At Great Personal Risk
Rollin tried to get comfortable in the flatbed of the truck. He was relieved
that the mission, for all intents and purposes, was finally over. He and
his teammates needed only to deliver the gold taken from Krim so that it could be returned by the Force to those Krim had plundered in his feigned fight for the cause of emerging
nations.
He couldn't get comfortable, however. He ached every where, and the poor
suspension of the truck as Jim drove it down the dirt roads of Africa to the
airport didn't help his situation any.
No one seemed to notice Rollin's discomfort, not even Cinnamon. They all
were too preoccupied with their own problem; trying to brace themselves against
the many bumps in the road without the benefit of any comforts in the flatbed.
If he could just sleep during the flight to
Jim, Barney, and Willy claimed seats in the front of the chartered plane.
Rollin took a seat next to a window toward the back, hoping to find peace and
quiet for some much needed rest. Cinnamon slipped into the seat across
the aisle from him. She didn't want their attraction to appear too obvious
to the others.
"You look beat," she commented softly.
"It's nothing a long hot bath and a massage won't cure," he answered.
"Is that an invitation?" She asked seductively.
He gave her a quick grin, then reclined his seat. He still couldn't get
comfortable.
She continued, "May be we could spend a few days in
"I'd like that." He meant it. They hadn't had much time
alone lately. Over the past few months, it seemed that if they weren't
busy with a mission, then they were busy with their respective careers outside
the IMF. Yes, it would be nice to spend some down time with her.
He couldn't get enough of Cinnamon. Everything about her tickled his heart
. . . as well as other vital organs.
"It's a date." He smiled. "I'll tell Jim that I'm
sticking around for an audition." "You," he teased, "can
tell him you're gonna head over to
She pretended a glare. "Ha, ha. . . . Still, . . .that
should work."
That settled, Cinnamon started to relax. "Boy,
I'm beat, too. I'm gonna try to get some sleep
before we land." Cinnamon reclined her seat and covered herself with
a blanket.
"Sweet dreams," he said sincerely.
He watched her for a moment, appreciating her loveliness, then . . . "Cinnamon?"
She opened her eyes, and met his gaze. His gaze trapped hers and lingered.
She could see it in his eyes, but he still spoke the words, leaving no doubt
. . .
"I love you," he breathed.
She smiled, and mouthed, "I love you, too." She smiled, again,
then closed her eyes.
He watched her fall asleep. "God, she's beautiful," he thought.
"Absolutely beautiful."
"Ow." The pain in his lower
abdomen suddenly distracted him, again. His arms and chest hurt, too,
but not like his gut. The pain there was deep. He couldn't relieve
its soreness with a rub. In fact, it hurt even more when he touched it.
"Probably just bruised the muscle when Krim's
man, Karl, hit me, or when I landed on that rock or whatever it was in the lake,"
Rollin thought. He tried to relax.
Hours later, however, as the plane approached Heathrow, Rollin remained unrested. He was the only passenger for whom sleep had
not come during the long flight. Nothing he could do seemed to relieve
his discomfort.
As the plane made its final approach to Heathrow, Barney, rested and restless,
made his way to the back of the cabin
"You look terrible. Did you get any sleep?"
"A little." Rollin lied, not wanting
to explain.
Their voices woke Cinnamon.
"Are we there, yet?" Cinnamon asked with anxious enthusiasm, yawning and stretching without reservation.
Barney and Rollin smiled at one another, appreciating the child-like way of
Cinnamon.
"We're on final approach now," Barney answered. "Hey, I'm
gonna stop off at Boeing in
Jim made his way to the back of the cabin to join the others there.
"I'm off to Paris, and John Barrymore, here,
is off to an audition in
"What about you Rollin," Jim asked, having
overheard Cinnamon's comments.
"I'll be back Monday or Tuesday. Depends on how much of an audition
I have to give."
"Okay, my place on Wednesday afternoon for the debrief.
I also may have another assignment for us. I'm gonna
stop in D.C. to speak with the Secretary before I head home to
Rollin closed his eyes in a silent groan. He wasn't feeling up to another
mission so soon.
"Did you get any sleep, Rollin? You look terrible." Jim asked,
concerned.
Rollin opened his eyes, but he didn't get a chance to answer Jim.
The pilot interrupted over the loudspeaker: "Please take your seats.
We will be landing in fifteen minutes."
Jim and Barney did as they were told. As soon as they were out of earshot,
Cinnamon turned to look at Rollin.
"You okay?"
"I just need that bath and massage."
"I'll see what I can do," Cinnamon said, inspired. "I'll get
us a hotel after we see the others off."
Rollin just nodded. He really didn't feel well.
He would shake it, he insisted to himself.
The others were able to catch immediate departures, believing Cinnamon would
catch the next flight to
"Alright! We're off for three loved-filled
days in
"Ahhhhhhh," Rollin groaned. The pain
was intense. He struggled to maintain himself.
Alarmed, Cinnamon quickly took her arms from around him and stepped back to
look at him.
"Rollin, what's the matter?"
Rollin caught his breath. "Nothing," he pretended. ""I'm
just really sore from the mission. I'm not used to hanging by my arms
for six hours. Let's go. You promised me a hot bath and a massage."
He grinned, trying to make light of the situation.
"Come on." He put an arm lightly around Cinnamon so as not to
aggravate his pain, and he started them toward the exit to ground transportation.
As they walked together, Cinnamon watched his face. "Are you sure you're
okay?" She wasn't convinced.
Rollin looked down into her eyes. "I'm fine. Really."
He delivered his lines with sincerity. To seal the truth of the scene,
he leaned down and kissed her lips with a sample of the passion he knew she
hoped to enjoy over the next few days alone with him.
As they broke away from the kiss, she stared into his eyes. They did not
give away his well-meant deception.
"Alright, . . . let's get out of here."
She smiled, convinced that all was well.
They took a suite at The Ritz under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Jack Scott.
"I'm starved. I ordered room service to be delivered in an hour and
a half. That should give us enough time to . . . Rollin!"
Having finished unpacking, Cinnamon had walked into the bathroom and found Rollin
stripped and stepping into a hot bath he had poured for them. It wasn't
the beauty of his nude and tight bronze body that had stopped her mid-sentence.
Rather, the large, dark blue and purple bruising that appeared along the lower,
right side of both his back and front torso had caught her eye.
"Rollin, did you see this?" Cinnamon quickly walked to Rollin
and placed one hand around his lower torso as the other gently brushed the bruise
on his back. "What happened?"
"What?" Rollin stood to his full height and turned to look at
the reflection of his backside and stomach in the bathroom mirror.
Upon seeing the bruises, Rollin explained, "Oh, hmmm. That one," he
referred to his back, "must be the result of Karl's blow before he strung
me up. This one," he looked down at his stomach, "must be from
whatever it was I landed on in that lake." Not realizing the implications
of the bruises, Rollin played them down. "They'll go away." He turned
to face her. "Come on, you promised me a hot bath AND a massage."
"Rollin, do they hurt?"
"Yeah, but they'll go away. More importantly, they've been replaced
by more a persistent ache, my darling," he teased. A
seductive smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "Come on."
Impatiently, Rollin pulled Cinnamon to him and bent his lips to her neck, nuzzling
the sensitive flesh there. "An ache, I suspect, that can be most
pleasurably attended to." He unzipped her dress and caressed the length
of her bare back.
In light of Rollin's relaxed demeanor, Cinnamon willingly dismissed any concern
she had and joined Rollin in the moment.
Their gaze never leaving one another's, she helped him remove her clothing,
then together they stepped into the warm bath water.
There Rollin cupped her chin in his hand. Gently, he pulled her toward
him until their lips touched, but just barely, soft and evocative, more a whisper
than a kiss. He brushed his lips over hers with delicate strokes.
They both were distracted now by the other.
Her eyes closed and her lips parted and a sigh whispered through them.
She leaned nearer, the yearning inside her demanding more than this teasing,
this hint, this suggestion of what would come . . .But,
"all in due time," she thought. They would have all night.
First things are first.
"Here." Cinnamon drew back, then moved
to the back of the tub. "I promised you a massage." She
eased herself down into the water.
Rollin considered his deeper desires for a moment, then
gave into the delight of her promised caress, knowing it would lead to other
pleasures. "You did at that." Rollin smiled down at her,
then turned to sit in front of her, between her legs.
He immersed his body in the water and gently leaned back against her with his
hands and arms resting on her legs. His temple rested against her
cheek. The warmth of the water actually eased the dull, constant pain
in his abdomen and back. Her touch also helped to distract any thoughts
of his aches.
She combed his scalp with her fingers, slowly and gently massaging his temples.
He closed his eyes and, under her touch, began to relax. With her arms
wrapped around him, Cinnamon gently stroked the muscled planes of Rollin's chest.
Light and teasing. Her fingers then tunneled through
the mat of dark hair and toyed with his nipples. She moved to his shoulders
and arms, caressing them as she nibbled on his ears and neck. Ultimately,
her fingers trailed across his tight stomach, then lower to his manhood.
She took him in her hand and began to stroke him. Gently and
encouraging. And, yet, . . . there was no response.
"Rollin?" Cinnamon whispered seductively in his ear.
Again, no response.
"Rollin?" Still, no response.
She gently cupped his cheek and turned his face so that she could see it.
He had fallen asleep under her touch. Disappointed, but appreciative of
the fact that he really must be quite exhausted from the mission, she smiled.
"Honey?"
Rollin finally stirred, but didn't open his eyes. "Hmmm?"
"Honey, let's go to bed?"
"You're insatiable," Rollin said, still not fully awake nor aware
that he had fallen asleep on her.
Amused, Cinnamon smiled, again. "Come on, Sweetheart, let's go."
"What?" Rollin opened his eyes and became more aware of his
surroundings. "Oh. . . . What about my massage?"
"I'll finish it in bed."
Rollin sat up and threw water over his face, then yawned, but, still in a cloud
of sleep, his eyes remained closed and he didn't move to get out of the tub.
"Come on, Rollin." Cinnamon patiently prodded him.
Finally gathering himself, he said, "Okay,"
then he stood and grabbed a towel from the rack, which he wrapped around his
waist. "Are you coming?"
"I'll be right there." Cinnamon stood and wrapped a robe around
herself. "Go on, Honey."
Cinnamon watched Rollin stumble off into the bedroom, still half-asleep.
She quickly tidied the bathroom, then joined Rollin
in the bedroom. There she found him fast asleep, still in his towel and
stretched out over the bed, on top of the comforter. The bruising on his
back peaked out from under the edge of the towel around his waist.
She leaned and whispered in his ear. "Hey, handsome, let's get you
under the covers."
Rollin stirred, but moved without waking. Cinnamon pulled the towel from
around his waist as he moved, then tucked him under the covers. She placed
a soft kiss on one cheek, then the other, and then drew back and placed her
hand on his chest. His heartbeat pulsed against her fingers. "Tomorrow
. . .," she said without really expecting him to hear through his slumber,
"Tomorrow, Romeo, I want to feel that heart beat fast against mine."
She leaned and gently kissed him on the lips, then turned out the lights and
left their bed for the living room.
An hour later, Cinnamon set the room service tray in the hallway outside their
hotel room, placed the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the handle, then closed
and locked the door. She turned out the lights, then
headed for the bathroom. There she readied herself for bed.
When she finally joined Rollin under the covers, it was nearly
She draped an arm across his chest and rested her head against his cheek.
Truly content at his side, she closed her eyes. It wasn't long before
she, too, was asleep.
Three hours later, however, she awoke. Rollin's fitful tossing and turning
had disturbed her slumber. "Honey, wake up. You're having a bad
dream." She caressed the side of his face with the back of
her hand. His face was hot to her touch and she also could hear that his
breathing was labored. Realizing this, Cinnamon bolted to a sitting position
and leaned over Rollin, turning on the light next to his side of the bed.
She quickly leaned back to assess the situation. She touched his face
and chest. He was pale and his body burned with fever.
"Rollin? Rollin?" No response. Instead, he groaned
and continued to writhe in agony.
He clearly was in serious distress. He needed help,
professional help. Never taking her eyes off of him, Cinnamon called the
front desk and asked for an ambulance.
Fortunately, the nearest hospital was only a short ride from the hotel.
The triage nurse met them at the entrance to the Emergency Room.
Cinnamon walked along side of the gurney, holding Rollin's hand as they wheeled
him into an examining room.
"What seems to be the problem?" The nurse asked Cinnamon.
"I'm not sure. He complained earlier about a pain in his abdominal
area, then he seemed to be fine until I woke about
30 minutes ago and discovered him like this. What could it be?"
Cinnamon's deep concern shone on her face.
"You're an American." Cinnamon's "accent" exposed
her.
Confused, Cinnamon answered, "Yes."
"I'll need you to fill out some papers. You are the next of kin,
yes?"
Cinnamon hesitated for a moment, realizing she might be excluded from Rollin's
care, if she revealed that their relationship was actually "unofficial."
"Yes, I'm his wife." Cinnamon took charge.
"We'll do everything we can for him, Mrs. . . ."
"Scott." Cinnamon offered.
"Mrs. Scott. Why don't you come with me while the doctor examines
your husband?"
Cinnamon hesitated. He was still unconscious and in obvious pain.
She didn't want to leave him.
"The doctor will take good care of him. Please, Mrs. Scott, follow
me." Cinnamon smoothed Rollin's hair away from his face, kissed his
forehead, then slowly did as she was told, backing out of the room so that her
eyes didn't leave him until the door closed upon her exit.
"What could possibly be taking so long?" Cinnamon had been waiting
alone in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity. She had completed
an inordinate amount of paperwork. She had even tracked down Barney to
let him know Rollin was in trouble, and asked him to notify Jim and Dr. Green.
And, now, she was finishing her third cup of coffee and fifth cigarette. Still,
in all that time, they had given her no news as to Rollin's condition.
Just as she decided she had had enough and was going to demand some news, a
doctor entered the waiting room.
"Mrs. Scott?"
"Yes," Cinnamon responded anxiously.
"Your husband is not doing so well. He —"
"What does that mean?" Cinnamon blurted out.
""I'm trying to tell you," he said sympathetically.
Cinnamon sighed. "I'm sorry. Go ahead."
"Your husband apparently is suffering from a ruptured spleen. Did
he suffer any trauma to his lower back or abdomen recently?"
"The mission," Cinnamon silently realized. "Yes, he was
playing contact sports yesterday and struck both his lower back and stomach
area during play," she offered.
"Yes, he has considerable bruising in both areas. It also appears
that the trauma was aggravated by some prolonged physical stressor and a delay
in treatment, ensuring a rupture. I think we're going to have to remove
the spleen."
"Remove it?" Cinnamon asked in disbelief.
"Yes. Of course, there is a chance that he could recover without
removal of the organ, but I believe removing it would give him the best chance
of survival. Please understand, though," the doctor continued, "since
the spleen is necessary for the body's defense mechanisms, he will be more susceptible
to infections that can be caused by various pathogenic organisms. But,
then again, knowing this, he can take extra care to guard against exposure to
infection."
The doctor paused, waiting for Cinnamon to take in what he had told her.
He waited a moment longer, then insisted, "Mrs.
Scott, we need your authorization for the surgery."
Cinnamon hesitated. This was unbelievable. Only a few hours ago
they were looking forward to three passion-filled days together.
Now, he was lying in a hospital bed, and she was about to make a life-defining
decision for him. Cinnamon paced the waiting room floor, deep in thought.
She knew she had no "legal right" to make that decision, and now wondered
if she had "any right." She silently wished Dr. Green was there to
take charge.
"Mrs. Scott." The doctor noticed her hesitation and pensiveness.
"I believe that we really have little choice. While surgery is not
risk-free, I believe that without the surgery, he may die."
"He may die?" She stopped pacing and turned to look at the doctor.
The gravity of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. Cinnamon took
a breath, then . ., "Okay, . . . you have my
permission." A tear threatened to fall from her eyes as she answered
the doctor.
"We'll do our best, Mrs. Scott." The doctor squeezed her shoulder,
then left her alone in the room.
Cinnamon slowly sat down on the sofa. "‘He may die’. . . Rollin
. . ." A tear escaped down her cheek.
The hospital room was quiet as Cinnamon entered. He was sleeping.
She moved to his bedside thankful she had been with him when he became ill.
If she hadn't, the consequences could have been dire.
She straightened the blanket over his chest and a smile slowly crept across
his face. "The nurse doesn't wear perfume," he said without opening
his eyes.
She smiled and put her hand against his cheek. "Maybe I'm her replacement?"
She sat on his bed with her back to the door.
He opened his eyes and met hers. "I hope so," he said pressing his
cheek against her palm. His voice sounded tired and weak.
"How do you feel?"
"I could use a hot bath and a massage." He smiled. His body
did ache.
"So much for our time alone in
She squeezed his hand tight. "I'm just glad I was here."
"So am I," he said pulling her to him for a soft kiss.
Jim Phelps strode down the hall to the nurse's station. A line of concern
was etched across his forehead. One of his team was in trouble.
Dr. Green was with him.
They stopped at the nurse's desk. "Jack Scott?" Jim inquired.
"Room 405; just down this hall, third door to the left, sir," the
nurse replied.
Jim and Dr. Green started off further down the corridor. "Just a
moment gentlemen," the nurse called after them.
They stopped and turned back to her. "His wife is with him."
"Wife?" Jim asked, but without disclosing his puzzlement.
The nurse nodded.
Jim glanced at Dr. Green, then answered the nurse.
"It's okay, we're old friends, and this is his personal physician."
The nurse nodded and allowed them to continue.
The door to Room 405 slowly opened and Jim Phelps stepped inside. Dr.
Green followed close behind.
Cinnamon quickly sensed she was no longer alone with Rollin and just as quickly
composed herself, breaking off Rollin's kiss. As she sat up, Rollin's
eyes met Jim's across the room. "Thank you, Nurse Carter, the pillow
is much better, now," Rollin said as Cinnamon straightened herself on the
edge of his bed.
"I expect a quick recovery from you with a nurse like that," Jim said
with a smile. At the sound of his voice, Cinnamon turned —
"Jim, Dr. Green, I'm glad you're here." She stood and shook
Dr. Green's hand. Jim moved past her, to Rollin.
"How you feeling, Rollin?" Jim asked.
"I'm fine." He tried to sound convincing.
"Yeah, right. It was his spleen or his life."
Cinnamon said in mock disgust at his belittling of the situation.
Rollin gave her a glance that asked her to play down the seriousness of his
early morning drama.
Green picked up Rollin's medical chart and perused it for a long moment.
"Hmmm, I think I'll track down your doctors and have a talk with them,"
he said as he finished reading the chart. Looking up, he continued, "I
want to know their thoughts."
He turned to Jim, "I'll catch up with you at the hotel." Then
to Cinnamon, "Will I see you later?"
She nodded.
"Hey, aren't I invited?" Rollin teased.
"I'll talk to YOU later. In the meantime, you get some rest. . .
. You look terrible." Green smiled, then turned and left to find
Rollin's treating physicians.
"He really needs to work on his bedside manner," Rollin joked.
"Well, at least you seem to be in good spirits," Jim acknowledged.
"I'm fine. Really. I'll make the debriefing
in
"Whoa, you just concentrate on getting better. There's no rush,"
Jim tried to assure Rollin.
"Cinnamon, what do you say? Shall we let our boy wonder here
get some rest?"
"Sure," she smiled politely. Cinnamon suppressed her disappointment.
She wanted to stay with Rollin, to speak words of encouragement, of concern,
. . .of love.
"We'll check in on you tomorrow morning, Rollin.
Get some rest." Jim turned to get the door.
"I'll talk to you later, Ba—" A term of
endearment nearly escaped her lips. "—May be," she recovered,
"before visiting hours are over later tonight." Her hand rested
on his forearm.
He held her gaze with his. "Thanks for everything, Cinnamon."
His eyes expressed so much more to her than his sincere gratitude.
She slipped her hand down his arm and squeezed his hand behind her back as she
turned to leave, precluding Jim from seeing this intimate exchange.
Jim held the door as Cinnamon exited. "Rest, Rollin.
That's an order." Jim smiled, then closed
the door behind him.
Jim and Cinnamon sat together in the hotel bar.
"I thought you were going to
"I was. But after you left, Rollin said that he wasn't feeling very
well. I decided to stay with him a little longer just to make sure he
would be alright," Cinnamon explained matter-of-factly, careful not suggest
anything other than a casual relationship with Rollin.
"That was fortunate. Why the "husband and wife" bit?"
"I wasn't sure if they'd keep me in the loop as to his care, if they didn't
think we were related." Cinnamon took a sip of her drink.
Her story sounded plausible, but . . . he was certain she and Rollin were sharing
an intimate kiss when Dr. Green and he entered Rollin's hospital room.
He decided to let his suspicions go for the moment.
"Will you join Green and me for dinner? You may want to hear what
he has to say after having talked to Rollin's doctors."
"Sure. I'll go freshen up a bit, then . . .," she hesitated,
then offered, "join you here?" She stubbed
out her cigarette as she stood.
"We have a couple hours. I'll call you. What room are you staying
in?"
"I wasn't supposed to stay. I had to take the couch in Rollin's room."
Jim smiled inwardly. His suspicions were heightened.
"I guess you can take the bed tonight, Mrs. Scott. Your husband won't be
leaving the hospital for at least a few more days."
She smiled politely.
"True." She stood to leave. "Call me when you're
ready." Cinnamon turned and glided out of the room. Jim watched her
go, then finished his cigarette and drink, all the while thinking
about two of his best operatives . . . and the rules.
In the privacy of her suite, Cinnamon dialed the hospital. "Mr. Jack Scott's room, please."
The hospital switchboard connected her.
"Hello?" Rollin's voice rasped, his throat still parched and
thick from the anesthesia.
"Hi, Lover." Her low, sensual voice
greeted him.
A sense of comforting relief washed over him at the sound of her voice.
"Cinnamon . . . I miss you." His tone was serious.
"I miss you, too."
"Come to me tonight."
"Rollin!" She giggled. "You
are incorrigible."
"That's why you love me."
"Is that why?" She teased.
"Please," he pleaded.
"Rollin, I can't." Although she acknowledged
in her own mind that she wanted to be with him, too.
"Why not?"
“You are incredible. You just had surgery and Jim is here!"
"I thought you liked to live dangerously," he flirted.
No, that's YOU."
"I need you." He tried to entice her.
"I need you," she countered seriously," . . . but we have to
be patient."
He relented. He knew she was right.
"Rollin?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad you're going to be okay. . . . I was worried."
"You worried? I wish I could have seen that."
"I was," she protested.
"I know." He stopped teasing her.
"I love you," she said softly.
"Yeah?"
“Yeah."
“Good thing."
"Why?"
“Because I love you, too." He meant
it. She could hear it in his voice.
Her heart leaped.
They were both quiet for a beat.
Finally, Cinnamon spoke. "Rest . . . Sweet dreams."
"And you, my darling."
"I'll come see you in the morning," she promised.
"Until then . . ."
She placed the phone in its cradle, but made no other movement for a lingering
moment. She could not help but marvel at the reality of her feelings for
him. "You made me love you, Rollin." She said out loud to herself and smiled.
She liked the feeling such thoughts brought her.
Cinnamon joined Jim and Dr. Green for dinner in a secluded booth of the hotel
restaurant. They spoke of everyday pleasantries and ordered dinner during
their first round of drinks. After the waiter delivered their second round,
Jim turned the conversation to the concern on his mind.
"So, what is Rollin's situation?" He asked Green.
"He should have a good recovery. He's young, strong, and otherwise
healthy."
"Concerns?"
“Well, even with a complete recovery, he'll be at high risk for infections,
illnesses, diseases for the rest of his life. That may be a concern, given
the IMF's expectations." Green explained.
"What do you mean?" Cinnamon asked.
"Well, I don't think it's career-ending, but as you know, as an agent,
Rollin is frequently required to travel to second and third world countries.
He also is commonly subjected to intense physical stressors. That is, it is
routine for his body to be subjected to foreign contaminants and stress."
Green took a sip of his drink, then continued, "These
things were of little concern when his immune system was intact. Those same
contaminants and stressors today, without a functioning spleen, could pose a
serious a threat to his life. Arguably, his health could pose even a threat
to the success of a mission."
"You can't be serious." Cinnamon couldn't believe what she was
hearing.
Green nodded and continued, "What's really unfortunate is that from what
I can tell from his early tests, they probably didn't need to remove the spleen."
"What?" Cinnamon couldn't believe it. Had she made the
wrong decision? Had she sealed Rollin's fate, a fate he would never choose
for himself (at least for now)? "What have I done?" Cinnamon
thought. Her heart grew heavy, suddenly.
"Well, let's just say that they erred on the side of caution," Green
reasoned diplomatically.
Jim noticed the look of distress on Cinnamon's face. "You okay?"
Cinnamon quickly pulled herself from her thoughts and looked at Jim. "Yes.
I'm just worried about Rollin, and how he may take this news." What
else could she say? Whatever she had to say, she had to say to Rollin
alone.
"Well, as I say, his situation isn't necessarily career-ending," Green
offered. "I imagine, in the end, it's up to him."
Jim took a sip of his drink, all the while watching Cinnamon who still appeared
elsewhere in thought.
The next morning at the hospital, Jim repeated Dr. Green's concerns to Rollin,
explaining that his continued participation on the Force posed a significant
risk to his life and possibly the Force, itself. Therefore, Jim theorized,
the Secretary might require his resignation.
"That's ridiculous, Jim, and you know it! My life is on the line
on every mission!" Rollin was beside himself.
He tried to sit up, but the pain of his recent surgery forced him back on the
pillow. Jim went to his bedside to calm him. He placed a hand on
Rollin' s shoulder. Rollin continued, "The Secretary never seemed
to worry about me before. What's with the paternalistic attitude all of
a sudden?"
"Rollin, the safety of our agents is always a concern. Naturally, there
is some risk to any mission, but efforts are made to minimize that risk.
In your case, you would be going into every mission with your life already at
risk. That's too much to ask."
"Bullshit, if I'm not worried about it, then it's none of anyone else's
business," Rollin countered in frustration. He looked away, upset.
Jim released Rollin's shoulder and started for the door.
"I have to report back to the Secretary your condition. He'll want
to know my recommendation."
Rollin couldn't believe this was happening. He turned back, desperate
to stop Jim. "Jim, please. Don't do this to me." Rollin
begged, becoming excited again.
“I haven't made up my mind, Rollin." Jim spoke
with his back to Rollin.
“What's to decide, Jim? Please. . . . After all I've given. You
can't let this happen. . . . Not yet. Please." Rollin's voice cracked
with emotion.
Jim stopped and turned to face Rollin. He considered Rollin's words.
It was true, Rollin had given himself totally and completely, time and again.
He had heard of his unwavering commitment to duty and total fearlessness before
they worked together. He, himself, had witnessed the same from Rollin
on their missions together. Indeed, Jim owed Rollin for saving Jim's life
in The Town.
Jim hesitated, then he raised what else was on his
mind and prompting his concern . . .
"Is there something going on between you and Cinnamon?"
Rollin's heart stopped. "Is that what this is all about?"
He wondered to himself. "Had Jim actually noticed Cinnamon's kiss
earlier?" "Was it because Jim thought the rules had been broken?"
"Or, . . . was it because Jim didn't care so much
about the rules, as he did about Cinnamon?"
"What do you mean?" Rollin asked innocently.
"You know the rules: No fraternization among teammates. It
can only compromise the success of a mission and the safety of the other team
members."
"I resent the implication, Jim." Rollin tried to sit up, again.
The excitement irritated his pain further. He grabbed his side in an effort
to soothe the throbbing there.
Rollin continued without losing a beat. Looking Jim in the eyes, he said,
"I have never compromised a mission, and I never will. I believe
that I can say the same thing for Cinnamon."
Jim thought of pressing for a direct answer to his question, but . . . he decided
to let it go. He still had his suspicions, but Rollin was right.
Neither he nor Cinnamon had ever endangered a mission. Whatever their feelings
for one another, he knew that they wouldn't risk the success of a mission. He
was wrong in suggesting otherwise. Yes, he would let it go . . .for the moment, any way. Moreover, he wasn't sure why
it bothered him and, if it did, what he would do about it.
They both remained silent for a long beat, or two.
Rolling finally broke the silence. Without looking at Jim, he asked, "So,
what's your recommendation going to be?"
Jim thought for a moment before answering. Shaking his head, he finally
said, "I don't know." He turned and looked at Rollin.
"I don't know. My head tells me one thing, my heart tells me another."
Jim walked toward the door, then turned back to look at Rollin again, "I
don't know."
Jim opened the door. "I'll talk to you later. Get some rest."
Jim left Rollin alone.
Rollin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "This can't be happening.
This can't be happening." Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes.
He took another deep breath, trying to gain control. He covered his face
with his hands.
After a long moment, he heard the door open. He lowered his hands and
turned to see who had entered the room.
"Hi," Cinnamon greeted him with an uncertain smile.
As much as he loved to see her, the weight on his heart suppressed his enthusiasm.
"Hi," he said with a forced grin.
She knew instantly he was hurting, and not from his surgery.
"How are you feeling this morning?" She walked to his bedside.
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
"Rollin, what is it?" She pressed.
He closed his eyes. "Jim wants to take me out of the game."
He spoke so softly, his words were barely audible.
Cinnamon placed her hand on his chest to comfort him. He put his right hand
over hers without opening his eyes.
They both were quiet for several seconds.
"Rollin . . ." She hesitated, breaking the silence. How could
she tell him? How? She had to . . ."Rollin, it's my fault."
He could hear the tears in her voice. He opened his eyes.
He watched her for a moment, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"It's my fault." She bowed her head and began to softly cry.
"I'm so sorry."
"Cinnamon." He tightened his hold on
her hand and caressed her cheek with his left hand, trying to comfort her.
"What? Tell me." He immediately forgot his own pain and
worried only for her.
"Rollin, they told me you might die without the surgery. I didn't
know what to do. I gave them permission."
"Shhh.
Sweetheart, it's not your fault." He held her face in his hand.
"Yes." Cinnamon looked up at him. Her tears did not hold
back. "You don't understand. Dr. Green says they probably didn't
even need to remove your spleen."
Rollin dropped his hand from her cheek and stared at her in disbelief.
"What?"
Cinnamon nodded, unable to speak through her tears.
Rollin continued to stare at her for several seconds, then
. . . He chuckled.
Cinnamon wiped her tears with her free hand.
Rollin shook his head and chuckled again. "Unbelievable. Truly, unbelievable." He closed his eyes and began
to laugh to himself.
"Rollin?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Cinnamon, I love you."
He smiled.
Rollin, did you hear what I said?"
"Yeah." He smiled again. "Did
you hear what I said?"
"Rollin."
“Honey," he shook his head, "it happens." He chuckled
to himself, again.
“I don't get it."
“Cinnamon," he grabbed her eyes with his, "no regrets. We have ‘now.'
We should never lose that in ‘what could have been.'" He looked away
and continued, thinking out loud now, "I almost forgot that earlier with
Jim."
He looked back at her. "Did you hear what I said? I love you.
And, Cinnamon, that's all that matters."
She smiled through her tears. "I love you, too."
Cinnamon leaned to him, and pressed her lips to his. She lost herself for the
moment in the sensations brought on by the mere touch of his lips. And,
as far as he was concerned, she stole his breath, his will, his soul . . . again.
Their kiss lingered, then he pulled away and began
to kiss the tears from her cheeks. "Everything is going to
be fine, you'll see," he murmured in her ear.
"Barney, is there something going on between Rollin and Cinnamon?"
Barney had made his way back to
Barney took a long look at Jim before answering his boss. "I couldn't
say, Jim. What does it matter?"
Jim looked at Barney, incredulous. "What does it matter? You
know better, Barney. The Force can't allow its agents to become involved
with one another. The risk to them, to their team, to the Force, is too great."
Barney considered Jim's words, then looked him in the
eyes. "Jim, all I know is that without a thought, without the slightest
hesitation, without exception, I'd put my life in the hands of either one or
both of them, any time, any day. And that's all I – or you – need to know."
With that, Barney left Jim to check on his teammate. Jim watched him go, considering
his words. More and more, Jim was realizing that there shouldn't be any
decision to make regarding Rollin.
Jim didn't join Cinnamon and Barney or Rollin for the rest of the day and night.
He had some thinking to do, and he needed to do it alone. In the meantime,
they all sweated out news of his decision.
The next morning, Jim paced the living room of his suite at The Ritz as he tried
to work out his thoughts. Jim had spoken with the Secretary the night
before. The Secretary had asked about Rollin, but Jim didn't have an answer
for him.
"What is it that is bothering me so much about all this?" He
thought to himself. "Certainly, I'm concerned for Rollin's safety.
But, am I really more concerned for him now than I have been in the past? Am
I being honest? Rollin is one of the Force's best agents. His life
has been on the line more often than not on our missions. And yet, he
has never complained, never held back, never hesitated, never
compromised." Jim took a long drag on his cigarette.
"So, what is it? Cinnamon?"
He paced again. "So, they're close. How close? Does it
matter? Of course, it matters. The rules, dammit." Jim paced faster. "The rules? No, it's something more. Am I
jealous?" He stopped pacing and dwelled on this question.
"Don't be ridiculous, you idiot." He finally thought in answer.
"Certainly, you care for her. Deeply, as a matter
of fact, but not in that way." He paused, then . . . "Right?"
He asked, not actually certain of the answer.
"So, what do I do? If I bench Rollin, am I doing it for his own good
. . . or mine?" Jim took another drag on his cigarette and gazed
out over the
After several seconds, he turned and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray,
grabbed his coat and left to grab a cab to the hospital.
"All we need is Willy and we could have a team meeting." Jim
grinned, trying to break the ice, as he interrupted Barney and Cinnamon's visit
with Rollin.
The others politely grinned in response, not wanting to make the situation any
more uncomfortable than it was.
Jim joined Cinnamon at Rollin's bedside. Barney remained sitting in the
chair at the foot of the bed.
"How are you feeling?" He asked Rollin.
"I'll be alright," Rollin pronounced.
"I know you will." Jim meant it. "But, it better
be sooner than later. The Secretary may want us in Povia
in ten days. He'll know by the end of the week. In the meantime,
Rollin I want you to get Cinnamon ready. She has to learn everything there is
to know about Princess Celine of Povia.
I'll also need you to give us one of your best performances. You should be up
for it. It won't take much physical exertion."
Jim's decision was clear: Rollin was still in the game.
He continued. "We'll talk later. For now, I want you to get
some rest." Then, to Barney and Cinnamon, "You two, let's go.
Boy wonder, needs his rest."
Barney jumped to his feet. "Later, Rollin."
He shook his friend's hand and patted his shoulder, then followed Jim out the
door.
The relief Cinnamon felt overwhelmed her. Without a word, she followed
Barney and Jim. At the door, she turned back to look at him, and smiled.
"I told you everything would be alright," Rollin smiled.
With tears of relief threatening in her eyes, she nodded and smiled again, then
closed the door behind her.
Rollin lied there alone in the stillness of his room, looking
at the ceiling.
“The game is afoot” he said out loud and grinned to himself. Relieved,
he closed his eyes for some much needed rest.
Catherine Block
March 2002