Chapter Text
Epilogue
The Dayton Peace Talks began officially on November 1st, and an agreement was reached before Thanksgiving. In December, Control traveled to Paris to watch the formal signing. Like most of the other intelligence officials of the Western world, Control doubted the agreement was worth the paper it was printed on. But they had done the best they could.
He flew home on Friday, checked in at the office, and then drove out of the city to a cabin in the woods where his lover waited.
The tire tracks in the drive were half-filled with fresh snow. Lily’s car was out of sight in the tiny garage Control had had built during the summer. He parked his own car in front of it and tramped through the yard. Lights glowed at the windows, opaque through curtains that had no gaps. He let himself in the front door and simply stood, letting the warmth soak into him. There was a freshly-fed fire burning on the hearth and a three-foot Christmas tree glowing in the corner. The cabin was filled with the scent of roasting chicken.
It was home. As much home as he would ever have.
"You’re late," Lily called from the kitchen.
"Traffic," he answered. He slipped gloves off and then his shoes. "Need help?"
"No. Get warm. Pour drinks."
"I love a woman who gives clear instructions." Control went around the couch and stood in front of the fire, warming his hands and feet. Lily came from the kitchen and slid into his arms. She was casual, comfortable – jeans, leather slippers, pale fisherman’s knit sweater. Fresh-scrubbed. Beautiful. Control kissed her thoroughly.
"Where’s my drink?" she asked when they broke.
"Sorry. I was still getting warm." He slid his hands up her back beneath her sweater, and was unsurprised to find her skin bare. "How long until dinner?"
"Half an hour. The chicken’s out and resting."
"Perfect," he purred, claiming her lips again.
She pulled gently away from him. "I have something for you."
"I already had everything I wanted."
Lily laughed and went back into the kitchen. Control looked after her anxiously. Her laugh had seemed a little nervous; her whole manner was just a little stiff. Off.
Sometimes when they’d been apart it took a while for their moods to synch. Maybe that was all it was.
It was foolish to let his fears flare over a tone of voice. She would never leave him.
She came back with a gold foil gift box, rectangular, about six inches long and four inches high and wide. "I still have more than a week until Christmas," Control protested. "I haven’t shopped at all yet."
Lily shook her head. "It’s not a Christmas gift. It’s a …" She actually blushed, which made him even more uneasy. "Just open it."
He didn’t want to open it. If whatever was in the box made her so flustered, so unsure of herself, he didn’t want it. "Lily …"
"You’ll like it. I think."
Vaguely reassured, he took the lid off the box.
Inside, nestled in pale gold tissue, was an elegant stone sculpture of a hippopotamus.
Control lifted it carefully out of the box. Beneath the statue was a strip of three condoms, distinctive in their red Trojan wrappers. He frowned at them for an instant. Then his attention was drawn back to the little hippo.
She was no ordinary hippo, of course. She was standing up on her back legs, like a human. She had an ornate Egyptian collar around her neck, a crown on her head. And a vastly pregnant belly. "Thoueris," he said. "Egyptian goddess of fertility."
"And protector of pregnant women," Lily added. Her voice quavered, just a little, and she took a deep breath. "I want to have your child."
It was, for emotional impact, exactly like being shot in the back. Or being hit with a hammer between the eyes. Or being sapped from behind. Or …
It had been right here, in front of this fireplace, years before, that he had first suggested they have a child together – some day. Lily had been drunk and sick and heartbroken at the time. Some day, he’d said, and she’d agreed. And in all the years between, she’d avoided the topic.
Some day, today. And she was watching him, waiting, with wide frightened eyes. As if he would refuse her. As if he could refuse her anything.
As if he’d even want to.
He should say something. She was waiting. He couldn’t come up with anything at all. He was Control, damn it, and he was never speechless. Never, except right now, when it mattered the most.
"Wh…" He paused, fighting for control. "Why are there condoms?" It was the stupidest question in the world, but the only one he could get out.
"Ahhh … because I’m probably fertile right now."
He studied her for a moment. "You want to have a child. You’re probably fertile right now. So … why are there condoms in this box?"
Lily laughed gently. "Because I haven’t heard yet if you want to have a child."
"I told you years ago …"
"No." She leaned up and kissed his lips gently. "Offers made in extremis, while one of us was puking drunk, are not binding. I want you to think about this. Really think about it."
Control rolled the notion around in his head for an instant. But he’d thought about it before, many times. Nothing had changed. "All right."
She fluttered again, her hands fussing in a way that was completely unlike her. "I mean really think about it. About whether it’s what you really want, not just what I want."
"Lily…"
"Because this is really a big change, and it’s going to be with us for the rest of our lives, and you need to…"
"Lily," he said firmly, "stop."
She bit her bottom lip, finally silent.
Control put the gift box on the mantle. Then he put the little statue in her hand. "Hold this," he said. "No, both hands. Got it?"
"Andrew, I …"
He leaned over and moved, straightened up with Lily draped over his shoulder. "This won’t take long," he promised. He marched down the hall into the bedroom and dropped her on the bed.
They tucked the little hippo between the pillows, and they made love with swift, satisfying familiarity, made fresh by the new possibility that hung between them.
When they were settled, warm and content in each other’s arms, Control said quietly, "I told you so."
Lily purred in reply. "God, I have missed you."
"You, too." They had not made love since before he’d been shot, before Halloween. "I guess the shoulder’s healed up."
"Apparently."
"So?"
"So what?"
"So did it work?" he teased gently. "Or shall we try again?"
Unexpectedly, Lily shivered. He tightened his arms around her. "What is it?"
"Nothing." She buried her face against his shoulder, clinging for comfort.
Control held her, stroked her hair and her back until she began to relax. "Lily," he said gently, "it’s okay if you’re having second thoughts."
"It’s not that." She took a long breath. "It’s just … I’m a little afraid to think about it. About actually being pregnant. I’m afraid to let myself want it." She paused again. "I’m afraid I’ll lose it again."
"My poor girl." He kissed her forehead, her hair. "You didn’t used to be afraid of anything."
"I didn’t used to have anything to lose."
He rolled onto his back, drew her head down on his chest. "The baby we lost before. You had botulism. That’s not something that’s likely to happen again."
"I know."
“Maybe it would reassure you to talk to a doctor."
"I already did."
"Oh."
She lifted her head. "It’s me, remember? Miss Over-prepared for Every Contingency?"
"Ah, yes. How could I forget? Who did you see?"
"An OB/GYN in Dayton. She was very nice. She thinks I’m rather old to be having a first baby."
"Ah, lovely. I wonder what she’d have to say about me?"
"That the offspring of older fathers tend to be highly intelligent."
"How nice."
"I quit smoking before Halloween, and other than that and being old I don’t have any major risk factors. She does not anticipate any problems."
"And do you find that reassuring?"
Lily sighed. "My head does. My heart … isn't so sure."
"And yet here we are."
"I would not dare with anyone but you." She settled against his chest again.
Control nodded to himself. He would have not dared with anyone but her, either. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask," she hedged.
"Why now? I’m not complaining, far from it, but I’m curious."
She thought about it for a long moment. Then she rolled onto her back beside him. "A lot of things, I guess, all at once. The way Alex McCall smells."
"And stays up all night."
"I’ve stayed up all night before." Lily sighed. "And Aamir."
"Hmmm?"
"The first time I met him, he was starving. I gave him an apple. And he said he’d share it with his sister. This little hungry boy, and the first thing he thought …" She stopped. "And Pablo."
Control rolled quickly towards her, up on one elbow. "What?"
"Pablo," Lily repeated. She stroked his cheek. "Don’t frown at me. I’m not crazy. He needed to die; it’s not that."
"Then what is it?"
"His mother was dead," Lily explained slowly. "And his father was this paramilitary bottom-sucker. The only way that little boy could survive was to fit in with them. To be as cruel and stupid as they were, so they wouldn’t turn on him. He didn’t have any choice."
Control growled softly. "I should have killed him the first time."
"He wasn’t a killer then. He was just a child."
But since then, Control had learned from his sources, little Pablo had made quite a name for himself. He was everything his father and Santoro could have wanted him to be – drug runner, torturer, rapist, murderer. A well-rounded thug.
Jason Masur’s good friend from Bosnia, Pavle Racz, had gone to Central America on vacation just ten days before young Pablo put a gun to Control’s head. But they couldn’t prove the connection. Yet.
"And nobody took care of him," Lily continued. "Nobody ever gave him a safe place to live, to grow up. So he could never be anything but what he’d seen. He never had any choice about his life."
Control shook his head. "I’m still not following."
Lily regarded him seriously. "I came from the same place. From poverty, from brutal, stupid people. And I could have been just like them. But I got lucky. I found Mrs. Nabakowski. So I got to grow up and be what I wanted to be. I got to make my own choices. Just like she did." She ran her fingers up into his hair softly. "And it would be damn stupid to not choose the things I really want because I’m afraid."
He closed his eyes. The voice whispered again. Go. Just go. It was louder this time, more insistent. Just go.
"And mostly," Lily went on, "mostly there was you."
"Me?" Control opened his eyes and gazed at her again.
"For a couple hours, after you got shot, I was sure you were dead."
"I’m sorry."
"And I kept thinking, I had the chance, I had a way to keep part of you with me, and I didn’t do it because I was afraid." Her voice cracked and she paused, swallowed. "And that was so damn stupid, and I regretted it so much, to lose you completely because I couldn’t …"
He pulled her into his arms again. "I’m right here, Lily. I’m right here."
In time, the tears and the shivering slowed, then stopped. "God," Lily muttered, "I need a cigarette."
Control chuckled. "No you don’t, love. C’mere."
She kissed him deeply, and he tasted the salt tears on her lips. "Your dinner’s getting cold," Lily murmured.
"I don’t care."
They rolled and he covered her with his body, intent on giving her comfort and pleasure at once, and perhaps a child in the process. No regrets, he thought. No fear.
The voice in his head said, Go.
The End