Nancy sat cross-legged, hunched under a peculiar-smelling blanket, on a flat bunk. She had stopped crying finally, and stopped vomiting. She was still trembling. She didn't think she would ever stop.

The room was dim, the shade pulled tight. Outside, impossibly, life went on. People walked by, talking. People even laughed. Nancy supposed they ate dinner, watched movies, made love. She felt like an alien, an outsider, completely separated from all of them.

There was a sharp rap on the door. "Campbell?" a man's voice said.

"Come in," she called back. She unfolded her legs and put her feet on the floor. She kept the blanket, though, hoping it would hide her shaking.

The most ordinary man in the world came in and shut the door behind him.

Observe, observe, observe, Vince had said a hundred times a day. But this man, Nancy knew immediately, she could walk past a hundred times and never see him. Average height, average weight, middle aged, balding. Medium brown hair, brown eyes. Unremarkable features. Twill pants and a button-down shirt. Brown shoes, just a little worn. Normal, average, unremarkable in every way.

His eyes regarded her with dull curiosity. His voice was flat, neutral. "Nancy?"

"Yes."

"I'm Szabo. I'm the station chief." He held his hand out; his handshake was unmemorable. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," Nancy lied. His eyes acknowledged that lie with a bare flicker. He allowed it. "Do we know … do you know yet what happened to Vince?"

"No," Szabo answered. If he was lying, Nancy couldn't identify it with certainty. He pulled a chair over and sat in front of her. "We had planned to debrief you here, but Control wants you back in New York."

Nancy flinched. Of course he did. So he could fire her in person. If she was that lucky. What was the phrase for agents who were no longer valuable? Terminate with extreme prejudice?

"Do you think you can travel?" Szabo continued.

"I … yes." Nancy had no idea. She was trembling so hard she didn't think she could walk. Drive a car, walk through an airport like the world was still normal? The whole idea made her want to vomit again.

Szabo studied her. There was, she knew, far more intelligence behind those eyes than he showed. He knew everything. "I don't know," he said uncertainly.

"I can travel," Nancy said more firmly. "Just tell me what you want to do."

He nodded, unconvinced. "I'll have an agent go with you as far as Berlin. He'll put you on a direct flight to the States. I'd send someone with you all the way, but I just can't spare anybody if you can make it on your own."

"I can." It didn't sound so bad, after all. Get on the plane, pretend to sleep, hide under a blanket. She could do that.

"All right. Romanov will meet you in New York."

Nancy blinked. "Lily?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Control says so."

"Oh."

The man stood and put his chair back by the desk. "You leave in an hour."

Nancy nodded. "Okay," she said. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

The man left the room. Nancy lurched forward, grabbed the trash can, and threw up bile again.

Control glanced up as Simms came in and gestured impatiently to a chair. "Report," he snapped.

Simms sat down across from him. "The sniper's name was Jorge Udovic."

"Was?"

"Shot dead by Prague special unit police."

"Convenient." Control signed the paper, put it in his out basket on the corner of the desk next to Simms, and sat back, his long fingers folded over his chest. "Tell me about the late Mr. Udovic."

"He served five years in the Soviet army," Simms reported. "Trained as a sniper, naturally. Left the army six months ago, came home to Prague to look for work. Hadn't found any." He glanced at the document. Expense report. Nothing unusual.

"Not much call for snipers in the private sector."

Simms nodded. "Yesterday his wife left him. With a Norwegian. He spent the night drinking, and this morning he climbed into a tower and started shooting everyone who didn't look like a native."

Control considered this information. "And the police conveniently killed him before he could be questioned."

"They brought in his priest and his mother. Neither one could talk him down." He glanced at the expense report again. One tank of gas, one dinner. One dinner guest, Romanov.

"And then?"

Simms blinked. Control was expensing dinner with Romanov? Putting it in writing? On the way back from Norris' house, informing the widow, official business, sure, but what the hell? You couldn't expense dinner with your mistress. Even if you were Control. Could you?

"Simms?"

The lieutenant started. "Ahhh … yeah. Udovic said he was going to surrender. Started down the steps, pulled a handgun on the cops waiting for him. He took about ten rounds before he fell."

"I want more," Control said quietly.

Simms glanced at the expense report one more time, then forced his full attention back to his boss. He could not afford to give anything away. Especially when he was so probably wrong. "Szabo doesn't know anything about him off hand, but he's looking into it. We're working a list of all the victims, dead and wounded. So far no obvious relationship between them, but we'll work it to the end."

Control nodded. "Vince was black, pretty obviously a foreigner. But Nancy Campbell's a redhead. Why not her, too?"

"She's a brunette now," Simms answered. "Vince thought the red hair was too easy to spot."

"Yes. Good. When will she be back?"

"Szabo's going to have her escorted to Berlin tonight. She'll be on a plane for New York in the morning."

"Call Romanov with the flight information. I want her to meet her at the airport. We'll debrief here. Though I don't imagine there's much point."

Simms nodded. "Lily went home?"

"Yes."

"How'd she do with the widow?"

Control shrugged. "As well as could be expected. She held together, but she's pretty rattled. At least I think she is. Hard to tell with that one."

"Yeah," Simms agreed. "She keeps her cards pretty close to the vest." Like you do, he added mentally.

"Don't we all, in this business?" Control mused. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "All right. Let me know if anything else turns up. Oh, and keep State up to speed. They'll need to handle getting the body back for us."

"I've already been in touch with them."

"Good. Good." Control stood up stiffly. "I'm going home. You should, too."

Simms shrugged. "I want to follow up on a few things first."

Control looked at him. "Don't get in the habit of sleeping in your office, Simms. Once you start, it's damn hard to stop. Always one more thing you want to wait for."

The younger man turned and glanced significantly at the luxurious couch in the center of Control's office. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"Too late, huh?"

"Yes, sir. Too late."

"This feels wrong," Lily said.

Control paused, supporting his weight on his arms. Though there was undeniable need where their bodies were joined, he was fully prepared to roll away from her. The rapes were long over, but the wounds still sometimes surfaced. "Why, love?"

Lily did not, however, push him away. "It feels like we're celebrating."

"We are celebrating," he answered. "Not that Vince is dead, but that we're still alive."

"Ahhh," she breathed in agreement. She moved against him, and he picked up where they'd left off.

Later, slaked, they lay comfortably tangled in each other's arms. "He was wrong, you know."

"Hmmm?" Lily answered.

"Vince. He thought your greatest strength was your way with men. He was wrong."

"I don't have a way with men?"

"Oh, you do," Control assured her. "You do. But more than that. Much more than that. You keep secrets. No matter how dark, how dangerous – no matter how much it hurts you. You keep your secrets. You kept them so well that he never even knew you had them."

Lily thought about it. "I wonder what he'd think about this secret," she mused, trailing her fingers across her lover's chest.

"Oh, he would take you to the woodshed for this," Control answered. "You and me both."

"You think you're more dangerous to me than Harley Gage was?"

"Harley Gage was never dangerous to you." He stroked her hair lightly. "And he surely didn't expose you to the danger that I do."

"Hmmmm."

"I think I startled young Simms today," Control said. "He got a look at my expense report and about swallowed his tongue."

"Because my name was on it?"

"I think so."

Lily pushed herself up to look at him. "You think he suspects?"

"No." Control shook his head. "I just think the idea that I got to have dinner with you rattled his cage. Has he ever asked you out?"

"No. Yes. No."

Control laughed. "Which is it, darling?"

"When I first started, when he was in the field, he sorta … hinted. Very polite, very vague. And then the Harley episode happened, and I never heard another word about it."

"Ahh. Well, the spark still lingers."

"Worth remembering, I suppose. Just in case I need to wield my mythic powers over him."

"Tease him if you must," Control answered, "but no touching." He laced his fingers behind her neck and brought her face down to kiss her savagely. "You are mine, Lily. I won't share."

"And yet you're upset because I sent the teenage twins home," she teased.

"Well, that's a different matter."

"Uh-huh."

He grinned. "I would not trade you even for teenaged triplets."

"Identical triplets?" she suggested.

"Well, maybe identical triplets …"

"You're a rat." She rolled and pulled him over on her. They kissed intensely, but it was promise rather than prelude; they were both too tired, physically and emotionally, for an encore.

Much later, when they were settled like spoons and on the verge of sleep, Control said softly, "I saw myself in Vince's widow."

"Hmmm?"

"I saw myself," he confessed, his voice still low. "If they came to tell me you were gone … I don't think I could be as … as gracious as she was. I don't think I could hide … and it won't be gentle. There won't be condolences, just reports." He tightened his arms around her. "I don't know how I'd get through it. I can't even stand to think about it."

"Ahh, kedves," Lily murmured, wrapping her arms over his. "Don't, don't. It's only shadows. I'm right here."

"And you," he whispered sadly, "I saw you, too. And it wouldn't be any gentler for you. No one would break it to you softly, you'd just hear through the regular channels. And I don't know how you'll deal with it, either."

Lily shook her head. "Don't worry about me, love."

"Why?"

"Because I don't intend to survive you."

"What?"

"Nothing, kedves." She rolled over and re-settled in his arms. "Go to sleep."

"Lily …"

"Shhh," she murmured. "Sleep, love."

He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to ask questions. But he didn't want the answers. He didn't want to think, or to talk, or to grieve.

In two minutes, he was asleep in his lover's arms.

Nancy Campbell left Customs and walked onto the wider concourse. It was bright and full of people. She felt dull and achy. She'd slept all the way from Berlin, and she was still tired. Sleeping on airplanes didn't count as real sleep.

Grief folded around her like a heavy blanket. She wanted to go back to sleep, preferably forever.

"Hey."

Nancy spun. Lily Romanov was at her elbow. Ah, great, Nancy thought tiredly. Down check right from the gate, let her sneak up on me. "Hey."

"You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," Nancy lied.

"Sure." Lily turned, and instinctively Nancy followed her. "You have luggage?"

"No."

"Good."

Though the older woman was shorter and seemed to move effortlessly, Nancy had to rush to keep up with her. "Lily? Do I still have a job?"

"Do you still want a job?"

"I asked first."

"I don't know."

"That's not very reassuring," Nancy said.

Lily glanced at her. "I'm not here to reassure you."

"Why are you here? They didn't think I could get from the airport to the office on my own?" Nancy bit her tongue. You couldn't get from your dead trainer to a safe house on your own, now could you?

But Lily didn't say that. She didn't say anything. She just kept walking, threading through the maze of disorganized tourists and disgruntled businessmen like she owned the whole airport. Nancy had to trot to keep up with her.

They breezed out the door and into the short-term parking lot. "Lily?" Nancy said, in a more civil tone. "Why are you here?"

The older woman paused at the side of a black Mercedes sedan. "Damned if I know."

Belatedly, Nancy realized that this was Lily's car. Damn, she thought, how many pay grades above me is she? She climbed into the passenger seat, with her backpack cradled on her lap. "This is nice."

"Uh-huh. Got it used from a diplomat. All tricked out." Lily threaded the car out of the lot the same way she's gotten herself out of the concourse, too fast and apparently effortlessly.

"Are we going to the office?"

Lily nodded. "You're debriefing with Simms." She glanced over. "Just tell him what happened, let them get it on paper. Nothing big and formal."

"I don't even know what happened," Nancy answered. She swore inwardly as she heard her voice crack. Damn it, she was not going to cry again. "One minute we were talking about lunch and the next he … he …" She stopped and took a long, shaky breath. "Do you know who shot him?"

"We think so."

"Who?" Nancy demanded.

"I can't tell you yet. I don't want to color your narrative."

"What?"

"We want your story, as you remember it. Not as you've amended it to fit the new facts. Debrief first, and then I'll tell you what I know."

Nancy glared out the window for a long time. It made sense. Of course it made sense. But she hated it. "Was it my fault?" she finally asked.

"No."

Romanov seemed very certain of that. But Nancy didn't believe her, not entirely.

"I want to see Irena," she announced. "I want to go to the funeral."

"Hell no," Lily said.

"But you said it wasn't my fault …"

"That's not the point."

"He was my partner," Nancy insisted. "I have the right to …"

"No, you don't," Lily said, just as firmly. "He was your partner. Not your husband, not your father. You don't have any right to anything, where Vince is concerned. Understand?"

"He was my friend. I'm going to the funeral."

"No."

"You can't …"

"Stop," Lily snapped. "Before you tell me what I can't do, sweetie, you better ask somebody. You are not going to Vince Norris' funeral."

Bitch, Nancy thought viciously, I'll go if I want to, you can't stop me.

Maybe you can, she allowed, after a moment. Damn, maybe I won't even survive this 'nothing big and formal' debriefing. Ah, God, Vince, I wish you were here to tell me how much trouble I'm in.

Lily's tone softened. "Vince's family has no idea what he really did for a living. Irena knows, but not his children, not his sister and brothers, not his mother. Not his neighbors or his friends or the people he sang in the church choir with. Nobody knew. And nobody can know. It'll only hurt them if it comes out. Especially the children."

"I won't tell anybody," Nancy protested. "You know I won't …"

"No, I don't know," Lily answered quietly. "And I'm not going to take the chance with his family."

"What, you think I'm going to have some big breakdown and start screaming that Vince was a spy?"

"Well," she said, without bite, "it's not like we've never known you to break down before."

"You bitch," Nancy said out loud this time. "You just said what happened in Prague wasn't my fault, and now you're saying I can't go to my friend's funeral because of it."

She half expected the older agent to pull the car over and shoot her right there. Instead, Lily didn't even seem angry. She just seemed very cool. "What happened to Vince wasn't your fault. What you did as a result was."

"I had his fucking brains all over my shirt!"

"And you went to fucking pieces," Lily answered. "You can't go to the funeral."

Nancy took a deep breath and tried to sound calm. "I won't go to pieces. I promise."

"No," the other woman answered. There was no room for negotiation in her tone. But she added, "None of us ever go to funerals if there's family. Ever."

The rookie opened her mouth, then closed it again. She hadn't known that. She'd jumped to the conclusion that she was being singled out because she'd frozen up in Prague. When she thought about it, the policy made a cold kind of sense. She wanted so much to see Vince one more time, to tell him she was sorry, to tell Irena she was sorry …

… and Irena would ask questions, and she would be kind, and Nancy would cry and want to tell her everything …

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Lily half-shrugged and drove in silence.

"Why are you here?" Nancy asked again.

"I'm supposed to take over your training."

"What?"

"Control – and Simms – want me to decide if you can make it as a courier. If you're solid enough to go back into the field."

Nancy groaned aloud. "Aw, man."

"Yeah," Lily agreed. "It might be better if you didn't call me 'bitch' again."

"Damn," Nancy breathed. It wasn't just that she'd called her a bitch; she had the feeling

Romanov had heard that before. It was that she had completely misjudged the situation. She had never considered that Romanov, a senior agent, might have her future in her hands. Failure to properly assess the situation. Another down check. "Damn."

"So we're back to, do you still want the job?" Lily said.

"Of course I …"

"No. Not 'of course' anything. We need to get through this briefing, and then you need to think about it, long and hard. Take your time. Meet with the Company shrink. Don't answer until you're really sure. This is the rest of your life we're talking about."

Nancy nodded slowly. "If I want it … you get to decide if I can have it?"

"I get to recommend."

"And I'm sure Control listens to all your recommendations."

Lily glanced at her again. "Sure. When they fit what he wants to do anyhow."

"He must think I'm a complete idiot."

"He thinks you might be salvageable."

"He does?" The idea surprised Nancy, and made her feel warm for the first time in days.

Lily nodded thoughtfully.

"And … what do you think?"

"I think I'm completely unqualified to train anyone," Lily answered. "And I've said so, loudly and repeatedly. Which has gotten me exactly no where. So here's the plan. We're going to go meet with Simms. And then we're going to take my training budget and hang out. Whatever you want to do."

"And figure out if I can still do the job?"

Lily shrugged. "We'll leave that until the last day."

Nancy looked at her. "Just like that? Just …screw off for three weeks?"

"Yep."

"Can we do that?"

"I have my assignment," Lily said easily, "and you have yours. We'll do anything we can get away with. It's the Company way."