There is someone walking behind you,
Turn around, look at me.
There is someone watching your footsteps,
Turn around, look at me

"Ah, no," Vince Norris muttered. "No, no, no." He looked around. "Lily," he called, "Lily, honey. I need your help."

The courier slid around the edge of the bar to his side. "What's up?"

Vince nodded toward the dance floor. "He's at it again."

Lily followed his gesture. Couples snuggling up, slow-dancing. Some to be expected, some not. At the fringe, Harley Gage was wrapped around Vince's trainee, Nancy Campbell. His hand was a shade too low on her back already, and her eyes were much too enthralled with whatever he was saying.

"Ah, shit," Lily pronounced.

"He never learns."

She shook her head. "Hang on, let me find – Mark! Mark, come here a minute."

The young field op ambled over, grinning uncertainly. "Hey, Lil."

"I need you to rescue a damsel in distress."

He reached for her empty glass. "Sure. What can I get you?"

"Not me." She turned him around and pointed. "Her."

"Who, Harley's girl?"

"She's not Harley's girl," the two older agents protested in unison. Lily took Mark's arm. "C'mon."

"Hold it," Vince said quickly. "Too slow."

Across the floor, the ill-advised couple was already being separated – by no less person than Control himself. As the trio watched, the spymaster firmly, politely shouldered Gage aside and took the startled rookie in his arms. Bewildered, Harley stammered some protest and stalked off.

"Very nice," Vince observed.

"Uh-huh," Lily agreed. She never took her eyes off the dancing couple.

"Yeah," Mark said, "but now who's going to rescue her from him?"

Vince shook his head. "She don't need rescuing now," he said. "She's safe as in her mama's arms."

Mark stared at him, then looked to Lily. "He's kidding, right?"

Lily shook her head, still watching the couple. "Control has his faults, but he's always a gentleman."

"She doesn't look very happy," Mark protested.

Lily studied the dancers. Control was talking softly. Whatever he was saying, Nancy Campbell was drinking in every word. She was far more enchanted by Control than she had been by Gage. He wasn't talking, Lily realized; he was chanting to her. The voice, the rhythm of his words, the pitch. She couldn't hear them, not this far away, but she could feel the power of his chant anyhow. The rookie was unwinding in Control's arms, and Lily with her. Whatever Mark thought he saw, Nancy Campbell was perfectly content.

If he hadn't been such a gentleman, Lily mused, Control could have taken the young agent directly home from there. But of course Control's behavior with female subordinates had always been beyond reproach.

As far as anyone knew.

Lily watched the younger woman's rapt expression and felt a sudden surge of envy. She got to be in his arms, got to hear his voice, to feel the warmth of his vague smile. Lily could only stand and watch. She did not dare approach him, did not dare dance with him even once, with all these people watching …

Or did she?

She took a deep breath. You have your dance, she thought smugly. I still get to take him home.

She looked around, and caught Robert watching her watching Control. His lips were pursed, but his eyes twinkled with disapproving amusement. Robert had never quite known what to make of her relationship with Control. If he'd had any idea how things stood now …

Then Pete O'Phelan claimed Robert's hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, too.

"We gotta go get her," Mark insisted.

Lily turned, startled. She'd forgotten he was there. He was watching Nancy anxiously, as if she were already his girl. Well, Lily thought, she really shouldn't, but for Mark's sake … for Nancy's sake … and because Robert would so thoroughly disapprove …

The song wound down; a new one started before the dancers had a chance to leave the floor.

Restless hearts sleep alone tonight, sending all my love along the wire.

They say that the road ain't no place to start a family …

It would be that song. She'd put it on the list, but Scott had decided how to line them up. That song, as close to a theme song as she and Control had. If that little rookie thought she was going to get to dance with him to it, she had another thing coming.

"Now," she said. She grabbed Mark's hand and dragged him onto the floor.

He followed eagerly. He might have expected some elegant transition, but Lily simply edged between their boss and the rookie. "My turn," she announced, sliding into Control's startled but unresisting arms.

Nancy stepped back, bewildered, and Mark caught her into his own arms. "Hi, I'm Mark," he said, already moving to the music.

"Uh, hi. I'm Nancy. Where'd you get that scar?"

Mark chuckled. "Everybody asks me that."

"Told you so," Lily called.

Control spun her away, to the edge of the floor. They were still very visible, and they were very aware of it. They danced, maintaining artificial tension between them. Their bodies were too accustomed to the motion; they wanted to relax, to melt. The bodies remembered too many nights when he'd pulled her off the couch and danced her sensually around her living room. Too many nights when they'd ended up back on the couch, horizontal and still slow-dancing. Their bodies remembered, and their bodies desired. But their minds knew better; they fought, wordlessly, to keep from looking too comfortable.

"We thought you needed rescuing," Lily said conversationally.

He snorted. "One more song, and I've had her loyalty unto death."

"One more song and she would have been a puddle at your feet."

Control nodded. "Well, that, too."

"And I would have had to fly into a jealous rage – it would've been ugly. I'm your favorite courier, and don't you forget it."

He leaned a little closer, lowered his voice. "This probably isn't wise."

Lily nodded her understanding. "Then drop me off somewhere."

"No." His hand tightened just a bit on her back. "No." And then, his voice strangled, "Lily."

She'd been looking over his shoulder, but she shifted, looked into his eyes – for an instant. Her breath caught, and she looked resolutely over his shoulder again. "Stop looking at me like that."

Control chuckled, aware that he was suddenly supporting her weight. "Every man in the room is looking at you like that."

"Yeah, but none of them make my knees go weak when they look at me."

"And I still do? After all this time?"

She looked back into his eyes. "Every damn time," she answered honestly.

He held her gaze; let his become his absolute most smoldering. "How'd you get the lock, Lily?" he purred.

She threw her head back and laughed out loud. People did turn to look then, but it didn't matter. The laugh was definitely not of the intimate sort. If they wondered what the spymaster had said to make the woman laugh like that – let them wonder. Control had many mysteries about him.

Being apart ain't easy on this love affair,

Two strangers learn to fall in love again.

I get the joy of re-discovering you …

"I'm not telling," Lily said firmly.

"You'll tell me sooner or later."

"No, I don't think I will."

"We'll see," Control said serenely. "We have ways of making you talk."

Lily raised one speculative eyebrow. "We?" she inquired. "You and the mouse in your pocket?"

"Are we calling it a mouse now? Last time it was a rat."

Lily laughed again. "Rat it is," she agreed.

They fell silent, enjoying the novelty of being so close, of touching in a crowd of people. They had been fiercely careful to keep their relationship a secret. But this occasion gave them a single chance, a single dance, to be together where other people could see them.

You really know me, that's all I need to know.
Maybe I'm an open book because I know you're mine,
But you won't need to read between the lines.
For your eyes only, only for you.

"May I?" Robert said, tapping his oldest friend on the shoulder.

Control growled. "Of course. We've been expecting you." He surrendered Lily, turned and nearly stepped on Ellen. "Hello, dear."

"Hello, Blue Eyes." She slid into his arms. "Nice party. What's it gonna cost you?"

He sighed. "I'm afraid to ask." He looked over her shoulder and just for a moment watched his lover, shimmering gracefully in Robert McCall's arms. "But it was worth it."

Not much between despair and ecstasy

One night in Bangkok makes the tough guys tumble

Can't be too careful with your company

I can feel the devil walking next to me

Simms watched his boss with great interest.

He knew exactly why Control had moved to take the rookie out of Gage's arms. There were, by Simms' count, no less than five men prepared to do exactly the same thing. They knew Harley, here in New York. They weren't about to give him a free shot.

But when Control then danced with Romanov, that was something different. It indicated, for one thing, that Simms himself was now allowed to dance with her, or with any other of the employees. He probably would. But for a moment he stayed where he was and just watched them.

An impossible notion danced through the back of his mind. He dismissed it, unexamined. There was no way in hell that Control would ever, ever think of … it was impossible.

Simms already knew they were close. Everybody in the Company did. She's taken a bullet for Control once, saved his life. He'd gotten her back on the job after the incredible screw-up that had landed her a prisoner in Nicaragua. She was his favorite courier. Possibly his favorite employee. But that was all there was to it.

Still – the way the man looked at the woman. The way the woman looked at the man. It was one instant and then it was gone.

Impossible. Even if the woman would—and Simms knew Lily well enough to think that she might not be above sleeping up – Control absolutely would not. It was inconceivable.

He drank slowly as he watched McCall cut in on them. There were rumors about Romanov and McCall, too. Romanov and Kostmayer. Romanov and Gorbachev, for heaven's sake. She did look as easy in his arms as she had in Control's. The woman was an incurable flirt, that was all. Hell, she'd brought her own Marine to the party. He was imagining things.

Yet, Simms' instinct nagged, there was something there.

He sipped his drink, and he watched, and he pondered.

Who wants to live forever?

There's no chance for us

It's all decided for us

This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

Nancy didn't notice the music transition. "It must have been so scary," she said. Almost on its own, her hand came up and brushed across the red scar on Mark's forehead. "You could have been killed."

The young agent shrugged. "It's just what we call in the trade a boo-boo. It bled like crazy – head wounds do – but it really wasn't that bad."

She frowned, concerned. "But just a fraction of an inch …"

Mark shrugged again. "You should have seen the shot Lily made. She was on her knees, crying her eyes out …"

"Wait – what?"

"She wasn't really crying," Mark corrected. "I mean, she was, but it was just to throw them off. Vlad had a major thing for her anyhow, and once she started crying like that you could see him start thinking below the belt … sorry, that was crude."

Nancy shook her head. "It's okay, but start at the beginning."

"Can I get you a drink first?"

She nodded, smiling. Mark took her hand and led her off the floor, found her a seat at the bar and told her his adventures in Yugoslavia.

The rookie courier listened with undisguised fascination.

His comrades fought beside him – Van Owen and the rest

But of all the Thompson gunners Roland was the best

So the CIA decided they wanted Roland dead

That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen blew off Roland's head

Vince Norris claimed Lily's next dance. "I'm not sure that's much of an improvement," he grumbled, gesturing towards the couple at the bar.

"It'll be okay, Vince. Mark's a good guy."

"I don't like it."

Lily chuckled, noting the lines of worry on her former trainer's chocolate features. "She's not a little girl, Vince."

"She's still a rookie. She's still my rookie. And she'll be good, if she doesn't get tripped up too early. She could be better than you are."

"Nobody's better than I am," Lily replied pertly.

"Well … nobody's luckier, anyhow."

She considered the couple at the bar. The spark between them was obvious, even from this distance. "Field ops and couriers," she mused. "You can't fight biology. At least it's not Gage."

"Him!" Vince snorted. "Next time I'll get you a live grenade."

"Next time I'll use it."

Hungry as hell no food to eat
And Joe said that he would sell his soul
For just a piece of meat

"Shoulda' got more food," Sterno fussed from behind a three-inch high sandwich.

"We've got plenty," Stock answered. "They've barely made a dent in it."

Sterno surveyed the table. Food left for maybe two hundred people. "What if we get a late crowd? They'll be hungry."

"If they come late, they can go to the drive-through up the street."

The rotund agent shook his head. "Maybe I should call for some pizzas."

Stock threw his hands in the air and walked off.

Why can't you see
What you're doing to me
When you don't believe a word I say?
We can't go on together
With suspicious minds

Ellen crossed her arms and frankly stared. "I don't know," she finally said. "It seems unlikely."

Pete, at her shoulder, also stared at the most outstanding aspect of the Velvet Elvis mural. "Interesting to look at," she agreed, "but only from a distance."

"I don't think I'd have wanted to see it up close and personal, no."

"I seen bigger than that," Harley Gage commented. He was fairly drunk, starting to slur his words.

"Where?" Ellen challenged. "In prison?"

He smirked crookedly. "In the mirror, every morning."

The two older women looked him up and down – and silently agreed that he was lying. "Got to get that magnifying mirror out of your room," Peter commented dryly.

"Ah-ha-ha. You could come and see for yourself, if you want." He gestured towards the side rooms.

The women shared a look and burst out laughing. "Both of us," Ellen asked, "or one at a time?"

"Whichever you ladies prefer."

"I think I prefer to have another drink," Pete said. They moved away, still laughing.

Harley watched them go, glowering. He turned around just in time to see his first choice, the luscious Nancy, snuggling up at the bar with the brat Mark. How the hell had that youngster managed to cut his time?

But he knew that, too. It wasn't Mark that had kept him from the pliant rookie. It was Romanov, on her babysitting crusade. And Vince Norris, and even Control. What was with these people? He wasn't such a bad guy, was he?

It wasn't fair, Harley thought grimly. Grumbling, he went to get another drink.

It seems crazy but you must believe

There's nothing calculated, nothing planned.

Please forgive me if I seem naïve,

I would never want to force your hand,

But please understand I'd be good for you.

McCall could not resist it. There were so few chances to tango these days, and fewer still with a partner who knew what the hell she was doing. He snagged Pete O'Phelan out of Vince Norris' arms, kept her hand and flung her out to the end of his reach.

She paused there, looked at him and smiled. A bare twitch, and she spun back towards him.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and they stepped, twice. Then he shifted his grip and dropped her, almost to the floor. Spun her back up. It had been a decade since they danced like this, and yet Pete still remembered every move, every cue. It was as if they were making up the dance with a single mind as they went.

The floor cleared for them.

It was, Robert thought to himself, a perfectly marvelous party.

You're seeing now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars:
My energy is spent at last, and my armor is destroyed,
I have used up all my weapons, and I'm helpless and bereaved.
Wounds are all I'm made of!

"You call that a scar?" Jimmy grumbled. "That ain't much of a scar."

Mark turned, uneasy. "No, I keep telling her, it wasn't much of anything, really …"

"You want to see scars? I got a scar here that'll turn your hair white."

"No, no, really …" Nancy tried to protest.

Too late; Jimmy had already untucked his shirt and pulled it up, turned to show her a scar that ran all the way across his back. "Now that, there, that's a scar. Went all the way to the bone, you could see my ribs beneath it."

"Oh, for God sake, Jimmy, put your clothes back on." Carter Brock joined them at the bar. "Beer, please?" he called to the bartender. "If you hadn't been with that woman's sister, she wouldn't have cut you like that."

"Hey, it wasn't like that," Jimmy protested. "We broke up. She had no right to be all jealous like that."

"You broke up that morning," Carter pointed out.

"So that isn't from … work?" Nancy asked.

"Oh, he was working," Brock laughed. "At least as far as the record shows."

Jimmy scowled. "Go on, show her that piddly little thing you got."

Carter pulled back his collar and pointed to an old gunshot scar just below his collar bone. "See? That's what a real scar looks like."

"Yeah," Jimmy mocked, "from a .22"

"Hey, at least it's a gunshot, and not from some kitchen knife."

"It was a butcher knife! She could have killed me."

"Hey, I got a way better gunshot scar than that," Stock said as he joined the group. He put his left foot up on the edge of the bar and pulled his pant leg up. The scar covered most of his calf. "Mach 10. Bulgaria. Lost most of the meat off there. Hurt like a bitch." He noticed Nancy. "Pardon the expression."

She flustered, turned pink. "No, just … I … how did you get away?"

"I crawled," Jacob answered, as if that were obvious.

"Hey, that might be more impressive," Carter protested, "but this one could have killed me. Nobody dies from losing a pound of ground chuck off his leg."

"Well, I'm the one that caught the head-shot," Mark protested.

"You should've ducked," Jimmy advised dryly. "Everybody knows Romanov can't shoot straight."

"Lily didn't shoot me, this Yugoslav terrorist did …"

"Are you sure?" Stock asked.

"Yeah, I'm … uh … pretty sure."

"Uh-huh." Stock put his foot down, pushed up his sleeve. "Now this one here, this is from …"

"You have no scars worth discussing!"

The group turned. A very tall, very thin man stood behind them, a tall, thin glass of vodka in his hand. "Eyeore!" Stock called. "How the hell are you!"

"Eyeore?" Nancy asked under her breath.

"Igor," Carter assured her, "but with the silent 'g'. He came over the Wall ten years ago."

"Yes, I did!" he boomed. "And I have the real scar to prove it!"

He raised his hand to his left ear and removed it. "You see?" he said, pointing to the place where his ear should have been. There was only mangled flesh and scar tissue, enough to attach his prosthetic ear to. "My ear, I left on the razor wire on the Wall. This, now, this is a scar."

"You left it …?" Nancy asked.

"I climb the Wall," he told her. "They shoot at me. I hurry, I jump. I clear the wire, all but my ear. I fall to the ground in the West, in a chicken yard. The soldiers still try to shoot me. I hide in the shadows, all night long, and I look for my ear, but I never find it."

"Well, maybe they'll find it now," Jimmy said gloomily. "It's got to be there somewhere."

"It is gone," Igor answered. "The chickens ate it, long ago. I leave a note on the Wall, where I hide all night and try to find my ear. Soon the Wall will be gone, and the note, too." He slipped his false ear back on. "It is good." He lifted his glass and drained it. The gathered company drank with him.

The contest over, they returned to their various pursuits.

"You okay?" Mark asked quietly.

Nancy shook her head. "Just so many … interesting people here. I mean, I knew … I thought I knew what I was getting into, but … but …"

He put his arm around her, lightly, protectively. "Just stay close. You'll be okay."

She nestled against him gratefully.

From out of the shadows she walks like a dream
Makes me feel crazy, makes me feel so mean
Ain't nothin' gonna save you from a love that's blind
When you slip to the dark side you cross that line

Sometime after midnight, as Control was moving to exit quietly the way he'd come, the carrier landings began.

The maneuver had other names – bar slide, beer dive, body bowling, suicide slam – but Control always thought of it by the first name he'd heard for it, back in his flying days. It was a simple stunt, in theory: take a running start, jump head-first onto the bar, and slide to the far end. Done correctly, it was impressively athletic, almost elegant. In reality, however, it was only ever attempted by men too drunk to accomplish it.

Harley Gage started it. Having failed to obtain female companionship, he'd settled on becoming stumbling drunk. As soon as Control heard the words, "Watch this, watch this," he knew what the agent intended. He turned to watch, his face expressionless.

Gage ran, jumped, slid the width of four bar stools, and fell off behind the bar. There was a long silence before he called, "I'm okay."

Control shook his head and turned to go.

"Hell, I can do better than that," someone called. The next contestant went two stools further and fell off on the public side of the bar.

"I got it now, I got it," Harley promised. On his second approach, he missed the jump entirely and ran full-on into the end of the bar.

"He's done," Lily announced as she and Sterno hauled him up from the floor. They handed him over to a designated driver, over his rambling protests.

I was young and foolish once, Control mused, and I was very good at carrier landings.

It might have ended at that, had not Lily's Marine decided to take his turn. He was not nearly drunk, and he slid smoothly to within a yard of the far end of the bar, then dismounted gracefully, to the enthusiastic applause of the crowd.

Control was not nearly drunk, either. Far from it. But he'd had one drink too many to watch his lover applaud another man, her eyes sparkling with fun and admiration, and let it pass. He walked slowly to the bar, poured himself one last drink, then climbed onto a stool and then up to stand on the bar itself. The crowd grew quiet.

"Queue up the torture tape," Stock said, just a little too loud.

"I haven't signed that expense report yet," Control reminded him lightly. The agent visibly flinched. "I am not going to make a speech," Control went on. "Just a brief toast before I go."

The agents around him fell respectfully, if rather unsteadily, silent.

"Everyone here tonight," Control said, "has done exemplary work towards this achievement that we're celebrating. Each of you in your own way contributed, and you deserve far more thanks and appreciation than you're likely to get. So from me, personally, thank you all."

He considered, then continued. "There are a lot of people who aren't here tonight. To those who are still working, I also extend my thanks. And to those who have gone on ahead of us … our deepest thanks. We miss you."

He brought his glass up. "Ladies and gentlemen, to the fall of the Wall."

"The fall of the Wall!" they repeated, and they drank.

Control climbed down from the bar and walked towards the elevator. When he got to where Lily stood he stopped, considering her. Then he nodded in silent decision. He put his empty glass down on a table. Then he took off his sport coat and handed it to her. She took it, surprised. When he handed her his gun as well, comprehension dawned in her eyes. Her mouth dropped open. "You're kidding."

He winked and turned back to the bar. The crowd quieted again, not sure what he was doing. Certainly none of them expected what happened next.

Their cool, reserved, unapproachable, respectable boss, dressed entirely in black, took three running strides, dove onto the bar, slid at high speed all the way to the far end, grabbed the brass rail there and flipped himself completely over, so that he landed in his feet, facing the same way he'd begun.

Then he turned in the silence, walked back to the woman, collected his gun and his jacket, and left.

Behind him, the room went crazy.

Swingin' on the Riviera one day

And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day

Oh no, you let the wrong word slip

While kissing persuasive lips T

he odds are you won't live to see tomorrow.

Holy shit, Simms thought suddenly, he is sleeping with Romanov.

He couldn't prove it. Couldn't begin to prove it. All he had was a dance, a look, and a stunt. But he was absolutely certain.

It was, he considered, possibly a lot more than 'sleeping with'.

The realization shook him to his core. He'd known the human failings of his fellow lieutenants. But to find out that the unshakable, unfailable, all-knowing, all-seeing Control was as human as he was …

… and holy hell, that he'd landed that woman …

Simms shook his head. So Control is human after all, he thought to himself. You never thought he wasn't, not really. You've seen him bleed. So now what? Tell someone? Absolutely not. There was no threat in this, no danger to the Company. Even if you had the proof, which you don't … do what Control would do. Gather it, save it, wait for your moment. The moment might never come at all.

But it might. It might.

Simms went home.