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 Early in their collaboration, Krycek and Marita meet to compare notes. |
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When she reaches the little grocery, she finds him already waiting at a small table beside the deli counter. Handwritten signs in Italian, like little flags, dangle overhead. He looks up, smiles when he sees her. Dark suit, silk shirt open at the throat. Camouflage, his shrug seems to say. For a man who lives in jeans and leather, it must be. She greets him only with her eyes, orders food to go, watches it packed into little boxes. He trails her when she leaves. Outside, the leaves of Brooklyn's autumn blaze in early evening's saffron light, stark against gunmetal clouds. She glances back. He wonders where they're going. She thinks ahead to the tiny upstairs flat, her secret sanctuary. Is it really prudent to take him there? Their alliance dictates trust. The plan's success is crucial. She recalls another night they shared--warm hand against her stomach, soft breath behind her ear--and swallows. (end)
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