Eight—Conversations

"This is really sweet of you," Madison began, "but honestly, you don't have to.  I don't mind going alone."  Come on, Burke, give me an afternoon to myself, she silently ordered, even as her innocent smile stayed firmly in place.

"But I want to," Christopher insisted, his hands stuck in his jeans pockets.  "You've had these empty bookshelves—" he gestured to the large oak bookcase in her living room—"since the first night I came over here."

"They're not that empty," she argued.

He gave her a look.  "Are you or are you not going book browsing today, as you put it?"

The one guy in L.A. who listens when I talk, and he's been spotted with terrorists.  Fabulous.  "I am, but that doesn't mean you have to go with me."  He opened his mouth to disagree, but she interrupted him.  "After all, how late were you at the lab last night?"

Christopher groaned at the memory.  "I think I left around two-thirty," he admitted.

"See?  You should go home and rest."

"I'd rather be with you.  Besides," he grinned, "who kept me occupied for a good three hours last night when I was supposed to be working?"

Madison blushed.  Her plan to visit him the night before hadn't included . . . well, she knew her handler didn't expect her to stay there three hours.  Then again, wasn't it all part of the master plan to gain intel from this man?  "By whatever means necessary" they had told her when the op was in its planning stages.  "By whatever means necessary" her handler had reminded her the morning before in their quick meeting.

The means certainly were getting interesting, she had to admit.

"Earth to Bookworm.  Hello, earth to Bookworm."  Christopher waved a hand in front of her face.

Madison jumped.  "What did you say?" she asked, trying not to panic.

"Just trying to get your attention, Bookworm."

Oh God.  "Bookworm?" she repeated weakly.

"Yeah.  You know, people who like books are called bookworms sometimes?"  He looked at her worriedly.  "Are you okay?  Maybe you need to sit down."  He led her over to the couch, and she gratefully collapsed onto it, hugging a throw pillow to her chest.

"I—I just felt dizzy for a minute, that's all," she said slowly.  At least she was telling the truth for once; hearing her code name coming from Burke's lips was enough to make her dizzy with fear.

Christopher sat down on the couch beside her and placed his arm around her shoulders.  "Are you feeling any better now?" he asked a few minutes later.

She sighed as she leaned her head against him.  "Much.  In fact, I'd better get going before the shops close.  It's already after two."  She carefully disengaged herself and stood up.

He shook his head at her.  "You really think I'm going to let you drive after that?"  He grabbed the car keys out of her hand.  "Not a chance.  If you want to go out today, I'm driving."  She opened her mouth to protest but stopped at the look on his face.  "No arguments."

"Fine," she muttered.  She grabbed her purse, and the pair walked out the door and down the stairs.

By whatever means necessary.  Hmph.

*****

"Where to next?" Christopher asked her as they got back into the car an hour later.

Wordlessly Madison handed him the list of stores she had written down.

He looked at the sheet of paper and whistled.  "You know, I've lived here most of my life, and I've never even heard of these places.  How do you do it?"

"Ever heard of the Internet?" she said in a short voice, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Maybe a time or two," he teased.  His smile turned into a frown.  "Come on, sweetie, you're not going to stay mad at me all day, are you?"

She gave him a withering look.  "Perhaps."

He leaned his head on the steering wheel for a moment.  "I try to look out for you, and you hate me?"

Great listener and overprotective.  Wonderful.  "I'm not a child, Chris.  It was a random thing, I promise.  Can we move past this already?"

Christopher sighed and put the key in the ignition.

Madison continued to fume as they drove down the street and turned onto the highway.  This was supposed to be an easy op.  Three, four months at most, then back to Bogotá.  When did this get so damn complicated?

She stared out the window as a little voice taunted her.  It got complicated when you stopped thinking with your head and started thinking with your hear—

"Here we are," Christopher said in a cheerful voice.

Madison jerked out of her reverie.  "What?"

He pointed at the sign.  "This is where you wanted to go next, right?"

She gave it a cursory glance.  "Yeah.  Right.  This is fine."

He hesitated.  "Are you sure you're okay?  You just don't seem like yourself today."

Like you would know the real me, she tried not to retort.  Instead, she said sharply, "I'm fine, okay?  Come on.  You wanted to go book browsing, so let's go book browsing."  She quickly stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

Christopher silently followed her into the used bookstore and touched her arm.  "I'm going to be over there," he pointed to the biography section.  "Just let me know when you're done, okay?"

She nodded reluctantly and walked away.

The children's books were, as always, in the back corner of the store, as far away from the cash register as possible.  Madison waited until she was out of sight before leaning against a shelf and closing her eyes.  She was surprised to find herself near tears.  Assuming a new identity was beginning to take its toll on her.  At first it had been easy, or so she had thought.  But now, as the days quickly passed by, more and more of her hours were spent with Burke.  The line separating Grace from Madison was becoming so fine it was practically nonexistent.  And after yesterday . . . she sighed at the memory.

"You have to get into that lab," she had been told that morning at their meet.  "Devlin's getting impatient."

"I know," she had replied, chewing her lip.  "But he didn't even mention Kelley Laboratories until a few days ago.  I couldn't show up there until he told me where he worked," she pointed out.

"Well, now that he's told you, we need you to use this."  He handed her a small camera.  "Take as many pictures as you can.  We'll dead drop it tomorrow before six."  He quickly outlined where she needed to go.  "Your waiter will be one of our newer agents.  This is his first brush pass, and it should go off without a hitch."  He gave her a meaningful glance.  "Just make sure you have something to hand off to him."

Madison nodded and placed the camera in her purse.

"Good luck."

It wasn't until later that night, as she approached Burke's office laden with takeout, that she realized her handler never called her by name.  Before it was always, "Hello, Agent Thompson" or "Good luck, Thompson" or occasionally "Goodbye, Grace."

She pushed open Burke's door promptly at seven o'clock as she continued to mull this over.  Out of all the people involved in this op, the only one who still called her by name was Derevko.  Interesting.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"  Madison opened her eyes and turned to face an employee.

"No, just browsing," she said and hurriedly walked away.  Great, just great.  What else can go wrong?

She began looking through the stacks in earnest, pulling out several books that she knew by sight.  Books that Grace already owned, which were currently stored in her childhood home thousands of miles away.  She sighed.  "So close and yet so far," she muttered to herself as she added two more books to her growing pile.

As the minutes passed, she felt herself calm down.  Surrounded by her favorites, both new and old, she temporarily forgot about Burke and Pyper-Ferguson and Madison Greene.  By the time she finally made her way to the cash register, her arms were overflowing with books.  She gladly set them down, relieved to give her arms a break.

"I take it you found a few books you liked?" Christopher teased.

She turned around and smiled sheepishly.  "Just a few," she teased back as the cashier opened up a second large bag to fill with her purchases.

His eyes widened when they heard the total.  "You bought that many books and only spent that?"  He squeezed her hand.  "I'm impressed."

She giggled.  "You should be."

Their good moods continued as Christopher carried the bags out to the car.  "You know, there's an ice cream parlor down the road.  Why don't we check it out?"

She glanced at the time shown at the bank across the street.  If they left now, they could make it to the restaurant by five . . .  She shook her head.  "Nah, I want more than ice cream.  I've got a better idea.  I know this great restaurant that's about ten minutes from here.  We should go there instead."

He looked at her sharply.  "Have you been holding out on me, Greene?"  He winked at her.  "Sure, that sounds fine to me."  He gallantly opened her door for her, then walked around to the driver's side of the car.

Madison took the brief moment of silence to whisper, "If you only knew, Chris.  If you only knew."

*****

"Here's your beer, sir, and your Cherry Coke, ma'am."  The waiter carefully placed his mug and her glass on the table.  "Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu?"

Madison glanced at her glass, counting the cherries floating on top.  One, two, three . . . good.  It's him.  She nodded imperceptibly at the blonde haired waiter.  "I think we need a few more minutes," she said smoothly.

He nodded and quickly walked away.  "There are so many choices on this menu; I don't know how I'll pick," Christopher commented.

"And they're all great.  Every time I'm here, I try a new dish, and it's always delicious," Madison enthused.  "Plus, the owner is wonderful.  She'll probably be around later to see how our meal was."

Christopher shook his head.  "I don't understand how you find all the good places in Los Angeles, when you've only been here . . . how long?  Three months?"

"Something like that," she agreed quickly, then took a sip of her drink.  "I saw the 'Grand Opening' sign one day when I was driving past here, so I decided to check it out.  And I just keep coming back," she grinned.

"Hmmm," he muttered, focusing once again on the menu.

Madison sat primly on her side of the booth, her hands clasped in her lap, as she studied him.  She had never planned on making the pass with him present, but it seemed that that was the hand she had been dealt.  She shifted in her seat and slowly reached inside her purse for the film.  As her eyes scanned the menu, she quickly deposited the film into her lap.  So far, so good . . .

"Are you ready to order?"  Their waiter looked down at them expectantly.  Madison looked at Christopher and nodded at the question in his eyes.

She quickly ordered, noticing how his eyes never left her face.  She could feel her face growing hot under the scrutiny.  She knew for the sake of the op this was a good thing, but on the other hand . . . this could be bad.  Very, very bad.

Besides, she was still mad at him, she reminded herself.  Although how sad was it that she had to be reminded?  Mentally shrugging, she turned her attention to the man seated across from her.  While he ordered, she nonchalantly opened her napkin, placing it on her lap.

"All right, I'll have that out to you in a little bit."  Their waiter fumbled with his pen.

"Thank you," Madison said sweetly, hitting her hand against the table.  The silverware she had just placed there slid off the table and landed on the floor.  "Oh no!" she exclaimed.

"I've got it," Christopher volunteered, crouching down to pick up a fork.

"I guess I'll need a new set of silverware.  I'm so sorry about this," she apologized to the waiter.  "Here.  You may as well take my napkin too."  Madison handed him the dirty silverware and a bunched up napkin.  His blue eyes flickered with recognition as he accepted the cloth napkin.

"Not a problem," he said and left them alone.

Christopher leaned across the table and grabbed her left hand.  "Well, it's a good thing your parents didn't name you Grace," he said seriously.

The hell???  She blinked and stared at him.  "Huh?" she finally blurted out.

He smirked at her.  No, no, no, this isn't happening . . .  "Well, you've proved tonight you're not very graceful."  He laughed at his own joke.

Madison choked.  "That's not very funny," she finally sputtered.  She gave him what she hoped was a wounded look.  "I'm normally pretty coordinated, you know."  She shrugged.  "Accidents happen."

"Sure," he nodded, unconvinced.  "If you say so."  He watched her as she took several sips of her drink.  "I know you're going to be mad at me, but are you positive you're okay?  Something doesn't seem right."

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically.  "You know, if you're going to be on my case the rest of the night, maybe we should just leave now."

Christopher looked at her, shocked.  "I'm not on your case.  I'm just concerned.  What is wrong with that?"

She took a deep breath, trying her best to count to ten.  She made it to four.  "Look, Chris, I've been on my own for a long time now, and I don't need someone looking over my shoulder and overreacting every time I blink."

He shifted his head and gazed at a painting hanging behind her on the bright red wall.  He loosened his grip on her hand, although he didn't let go.  Finally, he began to speak softly.

"I know you don't need anyone looking over your shoulder," he said.  "It's just that . . ."

"Just that what?" Madison interrupted hotly.

He slowly stared into her eyes.  "The dizziness, the way you've acted disoriented a few times today, how you leaned up against the bookcase in that last shop for so long—"

"You followed me?"

"I could see you from the chair I was sitting in," he corrected, overlooking her interruption.  "Anyway, the way you've been acting today—it worried me.  It still worries me."  Christopher swallowed, and Madison could see his eyes begin to glisten.

"When I was fifteen, my mom started having these dizzy spells.  Not very often at first, but they kept coming back.  Sometimes I would be talking to her and she would just stare off into space, not even realizing I was answering her question."  He stared squarely into her eyes.  "By the time Mom was worried enough to go to the doctor, it was too late."

"Too late?" she echoed, frantically reviewing Burke's file in her mind.  Sonya Burke, Sonya Burke.  All she could remember was that—

"She died six months later.  Brain tumor," he said quietly.

"Oh."  She felt so inadequate, placing her right hand on top of his, trying to will her strength to him.  "I—I didn't know," she said honestly.

"I didn't expect you to," he pointed out.  "We've only known each other for three weeks."  He gave her a half smile and she nodded encouragingly.  "And I know I'm overreacting, but seeing you today . . ." he trailed off.  "I just don't want anything to happen to you," he finally whispered.  "The more I'm with you, the more I want to be with you, and I don't want that ripped away from me," he confessed.  "So if I worry and ask you a million times if you're okay, it's because I care."

She swallowed hard and realized her eyes were misting.  "Hey, I'm not going anywhere," she said softly, inwardly wincing at her lie.  "I love it that you care, honest.  I just sometimes . . . lose my temper, I suppose."  She smiled hesitantly.  "Forgive me?"

He nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.  "Only if you forgive me."

"Deal."

He clasped both of her hands with his own.  "I do believe, Ms. Greene, that we just survived our first fight."

"We did, didn't we?" she grinned.  "Good for us."

And for a moment, she truly meant it.

*****

The couple ate their meals quietly, only looking up occasionally to glance at the other.  As they finished, their eyes met.  Christopher laughed awkwardly.  "You know, I just realized something."

"What's that?" Madison asked in a neutral voice.

"You've seen where I work, and you've even been inside the lab, which isn't exactly sanctioned—"

"I thought you were the boss.  And if the boss wants me in the lab . . ."

Christopher brought his napkin up to his mouth and coughed.

Madison leaned over anxiously.  "Are you okay?"

He waved her hand away.  "I'm fine," he finally said.  "It's just what you said."  He snickered.  "About wanting you in the lab?"

She blushed furiously and looked away.  "I didn't mean that," she whispered.  She finally turned back around when his laughter grew louder.  "Be quiet—people are watching!"

His laughter slowly died down, and her color returned to normal.  "Anyway, as I was saying before—you've been to my lab, but you won't even give me your direct line at work?  Come on, oh graceful one, certainly it wouldn't hurt to give me your number."

Impulsively, she stuck her tongue out at him.  "It's just that the bosses don't like us to make personal calls at the office," she explained.

He made a buzzer noise.  "Wrong answer, dear.  If that was the case we wouldn't have talked on the phone for thirty minutes Thursday."

She sighed, unable to think of a comeback.  In fact, her head was starting to hurt—not that she planned on telling him that.

Christopher leaned back in the booth and smiled.  "Don't worry.  I'll be sure to ask Fiona about the 'no personal calls' policy on Monday."

"What?"  she asked confused.

"Well, since you won't give me your direct number, Fiona and I are becoming great friends," he teased.  "In fact, just the other day she told me that—"

She covered her ears and groaned.  "Whatever it is, I'm sure I don't want to know."

He winked at her.  "No, you don't."

"It's a good thing you were busy in the lab all day yesterday."  Madison tried to change the subject.  "Fiona had the day off."

"Did she call in sick?"

Madison wrinkled her nose.  "No, that was the funny thing.  She just didn't show up.  I called her house around nine-thirty and got the machine.  Then she calls in around three and says that she's had a personal day approved for weeks.  She had me look through her desk, and sure enough, there was a copy of a signed personal leave form."  She absent-mindedly pushed her hair out of her face.  "The weird thing is she didn't even mention it on Thursday.  And no one remembered that she was off, which is really strange."  She shrugged.  "I guess everyone had a massive brain freeze, right?"

"I guess," he said doubtfully.  "It does sound weird though."

Madison looked across the table and realized that she and Burke were thinking the same thing.  Oddly enough, it didn't worry her.  She was too preoccupied with Fiona at the moment to really care.

"She's okay," she said out loud.  "I mean, she just took a day off, left town for a long weekend, right?  No big deal."

"Yeah," he quickly agreed.  "Just a little vacation.  Nothing to worry about."  He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

"And how was everything tonight?"

They both jerked slightly at the interruption, turning to see the owner standing before them.

"Wonderful as always," Madison replied, gripping Christopher's hand.

"We like to hear that," she said woodenly.  "Have a great night."  She journeyed on to the next table, asking the same question.

Madison followed her with her eyes, puzzled.  "That's strange."

"What?"

"She's normally so open and talkative.  Tonight . . . it's like she's a different person or something."  She shrugged.  "Come on, Chris.  We've been sitting too long."

"You know, they might appreciate it if we stayed to pay the bill," he answered in an amused voice.

"Whoops," she grinned sheepishly and relinquished his hand.  "Let's see, you paid at the last restaurant, so it's my turn."  She rummaged through her purse for her wallet.

"But you paid for the takeout last night, so tonight is my treat."

"That was nothing.  That dinner the other night cost a small fortune."

"No, not really.  Give it up, Madison.  I'm buying."

"No, I am."

"Nope."

"Yup."

"Come on . . ."

"Chris, don't make me give you the evil eye . . ."

He laughed and threw his hands up in surrender.  "Okay, okay, okay.  You win.  But only this time," he hastily added.

She beamed at him as she handed the waiter her credit card.  "We'll see about that."

*****

Christopher drummed his fingers on the steering wheel later that night as they meandered through the city.  "At the risk of sounding stupid, can I ask you a question?"

Madison sat up in her seat.  "Sure," she said cautiously.

"Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed being with you today, and even the shopping part wasn't that bad—but if you like kids books so much, why don't you own very many?"

She stared out her window and took a deep breath.  It wasn't a stupid question; in fact, it was a rather intelligent question, the kind a smart man would be expected to ask eventually.  But why did it have to be tonight?

"I used to have a huge collection," she admitted.  "Both of my parents loved to read, and I had so many books at one point that I probably rivaled the library."  She smiled at the memory.  "But I don't have them anymore."

"Why not?" he interrupted.  "I'm sorry," he hastily said.  "I'm not trying to be nosy, honest."

"It's okay," she assured him.  She quietly watched the city pass her by for a few minutes before continuing.  "Three years ago I decided to join the Peace Corps," she lied.  "After my training, I was sent to Paraguay to work for two years.  Since I was out in the middle of nowhere, communication with the outside world was spotty at best.  I could go weeks, months even, without receiving any mail.  In fact, the last letter I got from my dad was two months before I left.  That didn't worry me, though; I just assumed there were more letters stuck somewhere between Maryland and Paraguay.  So at the end of my two years, I flew back home . . . and my aunt met me at the gate."  She swallowed.  "She told me . . . my dad . . ."

He leaned over and patted her leg.  She quickly placed her hand on top of his.  "My mom had died years earlier in a car accident, a drunk driver.  After that, it was just me and my dad.  You know, for years I had been trying to get him to quit smoking," she recalled.  "I kept telling him it would kill him someday."  She laughed humorlessly.  "I just didn't realize he'd take the whole house with him."

Understanding was swift.  "He set the house on fire," he realized.

Madison nodded in the darkness, impressed with her ability to improvise.  "The investigators decided he fell asleep before a cigarette was extinguished properly.  He died from smoke inhalation.  The house burned to the ground."

"And because you were out of the country . . ."

"I was storing all of my stuff at the house," she finished.

"Oh, Madison."  He removed his hand from her knee and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  "How awful for you."

She nodded.  "I lost everything and everyone I had left.  After that, I stayed with my aunt for a few weeks, then I came to California to visit a friend.  Eventually I wound up here."  She wrapped her arms around herself and crossed her fingers so he couldn't see.  "I just couldn't bear to rebuild my collection until now.  So many of these books my dad bought for me . . . and it just makes me miss him even more.  I still can't believe he's gone."  Probably because he's not, she added silently to herself.

He pulled into her apartment complex and put the car in park.  "I'm so sorry," he said sympathetically.  "I shouldn't have said anything."

"You're fine," she said.  "There's no way you could have known."  Especially since I just made most of that up.  She opened her car door and stepped out into the cool night.  "Come on.  We've got lots of books to carry in."

He groaned and pushed the lever to release the trunk.  "You know, I had almost forgotten about them," he muttered as she giggled.

To be honest, so had she.

*****

Madison sat down on her couch the next afternoon and sighed with satisfaction.  After three hours, she was finally done sorting the books she had purchased over the course of the last week.

One shelf had quickly filled, then two.  The shelves were beginning to overflow with picture books, chapter books, Dr. Seuss and Little House on the Prarie, Baby-Sitters Club and Harry Potter.  As she sorted through the books, she wrote her initials in the inside cover of each book, making sure the G was the second letter she wrote, not the first.

She pulled a book off the shelf and double-checked, making sure she had not slipped.  Saw the "MG" staring at her in black ink, sighed, and wedged it once more between two classics in hardcover.  She grabbed another book, one that was published in the last year.  One quick glance and she almost slammed the book closed—until she noticed the smudge.  Staring closely at her initials, she remembered this one from earlier.  Once again the telltale blush appeared on her cheeks, and she was glad no one was watching.

If you could somehow erase the "MG" that had been written and gone over and over and over again in a black felt tip marker, you would see another set of initials, a set that she still denied writing, still refused to think about, still refused to acknowledge what they could mean.

"MB."

tbc