A/N: Conversation.

Nothing Like A Train

Chapter Twenty-Three: Looking Over Both Shoulders

Mom's grimace intensifies. She's fighting.

"This can wait. — You weren't planning to make it this far…" I stop: not sure how to go on, but struck again by her willingness to sacrifice herself for me on the rooftop, by her lack of interest in being saved herself. Her eyes are enshadowed, the blue dark. Pain, but the causes are not all present, in the present. The shadows stretch out far behind her, past her, into the past.

But she shakes her head. "No. But I did, and so I owe you this story. No easy way out for me." She trembles and I see her fighting to stay conscious, fighting the drugs. Her iron will, the doctor called it. Iron, indeed. My mother is a hard woman. One bullet to the forehead, close-range. Clean, professional. Sarah's words about what Mom had done. Five times, five dead men. She had saved Sarah, Casey, Zariyah...me. But…

Frost.

This will be no warm, tender reunion.

"For what it's worth, Chuck, I tried to keep Volkoff away, to keep you safe. The Ring — Volkoff runs it, Chuck, at a distance. It's his wrench in the works of US intelligence. They've been after you, Fulcrum was after you, ultimately because he was after you. But he kept The Ring — Fulcrum more so — at a distance, and that meant that he was not always aware of details, and I kept many from him since reports came to him through me...But he…"

I hold up my hand. "Wait, Mom," the word hangs between us for a moment, "I don't understand. You work for Alexei Volkoff?"

She looks at me, her eyes wide, as if surprised by me, by my naivety. "'Work for' would be one way of putting it, I suppose: that's how it looks from one angle." She closes her eyes for a second but seems unwilling to leave them closed, as if afraid that she'll succumb to the drugs, and she opens them. "I'm Alexei Volkoff's mistress, Chuck. I have been for a long time."

And there it is. The direction I did not want to travel. Down the street to the dead-end in one sentence.

My mind floods with images and data on Volkoff, violence and terror, but I beat it back. Perhaps the drugs earlier had kept me, the Intersect from responding to his name. I put him out of my mind for now. "But, Mom...Dad?"

Her face goes professionally blank, whitewashed. The secret woman I glimpsed when I came in a secret once more. It takes her a minute to whitewash her voice. "Your Dad...knows. He's known...since it started."

I see her grit her teeth. Pain. She is still holding my hand. I fight back the impulse to snatch my hand from hers, a gesture of disapproval. I work to control my voice. "He knows? He knew?"

She nods but her face betrays her for a moment. Mortification, the effect of it deepened by her exhaustion, her pallor, the drugs. She had expected to die rather than tell me this.

"It's all on the thumb drive in your pocket, Chuck, but I am going to tell you anyway."

I do yank my hand away now, but not to show disapproval. I feel my pants pocket. There's a lump in it. A thumb drive. Like the note she left Sarah. Mom's shaky grin is indulgent. "You were never quick to suspicion, Chuck. I always adored that about you. Ellie took more after me in that way." She looks down at our joined hands and I see her blink back tears. And keep blinking.

She blows out a slow breath. As I have with Sarah lately, I wait, wait Mom out. Nothing I can say will help and I am not eager to hear what she seems about to tell me. My stomach hurts; I feel queasy.

"I need to back up, Chuck. I need to back up a long way. But I will try to keep the story short for now, spare both of us some of its...less decorous...details." She takes her gaze from me and fastens it on the blank paneled wall across the room. She still holds my hand.

"I was recruited by the CIA when I was in college. UCLA — you know the basics but not the real story." Bitterness drips into her tone for a moment. "My children don't know the real story."

She shakes her head at herself, goes on. "Early in my sophomore year. I had gotten an on-campus job working with a new professor in computer science. Lab assistant. He was brilliant and handsome — and he was your dad. We'd been dating a few weeks and I was still largely ignorant of the nature of his work — my lab work was mostly cleaning up after Stephen, running errands for him, getting mail. Standard on-campus stuff; and, anyway, I was no beaker chick." She frowns. "Pardon the phrase. — I knew Stephen liked me right away, but he was about five years older than me, and a professor, although not my professor, although he was my boss. Sort of. Technically, I worked for the school."

She pauses, adjusts herself painfully on the bed, slowly pushing herself more upright. "So I knew he liked me. He could barely manage to talk to me without going into verbal free-fall. At first, I was just amused and flattered. It gratified my pride, I suppose. He was older — and brilliant and handsome. Did I say that already? — But I didn't think we fit. I had no idea what I wanted to do. He was completely absorbed by what he did…" She pauses again. "So, he looked at me longingly when he thought I didn't notice and I pretended not to notice when I did. We said an awkward goodbye and parted for Christmas break. And I missed him, to my surprise."

She sinks against her pillow a bit. "But just a few days before I left campus, I attended a job fair on campus and talked to a man who was there at a table for government jobs. We talked and I gave him my name, but I wasn't sure what sort of job he was recruiting for. But that was good, I guess, since I had no idea what kind of job I wanted. He called me after I got home and asked if I could come in for a follow-up interview. He told me he was recruiting for the CIA. I shrugged but stayed in my seat. He smiled and went on with the interview. I took a couple of tests before I left. I figured nothing would come of it, but then, between Christmas and New Year's he called again, invited me back."

"This time, he offered me a job. As an agent. He gave me no time to process the offer. He needed me to start at the Farm with the next class, and they were to begin the second day of January. I was told not to tell anyone the details. Just to say I'd gotten a government job in DC. I told my parents just that and I flew to DC on New Year's Day." She takes her hand from mine and stretches her hands out in front of her, palms down, staring at them. They are shaking slightly.

"The recruiter knew his business. I took to it...a natural. I excelled. When I finished, the then-Director called me to Langley and I was instructed that my first assignment was your father."

"Huh?" I jerk a little at the unexpected corner in the story.

She frowns. "You see, the recruiter was right, but he didn't recruit me just because of my perceived talent. He recruited me because they — The Company — knew that your father was...smitten with me. I don't know how, but they knew.

"And I knew he was still interested because he had called my home a couple of times during my time in DC, and had asked my father if I was coming back to school. The Director knew that too, that Stephen called." She looks up from her hands, now resting uneasily on her blanketed stomach.

"The Director ordered me to put...my seduction training to work on Stephen. Turns out, they'd approached him several times about his research and he'd rebuffed them. They wanted that research, even if they weren't sure about its details. I didn't know what to say, and so I said nothing, and the Director took my silence as...obedience. They sent me in. I went back to Stephen, back to his lab, as if I were still doing on-campus work. But I was a spy, spying on him.

A small smile occupies her lips for a second. "Of course, I didn't need seduction training where your dad was concerned. Stephen was already...completely infatuated. My absence had made his heart grow even fonder. But he wouldn't ask me out, or it was taking him forever to work up to it, so eventually, I did the asking."

I interrupt, catching her eyes and beckoning them up. "So Dad was your mark?"

She shrugs and I recall her saying she had done the same to the recruiter, shrugged. My head fills with memories of that shrug throughout my childhood. Characteristic, I realize, that gesture. — But I am unsure what it means.

"Sort of. I mean, professionally, yes. Personally, no. I wasn't...emotionlessly manipulating his emotions. I was...involved too. Professionally compromised. Personally committed."

Her gaze bores into mine. "I believe you know something about that, Chuck?"

I realize that she's referring to Sarah. How much does she know? How could she know any of it?

She swallows during my silence, then speaks. "Do you believe that she loves you, Chuck?" I nod. She pushes herself up again, tries to lean toward me, sinks back. "Do you know it?" I nod again.

"You're a spy's career-maker. Given what you have...become. Are you sure you are not Sarah's mark? Her grandest long con?"

"She's going to marry me, Mom. I just asked; she just agreed."

Mom starts and winces as a result. When she recovers, she gives me the same look she would give me as a boy when I brought home a stray kitten or a broken computer salvaged from someone else's trash.

The look doesn't affect me as much now, I find. My mind shifts to Sarah, our scene in the hall.

The thought of Sarah kissing me after the proposal makes me smile. Mom's face darkens more. "Can you trust her, Chuck, really trust her? The first and last thing she'll do is ask you to trust her. Seduction 101."

I start to speak and stop myself, my mouth clicking shut. Mom raises an eyebrow, that look still on her face.

I take a breath, returning serve. I am a man, not a boy. "Could Dad trust you, Mom?"

We stand in silence, regarding each other. Mom whimpers quietly.

Then Mom's instant tears can't be blinked back, stanched. They flow, copious. I stand beside the bed as she cries silently. I curse myself for wondering if the tears are real.

They are. I'm an ass. A man and an ass.

"Mom, I'm sorry."

"No, Chuck, I had no right to ask that at any time, much less in the middle of this story, my story. I'm your mother de facto, not de jure. Sarah came for you, trusted me, risked her life. But Stephen, he…"

"What about Dad?"

"He's been worried about...her...and you."

"You've talked to Dad?"

She looks at me but doesn't answer.

"Could your Dad trust me, Chuck?" She reverts to my question, and not rhetorically. "He thought so. I thought so. But…"

"But what?" The machines are still bleep-beep-bleeping in the background but this is the first time I notice them since entering. Her shaky hand wipes at her cheeks and she looks at the tears on her hand like strangers.

She changes the subject abruptly, her face concerned. "How long has it been since the rooftop, Chuck?"

I tell her it's been about three hours, almost four. She looks relieved. "Good. Volkoff left before I came to get you. He's not due back until tomorrow and will be out-of-contact until then. We will need to be far away from Moscow by tomorrow morning. You will need to be."

She wipes her forehead. Beads of perspiration are showing there, evidence of the effort she is making.

She returns to her story. "Stephen and I started dating. I kept finding I liked him more than I knew. So I just let...events take their course. I asked about the research, his plans for it, he was vague, evasive, but I didn't...press him. When the time came, later, when we decided to...you know, be intimate," she looks away after I nod and turn, avoiding her eyes myself, glad for the delicate phrase, "I told Stephen who I was, what I was supposed to be doing, my seduction mission. I was not going to...do that with him...without him knowing the truth about me. I expected him to end it, tell me to go. But he didn't. He asked me what I thought, if I thought it was a good idea to share his work with the Company. God help me, but I told him I thought it was. He called the Director and they met."

She pauses for a long time, her eyes closing. Just when I think she's lost consciousness, she opens them, stares at the far wall.

"The Director was very happy with me, my success. My seduction, he kept calling it. His seductress, he kept calling me. A career performance the first time out. That's what he said." Her grin is a reptilian curl of self-loathing. I feel a chill.

"That 'success' ruined me, Chuck. I thought I could have it all. Stephen, the CIA: I could have both a marriage and a spy career. I don't know why I thought that, but I did. I didn't seduce Stephen. He was in love with me and he did what I wanted because I persuaded him to do it. That sounds like seduction, but I did it out of love. I fell for him. I thought my motives were pure."

She laughs quietly and with intense bitterness. She trembles for a second from head to toe. I pull her blanket up carefully. After a long moment, measured in bleeps and beeps, she sighs.

"Find Sarah. Bring her here. She should hear the rest of this if she's going to be your wife."

"Can you wait? Are you okay?" I ask. Her pallor is worse. I know her pain's abysmal, physical and emotional.

"I can do it. She needs to hear this too."

I turn and leave the room. Before I get to the door, I stop and look back. Mom is staring at me, biting her lip in concentration. "Can a person have both, Mom, a marriage, and a spy career?"

She shakes her head. "Not unless a person can walk safely forward while looking constantly over both shoulders."

I step into the hallway to find Sarah standing there. Casey is with her. I take Sarah's hand and ask a one-word question. "Beckman?"

"Waiting to talk to you when you can talk to her," Sarah says, her thumb rubbing the back of my hand. She looks anxious but also happy. We should be celebrating our engagement, but that will have to wait.

"Mom wants you to come in, Sarah. I told her our news."

She raises her eyebrows. Casey stiffens, his eyes moving from me to Sarah and back to me. We offer him no response.

Holding Sarah's hand, I lead Sarah to Mom.

Ice Queen to Frost Queen with me between.

Mom wipes her forehead again as we enter. She's fading, the iron of her will visibly bending against pain and drugs and the past.

She gives Sarah a smile meant to be pleasant but which edges toward feral. I feel Sarah's grip on my hand tighten. The mixture of sympathy and wariness between Mom and Sarah is palpable.

"I understand congratulations are in order." Mom manages to lift the edges of her smile but I can see the effort. I'm sure Sarah can too.

"Yes," Sarah says, simply and directly. "Thanks!"

Sarah holds up her left hand, displaying her ring, and then glances at me when she sees confusion in Mom's eyes. She turns back to Mom. "I know, we're...um...a ring ahead."

Mom shakes her head. "Let's talk about The Ring while I still have the strength. After we finish, you need to call Stephen. The number is on the thumb drive, Chuck."

Sarah looks at me and I fish it out of my pocket, brandish it for a moment, then put it back.

Mom coughs then gathers herself. "But there's a lot more on that than just Stephen's number. That's the key to Volkoff's entire network if you can find the lock…"

Sarah and I turn to Mom.

"But to explain that, I have to finish my story. My family story." She gives Sarah a pointed look and begins. She quickly recaps for Sarah what she has told me, then she looks at me.

"So, because of me, Stephen let the CIA in on the details of what he was doing. That's when the CIA first came into real contact with the Intersect. And that's when everything began to spiral."

Mom pauses. She takes a long look at Sarah. "My mission changed. Seduction became protection. I watched over my husband as he worked. I was still — nominally — a UCLA student, with classes and suchlike, so the CIA sent in a third team member, another CIA agent, to help me protect Stephen. He was an American who'd been raised in England, a college background in science. He was Stephen's age. He was also the man who became Alexei Volkoff. Hartley Winterbottom."

I expect the name to jump-start the Intersect, but there is no surge. Nothing stirs. "That name means nothing to me, to the Intersect," I say, voicing my surprise.

Mom nods. "No surprise, there. Alexei Volkoff is the CIA's top-secret shame. He's the monster they — we — created. The blood, the damned spot, we keep trying to wash off our hands."

A/N: Thoughts?