Now it was clean, bare, as if she had never slept there, as if he had not just left it a moment ago.

"Lily?" he called quietly.

She was in the other room, certainly. In the den watching TV, or in the spare bedroom at the computer. Certainly somewhere within the apartment.

Except the apartment around him echoed with cold emptiness.

He wanted to go look for her, but he could not turn away from the ghastly white bed. It fascinated him, horrified him. His skin prickled. There was something about the bed.

Impatient with his own fears, he snapped on the light. In the harsh glare, the bed seemed even bigger, whiter – emptier. He took a step towards it, sick with dread. Turn away, his heart urged. She's not here. Go look somewhere else. But he could not. He touched the top of the comforter. It was cold, crisp. Freshly washed and unused.

Where was Lily? Oh, God, he'd only left her for a moment, he'd been close enough to hear her if she'd cried out. Yet she was gone, and he was sick with certainty that she was gone forever, sick and sweaty, trembling with horror and wanting frantically to turn away from that horrible white bed …

… the bed where she had died …

He grabbed the top of the comforter and whisked it back quickly. As he'd feared, as he'd known, the sheet beneath was not white, but red, fresh, bright red, blood red. Too much blood, it pooled in the center, ran off the edges onto the white carpet, soaked through the comforter. He gagged on the smell of copper in the air. Blood everywhere, her blood, on this bed where she had died in the moments he left her alone, he should never have left her alone and she was gone, dead in agony and he was alone with only the crisp white and the horrifying red …

"Lily!" he screamed.

He woke sitting straight up in bed. The light was off; the room was dim. The bed was rumpled. He was naked beneath the comforter.

He was drenched with sweat and shivering.

"I'm here," she said softly.

Control twisted around. Lily was sitting up beside him, close but not touching him. Her bare skin was luminous in the vague city light. "Okay?" she asked. He nodded, fully awake, and she moved closer, touched his back and then slid her arms around him.

She was warm, soft. He twisted further to hold her. He was still trembling, but she was here, safe, alive.

Too many nights he had woken from a nightmare alone in the huge white bed, with no one to hold him or calm him. His heart ached with how good it felt to have her there.

"Wanna tell me?" she asked softly.

Control shook his head. "Just a dream."

"Mmm." She didn't believe him, but she didn't push it. As always. "Can I get you a drink or something?"

The idea of her being out of his sight brought back the terror of the dream. "No," he said quickly. "No. Just stay with me."

Lily lay back, drew him down to her. They curled together, arms and legs gently tangled comfortably, face to face, sharing air and warmth in the early pre-dawn quiet.

"I like it here," Lily murmured.

"I like having you here." He stroked her shoulder lightly. "Oh, I wish I'd done this a long time ago."

They fell quiet. It hadn't been possible before; it was only barely and temporarily possible now. And it was incredibly dangerous. But for the moment, just for the moment, they were safe and warm in each other's arms, and that was enough.

It was their last full night together.

Mid-morning, Saturday, Control dropped the stack of re-written reports onto DeWitt's desk. "Better," he pronounced, and turned to leave.

"Thank you, sir," DeWitt said. "Anything else you need me to do?"

Control turned in the doorway and shook his head. "Keep up on things," he said. "Let me know if anything slips by you think I should pay attention to."

"The wife's kind of a distraction, huh?"

"She's not …" The spymaster caught himself. "Yes. She can be distracting. Yes."

"Sorry, sir."

"What does anybody need with an eighty thousand dollar ring?" Control wondered aloud.

"Eighty thousand?" DeWitt asked, incredulous.

"It's going back Monday," Control said firmly. He turned and walked out, still muttering to himself.

Lily stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a massive white towel. Control was shaving for the second time that day. He was not letting himself contemplate the fact that it would be the last time he could shave himself for several months – or possibly ever.

"Do we have to go?" Lily asked quietly.

He glanced at her in the mirror. "No. But if we don't go there, they'll probably come here."

She nodded, toweled her hair with one hand. "I know."

"And we'll sit here and worry."

She nodded again and ran the towel over the rest of her skin. The grief, the resignation, had returned. And the fear.

Control wished it was over already. The night would be difficult, for both of them.

He returned to shaving, watching her over his shoulder in the mirror. Lily peeled the towel off and stood on her tiptoes to drape it on the hook next to the shower door. Entranced, Control put down the razor and turned. "Come here."

"What?" Lily asked. "You've seen me naked before."

"Not like this." He drew her in front of him, turned to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. His hand slid around her waist and her spread his long fingers over the hard round lump just below her navel. "The baby's showing."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's way too soon."

"Lily." He moved his hand to her side and they stared into the mirror together. "That is definitely baby bump."

Her own hand strayed to where his had been. "It looks like I swallowed a tennis ball."

"It will grow."

She took a deep, shaky breath and turned her head to hide it against his neck. He covered her hand with his, covered their baby. Just as the grainy black and white picture had made the child more real, so did this visible bulge. Their child.

Lily straightened abruptly, moving away from his touch. "I have to get dressed," she said, and slipped form the room.

Control could feel her terror. He ached to tell her there was nothing to worry about, that they were safe, that everything would be fine. But his words would mean nothing.

They were about to start the most dangerous night of their very dangerous lives.

"Well," Control said, folding his napkin and putting it beside his completely empty plate, "that was absolutely magnificent."

"It was," Robert agreed. "I don't remember when I've had a better meal."

Becky blushed deeply. "I'm glad you liked it."

"We should do this more often," Mira Kalinich, McCall's long-time lover, said. Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry. That was a damn stupid thing to say."

"No," Lily answered. "You should do this more. Just … we won't be here. So you can talk about us."

"And you know we will," Mickey contributed.

Scott stood up and reached for his empty plate. "This is the last time we'll all be together like this," he said wistfully.

"Leave it," Anne told him. "Mickey can help me later."

"Thanks," Kostmayer said.

"This is the first time we've all been together like this," Control observed.

"You were all at the wedding," Becky corrected.

"Yes, but that was very different. This is – "

"Out in the open?" Robert suggested.

From the portable crib at the far side of the room, baby Alex cooed softly.

"I'll get him," Lily said.

"Coffee," Becky said. "And chocolate cake."

"I'll help," Anne said, and followed her back to her own kitchen. The Kostmayers' loft was the only place large enough to accommodate the whole group; Becky had come over early in the afternoon to prepare the dinner.

The rest of the group migrated to a loose triangle of couches under a huge portrait of a big-eyed boy. Control settled in the corner of one couch, with Lily at his side, the baby in her arms.

"You make a nice picture there," Mira said, studying them.

"They do look rather natural," Robert agreed. He helped distribute the coffee, then sat opposite them.

"I can't believe," Anne complained as she delivered plates of impossibly rich-looking cake, "that you've been together for all this time and nobody bothered to tell me." She shot a dire look at her husband.

"It was very important that the relationship remain a secret," Control offered.

"Someone could have whispered in my ear."

Mickey threw his hands. "I was sworn to secrecy," he protested. "And besides, I never thought it would last."

"When I get up," Lily said, "I'm going to kick you in the shin."

"Thanks for the warning."

"I don't suppose I can take a picture now," Anne ventured hopefully.

"No."

She sighed and sat down with her cake. "You do look good. Very natural."

"If it's any comfort," Mira said, "I didn't know, either."

"I didn't know until our wedding," Scott offered. "Before that I thought she was sleeping with my dad."

Lily grinned. She balanced her plate on Control's knee, safely if just barely out of Alex's reach, then managed to get a bite before the baby grabbed for it. "Oh, that's good," she purred. "Becky, come sit down. This cake is amazing."

"You'd like anything that was chocolate," Becky answered. She sat on the arm of the couch, ready to spring up if anyone ran out of anything.

"That's true," Lily agreed. "I think I shall miss your cooking most of all."

"What, not your Mercedes?" Scott teased. "That car is so sweet to drive."

"They'll probably come and search it," Control warned him. "But you'll get it back in a few days."

"No problem."

"I thought you'd miss my shooting lessons," Mickey said with a fake pout.

"That, too," Lily agreed. "And Robert's noble speeches."

McCall scowled at her unconvincingly. "The last time I tried to give a noble speech you cut me off at the knees."

"I'm sorry. It doesn't mean I won't miss them."

"I'll still have a phone, you know."

"My moral compass."

"What I want to know," Mira said, "and I don't know if this is the historian in my or just the nosy woman, but I want to know how you got together in the first place."

"Oh, that," Control said easily. "She seduced me."

McCall laughed out loud. "She seduced you? You're Control. You don't really expect us to believe that."

"I believe it," Mickey said.

"Thank you," Lily answered. "It's true. Though he didn't take much convincing. A couple candles and three sips of brandy and he was all mine."

"As I recall, there was chocolate cake that night, too."

She nodded. "I forgot about that. I think it was mousse, though."

"It might have been. Chocolate something, anyhow. I distinctly remember thinking, I must remember that chocolate puts this woman in the mood for romance."

"Isn't that true for all women?" Anne asked.

After a moment, every woman in the room nodded. "Yes. Definitely."

"If that's actually the case, that she seduced you," Robert said, "then what I want to know is why."

"Because Reznick dared her," Control answered ruefully.

"Because it was impossible," Lily countered.

"Ah, yes," McCall said. "Lily the Impossible Girl."

"It might help you to remember," Control said quietly, "how many impossible things we've already done, you and I."

Lily looked doubtful. "Nothing quite this impossible."

"You put a great white wedding together in thirteen days," Mira reminded her.

"Yes, but nobody was trying to kill me."

"My mother was," Scott said.

"Only with her looks."

McCall chuckled. "Only because she couldn't get her hands on a weapon."

"She knew, by the way," Lily said, looking back at Control. "At the wedding."

"Kay knew?"

"She knew, or she thought she knew. Either way."

"What did she say?"

"That I should remember that life is short and elope with you right away." Lily chewed another bite of cake. "Although now that I think about it, maybe she was just trying to get rid of me."

"That seems likely."

"You did go flying out of there," Scott remembered. "Was that because of her?"

Lily shook her head. "No, that was … I almost forgot. I have gifts. Sort of." She tried to stand up, thought better of it. "Mickey, that bag by the door, and the box."

"You want me to fetch them, ma'am?"

"Don't give me any lip or I'll kick you in the other shin, too."

Grudgingly, he went and brought her the shopping bag and the big white box. "That," she said, pointing to the box, "is for you. Happy birthday."

"It's next week, you know."

Lily sighed. "Anne, kick him for me, would you?"

"I'll get him later."

Mickey put the box on the table and opened it gingerly.

"Awful damn big to be a bomb, don't you think?" Control asked.

Kostmayer paused, the box half-open. "Not the way she builds them." He closed his eyes tightly and pulled the lid the rest of the way off swiftly. He peeked inside, then stretched out one tentative finger to pull the tissue paper aside.

Slowly, he began to grin. He reached both hands into the box and pulled out a coat, a long leather duster, black and made to look battered.

"It'll keep your ass warm on stake-outs with McCall," Lily said. "And the liner zips out."

"It's wonderful," Anne said.

Mickey slipped the coat on. It fit, of course, as if it were custom-made. There was a little extra room under both arms for weapons. "Nice," he said warmly.

"Very nice," Robert agreed. "Now I won't feel guilty about having you stand out in the cold all those long hours."

"Now wait …" Mickey protested.

Lily brought an old three-ring binder out of the bag and held it out to Becky. "This is how to feed twenty to fifty people really well on no budget."

Becky opened the notebook carefully. The pages were neatly written, but worn, faded, stained. She knew the best recipes came that way. "Thank you."

"The rest of these are journals," Lily continued. She brought out one ancient composition book. "I would keep them in Robert's safe, Mira, but you're welcome to read them and use them as you wish. I know Holocaust history isn't your specialty, and if you want to make copies of them for someone or whatever … there's no one to claim the rights to them, but they're really amazing stories."

Robert took the slender book from her, glanced at the pages, passed it on and reached for another one. "Your foster mother."

"Yes."

"These are … priceless. You can't mean to leave these here."

"I scanned them into a computer file, on a disk. I'll have them with me. But the originals … they're too bulky. I'm afraid they'd get lost on the way."

"I'll make copies," Robert promised, "and put the originals in the trunk for you."

Lily nodded.

The weight of their impending separation crushed their spirits again. She turned to Control for comfort, for hope.

Alexander Robert McCall sized the opportunity to reach past her and grab a handful of cake.

They got back to the great white penthouse shortly after midnight, and without speaking went and sat on the windowsill overlooking the city.

It was Manhattan; it did not sleep. But over the course of an hour it grew quieter. The traffic thinned; the horns and sirens became less frequent; half of the lights went out.

"You should try to get a little sleep," Control said quietly.

Lily turned to look at him. Her eyes were dark, hollow. She had shut herself away. But at his touch she sparked back to life. She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. Without words, they stripped off their clothes and fell onto the white bed, wrapped in each other. They made love gently, quietly. Sadly.

Lily slept then, still in his arms, not because she wanted to, Control knew, but because the baby insisted. He remained awake, alert. There was no danger here, not now, not yet. He drank her scent, the feel of her skin against his, committing every detail to memory against the long days ahead.

She is my love, he thought with fierce possession, and my life. Apart from her there is nothing for me. No joy, no warmth. Only the cold satisfaction of vanquishing my enemies. I go with her or I die here, but I cannot live without her now.

Her breathing entranced him. He traced his hand over her belly again, over the barely-discernable bump that was their child. It was early, but Lily had never regained all the weigh she'd lost in Bosnia; her slender body disguised nothing. Her breasts had grown noticeably full and lush in just a few weeks. There was a sudden softness about her body, utterly unfamiliar on her athletic frame.

He wanted very much to watch her continued evolution, to watch as the baby bump grew undeniable, as her precious body rounded into motherhood. But it was impossible. To keep her at his side now was to risk both of them.

He pushed the thoughts aside and considered only the real and human warmth of her body next to his.

At four, reluctantly, he woke her. "Lily, my love," he said against her ear, "you have to go."

She shuddered as she woke. Then she rolled tighter into his arms. "No."

"Lily."

"Please." Her legendary self-control snapped and she began to cry. "Please don't make me go. I'll stay, we'll have bodyguards, I don't care …"

"Lily." Control kissed her cheeks, savoring her tears, committing their taste to memory as well. "Don't, love."

"Most of your enemies are dead anyhow, and we could …" She stopped and took a deep breath. Then she rolled away and sat up, with her back to him.

"You have time to shower, if you want," he offered.

She nodded without turning and made her way to the bathroom. When the shower had started, Control climbed out of bed and put his clothes from the night before back on. He packed Lily's little backpack for her, then went to the living room and opened the safe.

It was already empty, except for the folders, the small blue box and the note. They'd taken care of those preparations days ago.

He glanced at his watch again. Half an hour before Tillman was due. He went and poured himself a drink. Got out a cigar, but didn't light it. Time enough when Lily was gone; the smell made her queasy now.

He heard her come out of the bathroom and move around the bedroom. Quick, efficient; he knew even before she came into the room that her eyes would be cold and distant. She needed to hide her feelings away now. He needed her to as well. Her tears made him doubt the plan. But it was far too late to turn back.

She walked into the living room slowly, stopped at a distance.

"I packed your bag," Control said.

"I know. Thank you."

"I might have missed something …"

"It doesn't matter."

"No. I suppose not." He stood up and walked to her slowly. "I could make you some breakfast."

Lily shook her head. "I should go."

"Yes."

"Andrew …"

"You have done harder things than this, Lily."

Her eyes filled with tears again, but she blinked them back. "I don't think I have."

"A few weeks," he promised. "A few months at most, and I'll be with you. I swear it. Trust me."

Lily studied him, and it seemed like there was almost a glimmer of gallows humor in her eyes. They both knew he'd lied to her over and over.

"One last time," he continued. "Trust me just once more. And I'll never ask you to again."

She did try to smile then, because they both knew that was a lie. She moved closer, and he wrapped her in his arms. One last time. One last time.

They stood that way for several minutes, not moving, not talking. And then some silent signal told them it was time to move. "I love you," Lily said. "Don't die."

"I love you, too. Don't die either."

She stepped back, went to the closet for her jacket. She slung her backpack over one shoulder, came back for one last kiss. "See you on the other side."

Control nodded, with his own wry smile. "Be careful."

Lily went to the door of the spare room, where the secret exit was. She paused there, turned. "Whatever happens, Andrew, I regret nothing."

"Let's keep it that way," he said.

She slipped through the doorway. A few seconds later, the hidden door clicked softly and she was gone.

Control took a long deep breath and blew it out. Then he downed his drink, poured himself another, and lit his cigar.