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It felt so good. The bedroom was warm and calm. The only light brought in by the moon. Catherine's heart raced as Jackson's breath travelled on her neck, his lips tracing a path down her throat. The softness of her bed beneath them, and his satin sheets caressing her back and legs, made her skin break out in goosebumps.
His hands roamed her body. She moaned, her fingers tangled in his hair, bringing him back to her mouth while his hand found the sweet spot between her legs. His thumb circled her clit with a level of skill almost too good to be true, while his fingers stretched her in time with his tongue's invasion of her mouth. His hands caressed her breasts. Her body arched against his, craving him, craving more.
"Jackson," she breathed against his lips, her voice a mix of plea and command. "I need you now."
"Not yet," he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. "I want to hear you beg."
She huffed, exasperated. "You're such an arrogant bastard."
"And you love it," he replied, his voice a low growl as he increased the pressure on her clit, sending waves of pleasure through her body.
A distant ring echoed through the room. She ignored it. Her whole focus on Jackson and what his hands were doing to her. She moved her own down to take off his pants. But she found that he must have been busy, probably while she was too distracted, and had already taken care of them. Perfect. She touched his erection, and he groaned. Two could play that game.
She licked her other hand, her eyes locked on his, while he watched in awe. She wrapped her hand around him, pumping him slowly, hard, the way she knew it drove him insane. He moaned, a sound of pure pleasure that vibrated through her. Another ring, more insistent this time, but she tuned it out and lost herself in the rhythm.
She looked into his eyes and pulled at his neck to kiss him while she continued with her motions. But he was not going to give up so easily. He brought his hand back to her, his fingers rubbing her at a frantic pace. Mhhh. It was intoxicating. She felt her hand faltering. "Please, more". She whispered, her voice hoarse with need, "Please faster. Please, Jackson, more. I am almost there, just a little more– "
RING!
Catherine jerked awake and opened her eyes. Not again. The light of the morning was already entering her bedroom, blinding her. Why?
The phone that sat on her bedside table was ringing. She stretched with difficulty, failing to stifle a yawn and rolled to pick up the phone.
"Hello", she answered, her voice sounding rough and sleepy, maybe a teensy bit frustrated, but who could blame her? This was the fifth night in a row that she had dreamed of him and woke up more restless than before she had gone to bed.
"Morning, stranger", and there he was. The object of her affections and source of her frustrations.
"Morning, how is the weather in Berlin this morning?" she replied nonchalantly. Confirming who was on the other end and whether they were speaking of their own free will was a must. After all, a touch of paranoia was an asset in this business, not something to frown upon.
"Dreadful. Two days of freezing rain. My balls are considering early retirement." She snorted, couldn't help it, he really was incorrigible.
While he was talking, she heard the radio turn on at his end. Music, top forty. They had agreed that he would do that before he left. A sign for her and an inconvenience for anybody trying to eavesdrop. "Pretty Woman" was starting to play. Since that movie had come out back in March, the song was everywhere. If you had asked her only yesterday, she would not have believed that she would ever hear it without feeling a deep sense of dread.
But she was ecstatic to be speaking with Jackson. He had not been able to call at all last week, and she could barely remember the last time they had seen each other, sometime before the summer.
Seriously, why had Charles put the Berlin office in lockdown? It made no sense. The wall had fallen. Shouldn't it be easier, instead of more complicated, to get things done?
Not everything was bad news, though. She had overheard Charles' call with Jackson last Wednesday, - purely by chance, naturally,- and found out that all current staff would be getting replacements any minute now, giving them a paltry week at home after seven months by the wall.
"So, any news on the western front?" – she smiled, waiting impatiently for him to announce that he was coming home.
"Nothing fucking much. Same people pulling the same business tricks. I do happen to be desperately missing a clever girl that I met a while back, beautiful tiny thing, capable of turning any conversation into a minefield." He replied, flirty. She could almost see him holding back a smirk.
"That is unfortunate. Should I hang up so you can go find her?" she said, leaning on the headboard and playing with her hair.
"Just stay, I suppose I will have to make do. How is your week? He purred, infuriatingly smug.
"Christmas party is this Friday, so you can imagine the atmosphere, equal parts dread, enthusiasm, and the unspoken agreement of never mentioning it again after is done. All highlighted by spending my days calling caterers and decorators while translating telexes from the field."
"The boss really has you doing all the fun things" Not quite the reassurance she had hoped for. He wasn't going to tell her on his own, it seemed.
"I heard some gossip about the Berlin subsidiary getting leave. Are you coming home? I might even make a little room in my schedule just for you," She said, holding her knees and biting her lip.
"Little truth to the rumour, I am afraid. Don't start preparing my homecoming yet. We have some contracts that cannot be left unattended."
Her face fell. She knew. He was lying. Not only because she had snooped on his conversation with Charles, but because he had tells. Oh, he would pride himself on not possessing them, but it certainly was not true. He was nicer when he lied, smoother, his voice a bit softer. Not enough to be picked up by the casual observer, but more than enough for her.
Had she got it wrong? She thought that he liked her, but maybe she was just a distraction. Someone to call when he got bored and weary. They hadn't really seen each other in ages, and he certainly was not jumping at the opportunity. He had also insisted that they stayed a secret, for her own safety, he claimed. But maybe it was not that, maybe he was ashamed of her.
After all, she is still known as the party girl of the service. A reputation she had secured a couple of years back, when she had been drinking a little too much and had taken half of the service into her bed. He had told her, more than once, that it did not matter who came first but who was last. But maybe he was just humouring her. Enjoying his time with her, no strings attached, and now he hid in Berlin, too worn to let her go, too much of a coward to be honest.
She must have remained silent too long, too engrossed in her contemplation, the tears now freely running down her cheeks. She really hoped that her voice betrayed nothing. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had broken her.
"I need to go, have to take Charles' suit to his house before running to the office. See you... or not." She deadpanned.
"Cath–"
"Arschkrampe", she muttered and hung up before he had time to say anything else. She had been burnt before. She really should not have tried to have a relationship. It never went well. Especially not with an agent. All the girls had warned her. At least before she started discarding them like tissues anyway. Most of the girls did not like her these days.
Nevermind that, she snorted sadly, unbeknownst to them, she had spent over a year sober, devoted to an idiot who couldn't care less.
She got out from under the sheets and immediately noticed the cold. It might be snowing outside. Just a few flurries probably. London rarely got more. She realised her eyes were red, and her chest felt like a bulldozer had run over her. True heartbreak then. But she could not do this now. She had a lot to accomplish today. So she headed to the shower, vowing to leave Berlin, and everything in there, stay far away from her.
Forty-eight hours, three showers, and a heroic amount of properly brewed tea later, she had almost recovered her dignity. Or at least something resembling it. Which explained why she was now at the Christmas party, the annual proof that poor decisions also came in seasonal flavours.
There she was holding her hand against her head. Fighting the upcoming headache. Over the last ten minutes, it had become clear to her that if the next song was another heartfelt ballad, it would be confirmed that the service had hired the worst DJ in history.
And there we go. "Unchained Melody". She sensed her eyes rolling of their own accord. There was not enough vodka in the building to keep the bad taste out of her mouth. Not so long ago, she might have tried. But tolerance wasn't her strong suit anymore, at her boyfriend's request. If you could call him her boyfriend. Was he her ex-boyfriend now? The way things were, she felt more like she was her ex-dirty little secret. Not that it mattered. No point in thinking about the arschloch hiding in Berlin. Again. She had done enough of that for the last two days.
She was such an idiot. Why did she do this to herself? There were thousands. Erase that, tens of thousands of men in London who would love to spend the evening with her. Surely she could find one smart enough to keep up, funny enough to make her laugh, and talented enough to make her come. Instead of that, she had chosen to shackle herself to an emotionally challenged arsehole that could not be bothered to acknowledge they were a couple in public or to even grace her with occasional appearances.
It had been months since she'd last seen him, and the notion gnawed at her. She had cancelled her holiday plans, convinced that they would steal a few days together, but that had clearly been wishful thinking. No Christmas. No kisses. No Jackson. Just her, and the creeping suspicion she had made a fool of herself.
She exhaled slowly, only then realising that she had been holding her breath. She was miserable. Most definitely. Leaning against a column, nursing a White Russian. Dressed in a fairly plain black midi dress on a sea of green and red, and behaving like this was her funeral instead of a soiree. The proper image of a wallflower at her own wake. And wasn't that ironic in itself?
Behind her, out of view, was perfect Rebecca Jones prattling about her two perfect kids and husband to everybody and sundry. Stopping only to gossip loudly about Catherine's imaginary romantic escapades. Catherine took another sip and decided, not for the first time, that murder would probably improve her mood today.
She sighed. Laughing seemed preferable to crying, and crying promised an apocalypse she wasn't ready for. She had been stuck in this purgatory for three hours now, staring at the clicks rather than thinking. It wasn't productive, exactly, but it might just keep her from disintegrating in public, which, with all the vultures around her, was not an option at all.
Out on the floor, all the happy couples danced and laughed as if they had never seen disco lights before. Occasionally, not-so-single coworkers slipped into the east wing side rooms. Either for a breather, a secret rendezvous, or scandalous mischief. The possibilities were endless, and entirely too entertaining.
By the balcony door, Taverner, recently returned from Czechoslovakia, was very popular tonight. She had already gone on three discreet excursions and seemed most intent on adding the head of the Prague office to her stint as a tour guide. If she could get past Tearney, that is, who was clutching onto his arm for dear life.
Meanwhile, the Dogs kept guard by the bar. Loud enough to raise the dead and not an ounce of refinement amongst them. Bad Sam was their ringleader. Leaning against the bar, sharing anecdotes about who knows what. If she had to take a guess, probably about past conquests if the cheering and obscene gestures were anything to go by.
The Weasels stood by the DJ booth, yelling bets on everything and nothing, subtlety, clearly not their strong suit, she could hear every word half a room away. "Side room bets!" someone yelled. "Solo! Couple! Three-way!" The note-taker scrambled to keep up, fixing odds and names.
And at the buffet, Charles Partner and David Cartwright held court with all the bootlickers and other suits. The conversation looked serious enough, but Catherine could tell that Charles was getting bored. Bless him. He kept surreptitiously scanning for a way out of McLaggan's soliloquy. She might as well be a good PA and rescue the poor man.
She rose from the chair, drink still in hand. No need to suffer through whatever dull conversation awaited her without any liquid encouragement. As she was moving through the couples on the dance floor, she bumped into Rebecca Jones- accidentally, of course- who was clearly less stable in her heels than she would have liked herself to be. Because in turn, she crashed into Richard Bow, taking both secretary and agent to the floor and earning a cheer from one of the Weasels, presumably the lucky winner of the bet.
Oh well, sorry not sorry, at least someone will go home happy today. As she kept moving, she caught the end of Tearney and Taverner's quiet feud. Tearney moving away with Campbell in tow, waving Diana's dismissal as if it were an amusing inconvenience, which, knowing them, it probably was.
She finally reached Charles' group and made her interruption in the most professional and appropriate way possible.
"Mr Partner, I am really sorry about the timing, but an urgent matter has been brought to my attention. May I steal you for a second?" She said a meek smile and her most sorry face in place. Charles' eyes twinkled, clocking immediately on her lie.
Cartwright huffed and looked envious, while the rest of the sycophants failed to catch on. Most of them too busy looking at her legs to register her words. Charles took hold of her arm and led her to the farthest corner, next to the emergency exit. Most definitely away from any possible snoop.
"What would I do without you, Moneypenny?" She smiled, he was way too kind to her.
"For starters, suffer through unending monologues." He chuckled, a proud fatherly look on his face.
"How are you faring tonight, my dear. I have been worried about you. You haven't been yourself for months now. But the last few days..." he pointed at her general demeanour and dress..." well do I need to go on?" No, he did not. She had not been the most inconspicuous, she would give him that.
"I will be better," she said, a sad smile on her face while she examined the tips of her shoes. "It will get better."
"That boyfriend of yours... is he giving you trouble? Should I send someone to set him straight?" She looked surprised "Catherine, I'm first desk at MI5, I know a thing or two about spotting secrets and ulterior motives."
She nodded and huffed. "I think we are done, he...well, it does not matter anymore". Not only did she not want to talk about it, but, really, as nice as Charles was, he was still their boss. She also had not really talked to Jackson, so it would be unfair to badmouth him around, no matter what he may or may not have done.
"What an idiot." Charles looked at her with a sad, knowing smile. "If I were twenty years younger and not your boss, I would have taken you for myself." She laughed, aware that he was not actually serious, only trying to make her feel better. Before she could reply, his pager went off.
"Berlin," he told her as his face took on a serious frown while looking at the number. "I have to take this, things have been more complicated than usual the past few days. Some of our assets appear to have gone rogue."
"I believed that things had calmed down. Are our agents safe?" She asked casually, maybe too casually to be convincing.
"You truly are a kind soul", he said, patting her shoulder. "To the best of my knowledge, all alive and accounted for."
He left her alone with her thoughts. She closed her eyes. Great, just great. She had really outdone herself this time. What if she had got it all wrong and he hadn't lied after all?
Had Jackson noticed? Of course he had, he was an agent. A good one at that. And here she was, blowing everything up for no reason at all. Was he angry? Annoyed? Or just done with her, which is why he had not called her again.
She had known what she was signing up for when she agreed to date him. And yet...Damn, enough...she needed a smoke.
She moved through the dance floor in direction to the balcony. There should be someone there that she could get one from. On her way, she passed by the dogs who turned their heads and whistled. Funny, really, how accurately they had been named. Honestly, what a bunch of wankers.
At the very end of the line sat the youngest, something Duffy, and God did she hate how he was looking at her. He really had no business doing so, not only was it inappropriate, but the kid was not able to grow a beard, much less know what to do with her.
He must be daft or in his cups though, because he put his hand out like he intended to touch her arse. And she was supposed to just let that happen? Ha. Jackson had taught her well, she used the motion of the arm to pull him out of the chair and straight onto the floor. His comrades clapped and cheered her, surrounded him to see better and tease him while he lay sprawled on the floor. She just turned to leave, caring nothing about the show, when she noticed a pack of smokes left on the chair. Oh well, payment for services rendered, she mused, as she grabbed it and scurried away.
The balcony was empty, not strange, mind you, it was –5°C, not precisely pleasant weather. She looked inside, it seemed the smokers had planted themselves by the windows behind the bar. No way she was going back there. One handsy guy was one too many for the night.
She looked at the sky and again wondered if Jackson was alright. Had Berlin blown up? And why, for God's sake, hadn't she managed to hold her tongue and talk to him five minutes more?
"You have quite the moves for admin." She turned around, snapping out of her rumination and was faced with Bad Sam, walking out smoke in hand, giving her a once-over.
You wouldn't have a light, would you? she asked, deciding that ignoring the comment was probably the smartest response. Could not tell him how she learned, and she may not be able to lie well enough.
"Sure, darling. Here you go," he said, pulling out his lighter and turning it on." She got closer, smoke in her mouth and lit up. Took a deep breath. She closed her eyes to fully experience the sensation. Horrible taste, but the light-headedness she was craving was already making an appearance. She exhaled.
"So why is such a cute thing as you, all alone out here, looking so sad?" He was trying to flirt with her, overtly.
"I needed a smoke, obviously", she plastered the best smile she could manage with the tartest tone she could muster. Like she was going to tell him what was on her mind.
"Ahh, bad boyfriend", he retorted. "Don't look so stunned, I am head dog, you know."
That made her laugh. "Not bad, merely...absent."
"What does he do?" He asked, leaning on the bannister and raising an eyebrow, perhaps trying to assess the competition. Not that he was even in the race.
"He does something between diplomacy and damage control." She joked.
"A field agent? Tough gig. Always worried, always on the verge of widowhood, always alone. Can't say I envy you". His tone was now more neutral, probably reckoning that this was not something that he wanted to intrude on.
"I did not want it myself. Here is to hoping that he makes it back in one piece." She countered, raising her glass.
"Lucky bastard. Fancy lighting another before I head back in?" He retorted half heartfeltly, deciding that the best course of action was for him to get out of there.
"Sure, why not?"
Bad Sam walked in while she kept enjoying the smoke, looking at the people going about it in Euston Square. She heard a bang inside, but when she looked back in, all seemed well.
The only thing out of place was Bad Sam leaning on a column with Charles standing by his side, talking enthusiastically. To her knowledge, the relationship was slightly strained, but she guessed that enough alcohol could smooth relationships like nothing else.
She turned back, sighing. May as well go home. Barely nine thirty, but she had nothing worth sticking around for. She did not have anybody to talk to, nor the inclination for it. She did not want to get drunk. She did not want to dance. She only wanted to get under her sheets and have a little cry.
She threw the stub to the street, not looking where it landed, and made her way back to the door. She paused, scanning the area, looking for Charles. Not at the bar, not on the dance floor...unusual, she thought Peter was in Moscow. She shook her head. Not by the Weasels -obviously, he would never think of spending more time than necessary with them- The buffet then. There, with David. Conspiring.
She walked through the perimeter with the feeling of being observed. Really, did the other girls not have a life? Wasn't it clear that she was alone, sober, and with no intention of changing either of those circumstances?
"More than words" started playing just before she reached Charles. She stifled a groan. Seriously, worst DJ ever. No sense of tailoring for the crowd whatsoever. At least she would be able to get out of this hell soon, as it looked like Charles had wrapped up his conversation when David got paged. Charles looked at her with a smile.
"Any improvement in your night, dear?" He looked at her, taking care to observe every detail.
"No, I think I am going to be heading home, I have a headache anyway." She announced.
"You are a terrible liar." She burst into laughter.
"So I kept being told"
Charles seemed to lose his train of thought for a second, confused, really. Looking behind her. Had the dogs decided to sword fight each other... again?. She was about to turn when a pair of hands covered her eyes, and she felt a body close to her before warm breath hit her ear. The scent of tobacco and something she had been trying to forget flooded her nose. Was that–, could it be–, it did smell like–
"I missed you," Jackson murmured in her ear. Damn him. Did he have to make her cry?
She turned around. She was sure that she looked ridiculous, crying and smiling like a twit. God, she wanted to jump on his arms, kiss him, hug him, anything, but of course, they were not an item, not in public anyway.
She looked at him and realised she had not a clue what to do. Apologize? He did not seem upset, just...happy. And she..well..she felt a fool.
He leaned on her, eyes sparkling, biggest smile she had ever seen on his face. Pulled her closer,
"Shh. Don't cry, Catherine, fuck this"- he gesticulated around them- "whatever is this thing we are doing. Come here."
He drew her closer and kissed her. Hard. Deep. Slow. She had missed this, his tongue, the taste of cigarettes and whisky, his smell, the way his hand always found the sweet spot on the small of her back, holding onto his neck as if he was saving her from drowning. It always ended far too early for her liking.
"I was under the impression that you did not want anybody to know about us." She said, still inches from his mouth.
"Anybody with eyes knew the moment they saw me look at you." She really must be smitten, though she would never admit it out loud, because that made her smile and blush.
Charles cleared his throat. Oh yes, he was there. She looked at him, more than likely sheepish.
"Your boyfriend, I presume." He sounded friendly, but looked paler than a second before. Must be the light.
" Aren't I a lucky guy?" Jackson answered, and she wondered if she might be missing something, he sounded slightly odd.
"Lucky indeed… She is clearly finally enjoying herself. A first tonight," He teased, grinning at her.
"She does that. I bring out her better instincts," Jackson replied, a half-smile ghosting across his face. "Now, I am going to get Moneypenny here home, we would not want her to get tired or catch a cold." He added, tightening his arm around her.
"Perish the thought, I would not know what to do with myself. Enjoy your weekend...and Jackson, do keep her in one piece, will you?" Charles really was wonderful. The father that she wished she had had.
She smiled at Charles before turning to let Jackson walk her out. They stopped by the side table near the DJ to pick up her coat, and Bad Sam spotted them almost immediately, delivering a knowing smile and a quick wink. David stood by the main door, and she could not fail to notice the meaningful look and silent nod that he shared with Jackson before they walked across the street and into the square.
It was starting to snow again, and a surely chilled to the bone street musician was playing "Baby Please Come Home".
She was surprised when Jackson stopped walking and held out his hand, a bright smile spreading across his face.
"May I have this dance?"
She nodded, unable to stop a shy grin, and slipped her arms around his neck as he drew her close, his hands resting on the small of her back. He began to twirl her, there, in the street, right in front of MI5, under the falling snow. For a man who scoffed at love, he sure was full of romantic gestures tonight.
"So, about two days ago, what was that? A spontaneous language exercise or your way of saying you missed me?"
She contained a self-deprecating laugh. "Could we just dance and leave my most recent embarrassing choices for later? Preferably, when we are warm and in bed."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted "A most intriguing proposal."- He pulled her a little closer, her head resting on his shoulder. "I cannot say I mind the idea of having you begging under me."
"Like I would ever beg you for anything."
"Is that a challenge?" His hand found her cheek, his grin mischievous.
She smiled, letting the heat rise between them. "Perhaps it is," she said quietly.
Instead of arguing, Catherine stayed still, letting the warmth of his embrace sink into her, letting him guide her into a kiss. Absolute bliss.
And yet she could not suppress that voice at the back of her mind that wondered how long the calm would last. Something was brewing, she sensed it, but for tonight, she chose to enjoy the moment and let it slip away.