*Note: This is not a flashback in the usual sense of the word. Normally, a person would be *thinking* or *remembering* something. However, in this case, I didn’t want to rely on Walter’s memory, which, by now, may or may not be accurate, and which might be incomplete, even if he *did* remember. There were too many other interesting bits and pieces worth exploring. So bear with me while I attempt to play ‘fill in the blanks’. Given the actual inconsistencies in canon LFN, there is no way to make everything fit together the way it should. But I’ll try….
Flashback
Section One
January 1975
The tall, lean field operative dressed completely in black stopped as he came abreast of a similarly dressed man. Animosity was written in every line of his handsome face. The two men were clearly not equals, and yet….
“You fucking owe me for this, Paul. I backed you against Adrian. I had, Hell, I *still* have, more to lose than you do.”
The speaker was Walter, a Level 5 cold op at the height of his career in Section. Clad in black leather that clung to every sinewy muscle, Walter tore an angry swath through One, breaking hearts left and right. He had been in love countless times, but he doubted that he would ever settle down.
“I…told…you…” the second man said, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if he were attempting to threaten Walter. “You’ll get…Tactical Oversight. What *more* do you want, you ambitious son-of-a-bitch?”
The second speaker was Paul Wolfe, a former POW from the Viet Nam Conflict, as they were calling it, a man who showed such brilliance when it came to executive strategy that he was recruited fresh out of the field, ostensibly to promote Section’s interests, certainly not his own.
“We made a deal, Paul. The least you could do is honor it. Or do you *want* me to tell Oversight exactly how you managed to depose Adrian?” As Walter spoke, his voice had sharply risen in tone and intensity. Now he lowered it to a conspiratorial whisper.,
“I…know…things, Paul. Trust me, this is one pissing contest you wouldn’t win.”
“You don’t have the stones.”
“You’d be surprised what I have. Go ahead, Paul. Take a walk on the wild side.”
“Very well. You win. *This* time. But mark my words, Walter. Next time I’ll be waiting.”
“There’d better not *be* a next time.”
Having come to some sort of understanding, the two men nodded at each other and went their separate ways. Paul Wolfe, the new Operations of Section One, strode briskly towards the observation deck that overlooked the commons. Once inside, he walked to the windows and braced himself on both arms. He could spend hours here. Master of all he surveyed, indeed. He was born to power and he knew it.
He was a decidedly handsome man, dark-haired, not unlike his counterpart. But there the similarity ended. Perhaps it was Fate that the two men should be set at each other’s throats like this. They were cut from the same cloth, but they wanted very different things. Paul was suited to the military life, at heart a traditionalist who saw things only in black and white. It made him ruthless. It made those pale blue eyes of his glitter like icy diamonds as he contemplated a mission’s probable losses, not in terms of human life, but in terms of resources.
To Paul, the end justified the means. Always.
But Walter saw no black or white. Only grey. Left with no choice but to let Section use him as its unwilling whore, he collected things. Things like intel. Things like forgotten bank accounts. Things like stray people no one wanted anymore. He too had a ruthless streak, but he never let it control him. He used it to his advantage. A rebel and a nonconformist by nature, Walter had a reputation for being both a creative thinker as well as a troublemaker.
The former was what kept him alive in Section.
The latter was what kept him at odds with people like Paul Wolfe.
Despite Wolfe’s claims to the contrary, Walter had no great desire for power. He was not ambitious for ambition’s sake. He had just enough power to allow him to move more freely throughout the prison that was Section. He had just enough power to keep people like Wolfe off-balance.
He wasn’t sure he was cut out to be the major thorn in the new Operations’ side, but he would give it a try.
***
Long dark brown hair. Deep brown eyes that gleamed with intelligence and spirit. He frowned. She was a bit too petite for his tastes, but her body was well-proportioned.
Operations pressed a finger to a panel in front of him, opening a comm channel. “What’s your name?”
He was in the middle of checking out the latest recruits. Disinterested in anything that he considered beneath him, nevertheless he made it a point to show up when a new group of recruits was brought in. He was still a relatively young man, with all of the usual needs, and sometimes he believed that Section owed him for the life it had taken away. He wouldn’t be so crude as to say that he was trolling for women, but that didn’t make it any less true.
He had the love of a good woman once. Operations twisted the plain gold band on his left ring finger. But though he was married before coming to Section, his wife believed him dead. The soldier in him respected the logic in that. The politician in him applauded. But sometimes he thought that was responsible for killing what was left of his humanity. It hurt too much for it to be any other way.
“I said, what’s your name?”
“Madeline.”
“What a pretty name,” he said, regretting only for a moment the predator that he had become.
***
Walter was in his office when she knocked on his door. He raised his head, his deep blue eyes sparkling at the sight of her. “Lisa!”
“Hi, Walter,” she said almost shyly, playing with a strand of her long brown hair. Her bittersweet chocolate eyes brightened perceptibly as they took in the picture he made behind his desk. He was beautiful. His hair was long and straight and black as midnight. His eyes twinkled, his face was lightly tanned. He didn’t *look* anything like a spy was supposed to look.
She said as much the very first time they met. His response? “Camouflage, Sugar.”
“You’re looking mighty good, Sugar,” he said as he activated an anti-surveillance device on his desk. He had no intention of being overheard.
She blushed. She was such an innocent, this one. Sometimes he thought, Walter, you should be running clear in the other direction. This one’s got a hold on you.
“I’ve been training all day,” she said with an adorable wrinkle of her retrousse nose. “I probably need a shower.”
“Need a partner?” he quipped because it was expected of him. But the truth was, he liked her. He liked her *way* too much for his own good. He didn’t need another weakness for Operations to exploit.
He didn’t need *her*.
She smiled.
Oh, Hell, maybe he did.
Flashback
January 1975
Section was unlike most governmental agencies. Even the most covert expected some degree of fraternization amongst its people, and though there were rules concerning that kind of behavior, they applied to people who were on-duty at the time. Not Section.
Section didn’t allow small talk. There was no such thing as going out to lunch with friends. Unless your friends were the Torture Twins, and you were helping them with a particularly nasty interrogation.
People didn’t congregate in the hallways to talk about the latest movie or to grouse about Operations’ latest edict, the way they would in an office. Section was not your ordinary day job. The sooner you found that out, the better off you would be.
Still, there were pockets of power. As egalitarian as Section might seem from the outside, on the inside it was anything but. It was class distinction at its worst. Level upon level upon…
At the moment, Walter was enjoying the top rung of his ladder. As a field operative, he really couldn’t go any higher, nor was he likely to, given Operations’ feelings towards him. Sooner or later, he would have to make a decision. A decision not to go out and fight that good fight anymore. A decision to take himself off the frontlines.
Not because he was afraid of dying. He faced that a long time ago.
But because now, for some strange, inexplicable, but wonderful reason, he had a reason to live. Beyond the obvious.
*She* was in love with him. He could tell. Women had come and gone in his life for as long as he could remember. There had never been anyone special. Women had fallen in love with him before. It wasn’t new. But it felt…different.
*He* had been in love. It was no big deal, he told himself. Been there, done that. Maybe he felt compelled to reciprocate her feelings. She *was* a nice girl. There was something innocent and untouched about her.
You didn’t get too much of that in Section. Everyone here was here for a reason. Oh, the party line was that everyone had committed some major crime, that people were routinely recruited from prisons around the world. Not true.
Oh, it happened. Once in a great while. But it wasn’t routine at all. Section had its reasons, which it rarely deigned to share with its operatives, but this was not an altruistic organization.
What was the truth? People were kidnapped from their daily lives. Instead of climbing into a big shiny alien UFO, they got into a dull black mission van. But the end result was the same. They were never seen or heard from again.
***
Walter cleared his desk and stood up. Paperwork was not his forte. He would much rather be *doing* something.
A figure blocked the light spilling from the hallway into his office. “Who’s there?”
“Only me, Walter.” Operations looked smug. That wasn’t good.
“What can I do for you, Paul?” Walter’s tone was brusque, even curt. He pushed the envelope as far as he could. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room with Operations and *he* knew it, too.
A sly smile curved Operations’ mouth. “That new recruit. What’s her name?” Operations made a great show of pretending not to recall her name, but Walter felt a chill run down his spine. It was clear that he was up to something.
“Lisa.”
Operations nodded. “Ah,” he said, “Birkoff, isn’t it? Lisa Birkoff?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Was there something you wanted?”
“She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?”
“What’s your point, Paul?” Walter snapped, his patience at an end.
Operations’ smile died. “I want her.”
“She’s not finished training yet.”
“I want her now.”
“For what mission? She’s not fully trained! You want to get her killed?”
That odd smile reappeared. “Bring her to me.”
“I’m not your fucking pimp, Paul. You want a girl, go find your own. What happened to that one you had your eye on? Madeline? What happened to *her*?”
The head of Section One flushed angrily. He didn’t like being reminded of his failures, or even his disappointments, for that matter. Madeline was merely a girl, a girl of nineteen, a girl with absolutely no power in his universe. But she had refused him. He allowed her to say no. This time. But he needed to make someone pay. It might as well be Walter’s material. He liked the irony.
“Bring Lisa to me. Tonight. Don’t disobey me on this, Walter. I mean it.”
“I know you do, Paul. It’s really sad that you can’t get a girl any other way, isn’t it?”
“You know,” Operations slung both hands into his pants pockets, ruining the elegant line of his Armani suit. “People have been cancelled for less.”
“You need me, and you know it.” Bastard.
“Everyone has his breaking point, Walter.” I’d love to find yours. In fact, I think I have.
“Get fucked, Paul.”
The venom in Walter’s voice was unmistakable. If Operations took Lisa to his bed, willingly or not, Walter would retaliate. It wasn’t worth it. At least not now. Maybe later.
Anticipation was half the fun.
Flashback
January 1975
Even Walter couldn’t openly defy Operations’ explicit orders to bring Lisa to the Tower. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. He wanted to warn her, to beg her to stay away, but that would surely get her cancelled. He could tell her that he was in love with her….
Walter’s heart ached at the uncharacteristic introspection. Always a player, Walter tried not to search too deeply inside himself. That way lay madness. What Section wanted and what Walter wanted could never be reconciled.
His hands were quite literally tied. If he sacrificed himself to protect her now, she would be safe…for the moment. But who would protect her when he was gone? No, he had to think this through.
What did he know about Operations? That he liked to win. That much was obvious. That he wanted Lisa *because* he suspected that Walter cared about her. It wasn’t so much that he *desired* Lisa as that he lived to *thwart* Walter.
There had to be something he could do.
If something happened to her, Walter didn’t know how he would go on. A man like him lived with guilt every day, for the countless, senseless acts of violence he was forced to inflict on targets and collateral alike. But this was *personal*.
In the end, he did nothing. He would live to regret that.
***
“Operations wants to see me?” Lisa asked, her fearful brown eyes meeting Walter’s conflicted blue eyes.
“Yeah,” he said tersely, willing himself not to shudder.
“Why?”
Okay, Walter, get a grip, it’s not like she’s a blushing virgin or anything. She’s been around the block a few times. You trained her well. She can handle him.
Walter tried to smile, but the effort was wasted. Lisa was nothing if not perceptive. “Oh, I get it.”
“Do you?” Suddenly Walter was desperately afraid that she didn’t.
“Yeah.” She sounded sad, disappointed. Twirling a long strand of hair between her fingers, she stared a hole in the floor of Walter’s office. “I thought…maybe you and I…” Unable to finish, she shrugged wordlessly.
“Yeah, well…you can do better.”
Her head came up sharply. “You think so? Let’s not fool ourselves, right?” she said bitterly. “He’s not looking to profess undying love. He wants to *fuck* me.”
Walter winced at her choice of words. He was having a hard enough time trying to restrain his natural impulse to beat the shit out of Operations and damn the consequences. “Lisa, please…”
“Please what, Walter? You don’t want me. *He* might as well have me.”
He grabbed her by both arms, his fingers digging into her tender flesh so deeply that they would leave bruises. “How can you think I don’t want you?”
“But it’s not allowed,” she stated flatly, daring Walter to contradict her.
“Do you think I care about that? Do you? God, Lisa, I—“ He pulled her into his arms, his hands tangling in her long dark hair, his mouth seeking, covering, promising things he had no right to speak aloud.
“Take me.”
“No,” he groaned against her mouth, helpless to resist tasting her sweetness once more.
“Please…” she entreated.
He slid his cheek alongside hers and closed his eyes. He had to think, he had to think, dammit, why was it so hard to think?
“I can’t, Sugar,” he whispered, knowing that if she died, he would die, too.
She broke away from his tight embrace, his arms so constricting, she could barely breathe. “Then I have no choice.”
He shook his head.
“Why do you want me to hate you, too? Isn’t it enough that I’ll hate *him*?”
“No,” he answered sorrowfully. If despising me is the price I have to pay for keeping you safe, I’ll pay it.
Tears filled her eyes, setting them to sparkling like stars whose light would soon sputter and go out. “I love you,” she whispered, and with those words, she sentenced Walter to a Hell of his own making.
“I know.”
Flashback
January 1975
She never let Operations see the tears.
She smoothed her long brown hair with trembling hands and stood outside his door in the Tower. Almost at attention.
He would have appreciated her strength if he hadn’t been so busy admiring her discomfiture. He looked forward to the evening with great anticipation. If his smile was just a shade more vulpine than usual, it was understandable. Paul Wolfe was aptly named.
“Come in, my dear.”
That didn’t bode well. Accustomed to being addressed by her last name, she might have expected him to call her by her first name. But he was using endearments. He was trying to make this personal. Well, she wasn’t Walter’s material for nothing.
“Thank you, *sir*.”
The slightest of frowns crossed Operations’ face. For a moment, he wondered if she might be harder to tame than he thought. But he dismissed the thought as unworthy of someone of his stature. She should be afraid. She should be very afraid.
She was. But she wasn’t about to let him know that.
***
He offered her a drink. She refused. Politely, even regretfully. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was waging war on her own terms. Didn’t the foolish girl know who she was dealing with? Didn’t she know that she couldn’t win? Even Walter knew that. He had read defeat in those injured blue eyes.
When Operations suddenly gripped her wrist, hard enough to leave bruises, Lisa looked through him, as though he were a pane of glass. “I didn’t think rape was your style, *sir*.”
“It’s not,” he returned silkily, certain that it would never come to that. But if it did, well, he couldn’t deny that he found the challenge vaguely titillating.
“Why don’t you go into the bedroom and find something more…comfortable…to change into?”
“And to think, I always imagined that you did *everything* with the same *finesse* you give your work,” she snapped sarcastically.
“You want finesse? I’ll give you finesse.” With that, Operations pulled her into a tight embrace, forcing her head back to suffer an almost impossibly brutal kiss.
All at once, Operations yelped, not unlike a dog, and he drew back, his fingers touching his torn lip. “You bit me!”
“Oops.”
Operations grasped his handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and applied it to his lower lip, which even now welled up with fresh blood. “You’ll pay for that.”
“I’m sure I will,” she replied flatly. But in the meantime, it gave her the greatest possible satisfaction to know that she had bested her nemesis. Even if the victory was short-lived.
“Come here,” he commanded, digging his fingers into her shoulders. He all but pulled her down a short hallway to the bedroom and then deposited her rather ignominiously on the bed there.
“Take your clothes off.”
She stared at him, her dark chocolate eyes gleaming with unshed tears, her full, sensual mouth set mutinously. “Do it yourself.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“Knock yourself out. *Sir*. “ She met him, glare for glare, and for the first time, Operations began to sense that he might win the war, but the battle might not go his way.
He knelt on the edge of the bed, abruptly ripping the top of her dress in such a way that it hung to her waist, leaving her vulnerable to his next unwanted advance.
Her breasts heaving, she said absolutely nothing as he snapped open the front closure of her bra. She was, quite literally, defenseless. If she didn’t move on Operations now, he would take advantage of her. If she used what she had been taught, she would be cancelled.
“You don’t want to do this, sir.”
“I think I do,” he said, giving her that lascivious smile that made her want to purge her body of whatever was left in her roiling stomach.
Bending his head to her breast, he latched onto a nipple, working the tiny nub with his teeth. He was hurting her, and he knew it. Well, if he thought that her reaction would be predictable, he was wrong.
Forcing herself to remain utterly still went against every fiber of her being, but she did it. Eventually, he grew tired of her apathy.
Stone-faced, he pushed his hands roughly up her dress, caressing her flesh with eager, thrusting fingers. Her lack of reaction was beginning to have the desired effect on him. “What’s the matter with you? You spread your legs for Walter, but I’m not good enough for you?”
Her eyes narrowing, she hissed, “If the only reason you want me is because you think you’re taking me away from Walter, you should know…he’s never had me.”
“You’re lying.”
She shook her head silently.
The man called Operations unzipped his pants and thrust a knee between her legs. “I can make you want me.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
He didn’t believe her. He would swear that he didn’t. But his throbbing erection waned until it hung limply against the inside of her thigh. *It* believed her. And since the only reason he wanted her was to strike back at Walter, *it* had no use for her.
He couldn’t perform.
It didn’t matter how he justified it to himself.
He couldn’t get it up.
“Swear,” he growled, the palm of his hand over her mouth. “Swear you won’t tell *anyone* about this.”
“Why would I?” she tossed back, uncaring what he did to her now.
“If you do,” he snarled, so close that they shared breath, “I’ll know, and I’ll take my revenge.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know you don’t care what I do to *you*, but I think you care very much what happens to *Walter*.”
“There’s nothing between us!” she shouted, trying to divert Operations’ attention back to her.
“Then you won’t care if I cancel him!”
She couldn’t prevent the involuntary shudder that raced through her body. Lying on top of her unwilling flesh, Operations couldn’t help but feel triumphant at provoking such an intense response. She would obey him now. This could be more useful than he’d dreamed.
“When you see Walter—“
She struggled to interrupt, but Operations gave her a baleful look. “When you see him, you be sure to tell him just how good I was.”
She spat at him, and Operations backhanded her across the face without thinking. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You tell him just how much you liked me *fucking* you.” His warning implicit, he proceeded to lick the side of her face with his tongue, the effect more menacing than sensual.
“Or he dies.”
Flashback
January 1975
“You know how dangerous this is? We can’t—“
Walter’s protests were cut off by the most satisfying kiss he had ever experienced.
She smiled knowingly. “You were saying?”
“You’re the first woman I’ve loved that I’d be willing to die for.” The moment the words left his mouth, Walter wanted to call them back. They said too much. They weren’t enough.
He was scared out of his mind.
“Please…”
“Make love to me.”
“They’ll find out. *He’ll* find out.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. He’ll cancel—“
“Who? You? Me? You said you were willing to die for me. Prove it.”
Walter groaned at the ease with which she threw his words back at him. “It’s not *me* I’m worried about, Lisa. I don’t—I couldn’t…if something happened to *you*….”
“I feel the same way, Walter. You know I do. Please make love to me,” the young woman begged. Although Operations had not been able to perform, she could still feel his hands on her. Poking, prodding, touching her.
“This is all wrong, Sugar.”
“No!” she exclaimed, her vehemence shocking Walter. “What *he* did…that was all wrong.”
Pulling her into his arms, Walter felt close to tears. He, who should have protected her at all costs, did not. He was responsible for her rape at the hands of their jailer. Only him. “I’m sorry, Sugar. So sorry.”
“Show me,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and prayed to a God who seemed curiously determined to ignore their plight.
Walter was so still that he might have been carved from stone. Only his breathing, loud and audibly distressed, told her that he lived.
She pushed her fingers inside the edge of Walter’s bandanna, clearly intending to remove it. Walter placed his trembling hand over hers. “Don’t.”
“You have such beautiful hair. Please let me feel it.”
His hand fell away. “Not here,” he said, indicating that they remained within range of surveillance.
She nodded silently.
***
She had never been to Walter’s apartment before. If this were anything like a normal relationship, she would have been congratulating herself for finally achieving that milestone. Nevertheless, she had the distinct feeling that for Walter, this *was* a first.
He showed her into his apartment, then stopped to lock the door behind him. Leaning on the door, he appeared to be contemplating her lazily, like a big cat appraising its next meal. “How do you like it?”
She smiled. His apartment was a rather spartan affair. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this was not it. “It’s…nice.”
Now it was his turn to smile. “Sugar, it’s not nice. It doesn’t even look like anyone lives here.”
“Well…”
“Thanks for sparing my feelings, but the truth is, I *don’t* live here. I eat out. I drink out. I go out.” He chuckled. “Okay, I occasionally sleep here, but that’s about it.”
“But don’t they--?”
“Honey, they’ve got nothing to say to me I haven’t heard already. When I made Level 5, they cut the surveillance. One of the few perks.” At her questioning look, which clearly said, How can you believe them?, Walter said, “I’ve checked. I check everyday.”
He snorted derisively. “Sometimes I think I bore them to death.”
“But Operations feels threatened by you. Even I could see that.”
“*That* has nothing to do with *this*, sweetheart.” Walter pushed himself off the door and ambled over to the refrigerator. Taking a carton of orange juice from inside, he tipped the container into his mouth, some of the liquid spilling from the corners.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bemused to find Lisa staring at him. “What? You never saw a man drink OJ before?”
“I think you’re beautiful,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Yeah?” he rasped, the taut muscles in his throat working with some unspecified emotion.
She nodded wordlessly.
“Come here.”
She stepped closer, and Walter took another, much smaller sip of juice. Holding it in his mouth, he slowly kissed her, gently nudging her lips apart, the sticky juice filling her mouth until it overflowed. Breaking off the achingly sweet kiss, Walter watched, mesmerized, as the orange fluid trickled leisurely down the side of her slender neck. He bent his head without thinking, his tongue flicking out to lap almost tenderly at first. Before long, however, desire drove him to suckle at the sweetness there.
“Oh, God, “ he groaned. “I think I left a mark.”
“Good,” she declared triumphantly. Meeting Walter’s startled look, she said, “I want everyone to know I belong to you.”
“That would be fucking dangerous, and you know it.”
“I don’t care.”
A rush of longing overtook him, and his mouth found hers, again and again. “I want you,” he said hoarsely.
“You have me.”