Radclyffe: Above All, Honor

"I dont want this assignment."

"You dont have a choice."

"With all due respect,sir , Iam a senior agent, and I should have some say regarding my assignments."

He studied her silently. She was thinner than the last time he had seen her, and there was a new hardness in her dark eyes. She stared at him in thinly disguised challenge, the anger simmering very near the surface. The folder on his desk held her service record. It was flawless, exemplary in every way. It told the crucial facts, and none of the story. No one had ever known the whole story, and now they never would. Because she wasnt talking, and no one really wanted her to. What everyone wanted was to get on with business as usual, and it was his job to see that that happened.

"Youve been selected by the Security committee. They think youre the best one to head up the detail. Their decision is not negotiable."

"Its a goddamned baby-sitting assignment. Any rookie could do it," she seethed through clenched teeth. She was skirting the edge of insubordination. She knew it, and she didnt care. There wasnt a thing anyone could do to her that could hurt her any longer. Except maybe bury her in a bullshit detail like this. She needed a field assignment -- something that would consume her energy; something that would exhaust her mind; something that would obliterate her memories.

"Is it the injury? Do they think Im not fit for active duty?" she demanded.

"Are you?"

"Absolutely. Ive been released from rehab, and Im done with the mandatory psych eval."

"Good. Im glad to hear it. You start tomorrow. I suggest you review the available reports from the current commander before you leave for New York."

"Damn it, Stewart! You know I dont deserve this!"

"This has nothing to do with you, Agent Roberts. That will be all."

Assistant Director Stewart Carlisle watched the tall, trim agent as she turned away, stiff with rage. He had no doubt she would give her best; she always did. What he wondered was where she would put her anger.

**********

"Booth seven is free," the firearms supervisor informed her.

She nodded, grabbing a pair of protective earmufflers as she walked through the small office to the long corridor that opened into the individual firing stations. She wore a gray tee-shirt and navy sweatpants from her two-hour workout at the gym, and the back of her shirt was still wet with sweat. The small bag she carried held her service automatic and ammunition. She looked neither right nor left as she strode rapidly toward the narrow glass enclosure.

There was a row of buttons that allowed her to set the target type and distance. She began with a medium range standard human form and fired off a clip at an easy pace, alternating between clusters in the mid-torso and head. As she rhythmically squeezed the trigger her mind slowly emptied of emotion, until all she felt was the recoil of her weapon and the measured beating of her heart. When she was no longer aware of her anger over an assignment that she perceived as an undeserved demotion, she moved the target fifty feet further away. Accuracy demanded even greater concentration, and as she began to fire in faster, tighter bursts the ever present vestiges of longing and loss began to fade. By the time she had moved the smallest target to its farthest distance, she felt absolutely nothing.

**********

Fresh from the shower, she walked naked across the carpeted living room to the bar. The apartment was on the twenty-first floor, and the floor to ceiling windows were uncovered, exposing the night skyline of Washington, D.C. The view was breathtaking. She poured an inch of single malt scotch into a heavy crystal rock glass and leaned against the bar, staring at the city lights mingling with the stars. There had been a time when this vision had moved her with its piercing beauty. There had been many nights when she had allowed the tensions of the day to drift away into that great expanse of flickering light, feeling the world settle back into some kind of order. It was often the last thing she saw before she slipped into bed, but then she hadnt been alone.

She reached for the gray silk robe from the back of a chair as a knock sounded at the door. She had a flight to New York in five hours, and a meeting with her new team at eight a.m. She still needed to review the dossier that had been delivered by courier that evening. She didnt have much time, and she knew she wouldnt sleep.

She glanced at the clock as she crossed to the door. It was one a.m. Her visitor was punctual; she always was. She opened the door to admit a woman in her mid-thirties, casually dressed in a beige linen suit, a silk shirt open to expose the swell of her breasts, and low-heeled soft tan boots. The woman greeted her with a familiar smile, brushing her blond hair back with a long elegant hand.

"Hi."

"Hello. Can I get you something to drink?"

"That depends," the blond replied as she slipped her jacket off and laid it carefully across the back of a couch that faced the windows. "Are you in the mood for talking tonight?"

"I dont have much time."

"Then Ill have that drink another time," her guest replied softly. "Sit down in front of the windows."

The woman in grey dimmed the lights as she moved around to the sofa as directed. The room was in near darkness except for the shadows etched in the moonlight. She sipped her scotch and watched the stars revolve around her. She had been here before, but not quite like this. She was barely aware of the gentle tug that loosened the belt at her waist, or the soft parting of the silk that covered her. At the first light touch of fingers against her skin, she shivered involuntarily. Eventually the strokes along her taut abdomen and up the insides of her thighs became firmer, more insistent, demanding her attention. She arched toward the woman kneeling before her in the dark, tightening almost painfully as warm lips encircled her. Slow practiced caresses of a velvet smooth tongue swept the images from her consciousness, eclipsing thought with near painful pleasure. A groan escaped her as she dropped her head back against the couch, allowing the slowly building pressure to take her outside herself, beyond thought, past memory. The pounding of her heart grew loud in her ears as her breath came in short gasps, almost sobs. She struggled to contain the exquisite, piercing throbbing in her clit, and failed. When the explosion began, ripping at her control, she slipped one hand into the soft blond hair, moaning deep in her throat. Trembling, helpless, for a few moments she was mercifully unaware.

**********

She walked the blonde to the door, handing her a sealed envelope that rested on the table just inside the foyer.

"Ill be away for a while. I dont know how long."

"Will I see you again?"

"I dont know."

The blonde studied the tall dark-haired stranger she had met countless times in the dark hours of the night - in this room, in elegant hotel suites - in rooms that might be anywhere, or nowhere at all. She knew virtually nothing of the other woman's life, except what she gleaned from the confessions of her body. She knew the hard, lean muscles and the angry red scar on her thigh. She knew the soft, sensitive places that left her gasping when touched. She wondered whose name she called when she came into the silence. She had never tried to find out, and she did not want to know now. Strangely, it was something else she wanted altogether. She wanted to leave something of herself.

Breaking every rule, the blonde said softly, "My name is Claire."

"Claire," the dark-eyed stranger whispered, the expression in her intense gaze unfathomable. She kissed her for the first time, a brief tender meeting of lips that spoke a greeting, or perhaps a good-bye. Then, breaking every rule, she said, "My name is Cameron."