Michael smiled pleasantly at the elderly gentleman beside him, listening with half an ear to his pretentious discourse on the amazingly ugly painting before them. The room was filled with elegant people in elegant clothes, sipping champagne and ignoring the canapés passed by the catering staff. A chamber orchestra in the corner was playing Christmas carols, which reminded him wildly of a CD he'd received in the mail one year: "What if Mozart Wrote Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas?". Not by the flicker of an eyelash did he reveal how amused he was at the thought of it. He'd never asked her but was fairly certain that the CD had come from Catherine, his friend and sometimes lover. It had her lunatic stamp all over it.

Stifling a sigh he managed to extricate himself from the conversation and crossed the room in search of a drink. He wasn't on a mission, just taking the chance of the holiday lull to shore up his cover. Attending several gallery openings and receptions in New York. These events were almost invariably dull and boring but were an essential part of his cover. The only item of any interest at this show was a spectacular bronze sculpture, three feet tall, all angles and points. He wandered over to have another look at it.

It was a cold night, with a light snow, perfect for walking in New York. The streets were wet, reflecting the lights spilling out from the shops and gelleries. Stopping to wait for the light she glanced up at a gallery window, and saw him. He was standing by a tall sculpture in front of the window, looking oddly alone in the crowded room. Dark and elegant as always, a glass in his hand.

Michael gazed beyond the sculpture to the street below. She was standing under a street light on the corner, looking up at him. For a moment he thought he'd conjured her out of his imagination. She looked like something out of a movie. She was dressed in a long cape over an evening dress of some sort. Her head was uncovered and a light snow swirled around her. She had her hands tucked into a muff and he wondered what else she might have tucked in there. Moving quickly he headed for the door, grabbing his coat on the way. At the bottom of the stairs he stopped, looking across the street. She was still there. He waited while she crossed the street, slowly, never taking her eyes from his. She was smiling as she came up to him and into his arms. Passersby smiled at the romantic sight of the handsome couple in evening clothes embracing on the sidewalk.

"Catherine." He said, brushing a snowflake off her dark hair, "What's in the muff?"

"Just me." She laughed. They began walking uptown, arm in arm.

"I thought you were in Paris." He said to her.

"I was, but I needed to come to New York soon anyway and I love it here at Christmastime. Are you working?"

"No, not a mission. I'm just doing the gallery thing."

"How's Birkoff?"

"Fine. You impressed him in Italy last year."

"Are you getting him out of that place occasionally?"

"Not much, I took him to Vermont this summer."

"A mission?"

"Yes. Where have you been?"

"Well I just came from Paris, Athens before that."

"No, I meant tonight. Where have you been?" He indicated her formal attire.

"Oh, a dinner party. Deadly dull, I pleaded a headache and left early."

"Have you eaten?"

"No, some man kept trying to give me stuffed mushrooms while peering down my dress."

"Let's go back and kill him."

She laughed, "I think that's a bit extreme, it's Christmas, let him have his fun."

"May I take you to dinner?"

"I think you better, I have a feeling that I am going to want to have all my strength tonight." She grinned at him as a bolt of lust speared through him.

"Maybe we could just get room service, I'm at the Carlyle."

"Not a chance, you offered to take me somewhere and I am going to hold you to it."

"Oh I'm going to take you, you can count on it."

************

He took her to The Sea Grill, where they sat overlooking the skating rink and Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.

"How on earth did you get a table in here?" she asked him.

"The Maitre D's brother is an artist, I've bought some of his stuff."

"Is he any good?"

"Not really but since his brother is the Maitre D here so I buy his stuff, tell the galleries that it's great and get a table here whenever I want."

They talked quietly while they ate, speaking of inconsequential things. It was a rare thing for them to be together outside the context of a mission.

"How long will you be here?" She asked him over coffee.

"Until the 27th." He told her. It was the 22nd. "You?"

"Oh, until after the New Year probably."

"Then back to Europe?"

"Most likely." She gazed out the window at the people whirling around on the skating rink and hanging over the railings, necks craned, looking up at the enormous tree.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her, noting an almost wistful look on her face.

"They all lead such normal lives, why don't we do something normal."

"This strikes me as a fairly normal thing to do."

"No, I mean over Christmas, until you leave. Let's just do...Christmas stuff."

"Christmas stuff?"

"You know, window shop, go look at the tree at the Met, eat roasted chestnuts, stuff like that."

He leaned back in his chair. She had never asked him for anything, never seemed anything but happy and content. It was a small thing she wanted when he would have given her almost anything.

"Okay, you have 4 days. We'll do whatever you like."

She smiled, "Start by taking me upstairs then. I want to dance with you."

~~~~~~~~~

The Rainbow Room was ablaze with holiday decorations and glittering jewelry, and they danced until nearly one, then he took her back to her hotel. She was staying at the Mark, just a block north of the Carlyle. In the cab they held hands, not speaking, as they rode up Park Avenue under thousands of tiny white lights strung on the trees in the median. She turned away from the window to look at him, met his gaze, and leaned over to kiss him.

Leaning back she grinned, "If we get any more romantic tonight I'm going to get a cavity."

"I promise I won't be romantic, I'll just tear off your dress and have at it, how's that?"

"Oh my, that sounds promising, tell him to step on it."

"I would but I don't think he speaks any language that I speak."

"How do you know?"

"It's a law in this city. Cab drivers never speak the same language as their fares."

************

The elegant Biedermeier lobby of The Mark was empty at that late hour as was the elevator. The doors had barely slid shut when he pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply and running his hands under her cloak over the smooth velvet covering her hips. She broke the kiss, nibbling her way along his stubble-roughened jaw-line, pulling his white shirt from his trousers. Suddenly she stepped back, breathless,

"Stop...we have to stop."

"Why?" he asked tugging her against him. She put her hand on his chest,

"I'm only on the sixth floor, there's no time for this."

No sooner had she spoken than the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open.

"Which way?" He asked, turning to the left.

She tugged him the other way, "This way." They practically jogged down the hall to her room, her cape swirling around their legs, his shirttails hanging out. She had taken only two steps into her suite when he had her against the wall, dragging the cape off her shoulders and pulling the long zipper down the back of her dress open. His breath was hot on her throat as he kissed his way down to her breast, tugging her low neckline out of the way. The black velvet dress pooled around her ankles, leaving her standing in her lingerie and high heeled shoes.

He stepped back, breath heaving, holding her hands, "Christ, if I had known what you were wearing under that dress you'd never have gotten dinner." She had on a pale pink silk merry widow and black silk stockings. Her legs looked a yard long in black spike heeled pumps.

"Like it?"

"I think I just swallowed my tongue. Tell me something Catherine, you weren't expecting to meet me tonight, was this for someone else or do you always wear this sort of thing?"

"I always wear this stuff, but to be honest..." she said, leaning into him, running her hands through his hair, "I was really hoping to run into Birkoff." She murmured, taking his mouth in a lazy kiss.

They moved to the bed, struggling with his clothes. He sat, pulling her down to straddle his lap. He was kissing his way back down her throat when an insistent beeping caught her attention.

"I have to get that." She murmured, holding his head while trying to slide off his lap.

"Let it wait."

"No, I can't...really." She disentangled herself and went for her purse. He flopped back on the bed, watching her. He nearly groaned when she bent over to pick it up.

After looking at the message Catherine crossed to the phone and picked it up, dialing a long distance number.

"Yes...really?... When did that happen?...I am very sorry to hear that he's ill, I'll be sure and pay him a visit very soon. Thank you for letting me know." She hung up the phone and turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry, I have to go somewhere. Can we pick this up tomorrow?"

"Of course." He debated for a moment. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"I work alone. Besides this is going to be not much fun at all."

"I don't mind."

She tilted her head at him, thinking. "Oh why the hell not. Just remember that I warned you. You'll have to change though."

************

2 hours later

"Remind me next time to ask for details before I volunteer to go with you anywhere."

"Just remember the operative word there, "volunteer.""

They were crouched in what seemed to Michael to be a thorn bush. The ground was wet with show that was still falling. It was ice cold and dark as pitch. They were waiting for light and watching a large dark house.

"What are we doing here anyway?"

"We're going to scare the bejeezus out of this schmuck."

"Why?"

"He's involved in something he shouldn't be. This is in the way of a warning. If he doesn't back off he won't need to worry about sending any Valentines."

He nodded to himself, brushing a snowflake out of his eye.

"This is just a thought Catherine, but I don't think this is a normal Christmas thing. I'm no expert on the "normal" lifestyle but somehow I don't think it involves sitting in a snow bank at 5 in the morning."

"Better than last year. I spent Christmas Eve at a Club Med." She shuddered.

"Oh yeah, I can see how that would be worse than this. Sun, sand, women in bikinis, this has that beat all to hell."

"Please, surrounded by brainless beach bunnies and being hit on by guys in Bermuda shorts. It was hideous. Carol sing alongs. Palm trees with ornaments."

"I have to tell you Catherine, Palm trees sound pretty appealing right about now. With or without ornaments"

"Wimp."

The eastern sky gradually began to lighten and the snow trailed off to a light flurry. Catherine shifted, watching the house through binoculars.

"What's your plan?" He asked her.

"I'll play it by ear. This guy is a first class idiot. There are no guards, he thinks no one knows what he's involved with. He doesn't even have a dog. We have all day to get the right shot."

As it became lighter Catherine constantly scanned, looking for something.

"What time is it?" She asked

"Almost 7"

"Good, he usually goes to work at seven-thirty. I have an idea."

"What's that?"

"I've found that men tend to form attachments to stupid things. The best way to get to a man is through his toys."

A half an hour later he watched as she carefully took aim. The target was moving away form her at an angle. She concentrated and squeezed off the shot, neatly blowing the hood ornament off a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow.

~~~~~~~~~

She was laughing as they drove south on route 9. "Did you see his face?! That was priceless. That hood ornament must have ended up as dust."

"Shooting his hat off was even better. I though he was going to faint."

"He sure looked convinced, lets hope it takes."

They went back to his room at the Carlyle and warmed up with a hot shower, making love lazily in the steaming water before tumbling into bed and sleeping the rest of the morning away.

************

The winter sky was gray with a pale light coming through the open curtains when Michael awoke. He tensed briefly at the sound of soft breathing before remembering that Catherine was with him. After the morning she'd blown the hood ornament off her target's Rolls they had kept to the original plan of doing "normal" Christmas things. It was Christmas Eve afternoon, they had spent the morning at the Metropolitan Museum, walking back to his hotel for lunch and an afternoon of sex. She was curled beside him now, on her side, facing him. One small had tucked beneath her chin. Her long hair was streaming across the pillow and he smiled slightly at how childlike she looked. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him, turning onto her back and stretching.

"Oh, I must have dozed off. Is it late?"

"No, we've only slept for about an hour. It's almost four."

He was on his side, leaning on his elbow. His hair was tousled from sleep and her hands. The white linen sheets were bunched at his waist. Rolling over she came up against him, they were both naked and she nestled against him, he was partly aroused and his sex rubbed against her belly. She wiggled, teasing him, and wrapped her arm around him, pulling him over her.

"We have lots of time before we have to go." She murmured, running nibbling little kisses along his jaw.

"Go where?" He asked, closing his eyes and sliding a hand up her side to cup her breast.

"Midnight Mass." She said, arching into his hand and moving to tongue his ear.

"Oh no, I am not going to church with you."

"Let's argue later, right now I have something else in mind." She sat, pushing him onto his back, "Let's sin a little first."

His laugh was choked off as she straddled him, her sex hot and wet on his belly. He slid his hands up her slim rib cage, cupping her full breasts. Her nipples were erect and he pulled her down, taking one in his mouth while his hands slid back down to cup her ass. She loved the feel of him, sliding huge and hard against her, and shifted, taking him inside. He arched, gasping, her scent and his were pungent in the air and it made him even hotter for her. He ran his hands down her body, using his fingers to stroke her in a rhythm he had come to know she liked. She moaned as he moved his mouth to her breasts and suckled roughly, her orgasm almost taking her by surprise.

He moved, intending to change positions, but she stopped him, 'No, I'm not finished yet," she moved between his legs.

"You may not be but I will be soon if you don't stop that." He gasped, as she applied her teeth to him.

"Good," she murmured, swirling her tongue around him. She smiled, he made quite a picture, his head thrown back onto the pillows, eyes half closed. He had one hand on his belly and the other thrown over his head, gripping the headboard. He was a strong man, usually serious and tightly controlled. She loved seeing him lose his grip.

He moaned, arching and she took him in her mouth again, both his hands were gripping the headboard now and his breathing was fast and heavy, punctuated by deep moans. He tensed, flinging his head back as he came with a hoarse cry. His chest was heaving and he dropped a hand onto her head where it rested on his belly.

He wanted to say something to her but at the moment couldn't seem to string two words together. It was taking all his energy just to breathe. Finally his heart rate slowed to something near normal and he felt able to produce coherent speech.

"Are you sure you want to go to church?"

************

She was and they did. Driving north out of the city until they turned into a drive flanked by tall gates.

"What is this place?" He asked her.

"It's a monastery."

"A monastery?"

"Yes, there aren't that many monks living here and it's open to the public for masses. Not too many people know about it so it's not too crowded and they still do the Latin mass."

"Doesn't this bother you?" He asked her as they walked towards the small stone chapel.

"What?"

"Church, mass, whatever. Given your occupation."

"No, I like going to church, I go a lot."

" 'Thou shalt not kill.' Ring any bells?"

"That's not actually in the Bible. It's a translation error, it actually should read, 'Thou shalt not commit unjust murder.' The people I kill deserve it. Besides this is the Catholic Church, repent and they forgive you."

"You don't sound too repentant."

"If I ever kill someone by mistake I'll repent."

They walked up the stairs into the church, surrounded by others headed to the midnight mass. Mostly families, some with small children. For both of them it brought back memories of a Catholic childhood. Catherine nudged Michael's arm and nodded to the confessionals,

"Here's your chance, they're hearing confession."

"Please, we'd give the priest a stroke and be saying Rosaries for a week just for this afternoon."

Michael hadn't been to a mass since long before his recruitment to the Section and he found it strangely peaceful to be sitting there with her, listening to and participating to the ancient Latin rites. The cadences and rhythms of the mass coming back like an old familiar language. The old church was filed with flowers and candles and the old traditional hymns. He took her hand and she smiled up at him,

"Merry Christmas Michael."

The End

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