Chapter Twenty-Five Sub Specie Durationis

October ended while Lizzy was still at Banner Wyoming Medical Center. Her stay had lasted a few days longer than she’d anticipated. Dr. Williams had been good about seeing her each day. Lizzy spent most of the time either sleeping or talking to Karen…and to Ricky and Philippa when they were there. She used the trip down the hallway to Karen's room as her primary physical therapy. Otherwise, she worried and fretted about Fitzwilliam.

Charlie stayed in Casper to watch over her, and the agents remained posted outside both hospital rooms. Karen made steady, remarkable progress. She was, indeed, a strong woman. The two women grew steadily closer, and talking with her was extremely helpful for Lizzy.

Once Lizzy was up and about, Jane had begun to call, and they talked a couple of times a day. That, too, was a help. Since she needed to go to Langley to go through the necessary procedures to complete her resignation from the Agency, Lizzy was planning to stay with Jane in D.C.

On a whim, Lizzy convinced her doctor and Charlie to let her go with her two agents to the children's ward on Halloween. She helped the nurses distribute candy and arrange a small costume party for the children who could participate. It gave her something to do, and it also touched a part of her.

She had always enjoyed children but had never considered having any. Working for the Agency made becoming a mother unlikely, given her almost non-existent dating life. And the danger to which she was routinely exposed made it imprudent, even if she had a prospect to father them.

Fitzwilliam and her resignation had changed all that. For the first time in her life, Lizzy interacted with children while actively imagining that someday she might be a mother.

The problem was that she had no clue where the father she imagined for them might be. No one had heard anything from Fitzwilliam. Charlie promised her he would tell her if Fitzwilliam contacted him, but Fitzwilliam had not. Every day, she hoped the mail might bring her something, but it did not. She was deeply worried about him, frightened for him.

It had taken a few days for her head to clear, to think straight and know she was thinking straight, and it finally occurred to her that if her cover had been compromised, it was almost certain that Fitzwilliam’s had been, too. No more Ned. She was unsure what he was planning, but another undercover ploy to get the Wicker Man seemed impossible.

The final Wicker Man agent, the one at whom Karen had shot when she first found Lizzy, was never found. No one reported a body. Charlie assumed he had managed to escape. Unfortunately, Frank Northup’s interrogation had not been completed when he died, so the name of the last team member who had been on the mountain that night remained unknown.

With Lizzy's discharge pending, Charlie made arrangements through the Agency for them to fly back to D.C. Other agents in Chicago broke down Fanny's apartment― no more Fanny― as well as the apartment across the street that Fitzwilliam and Charlie had used.

Her final mission was finished.

On the first day of November, Dr. Williams told her that she would be released the next day with a clean bill of health. Her ribs were still sore but manageable, her blistered feet were healed. All the tests from the rape kit had finally come back negative.

"You look rested—or well on your way to rested," Dr. Williams told her during their final visit before Lizzy was to be discharged. She was standing by the bed, chart tucked under her arm, staring above her reading glasses. "I hope you don't mind, but I was talking to Charlie—Agent Bingley—and he told me that you’ve resigned. Is that all there is to it? You're done? Walk away?"

"No, not all. I am done, but I have to go back to Langley. There are exit interviews and training sessions. When your work has been all or mostly deep cover, it's not easy to construct a normal resume. Or resume a normal life. So there's a retirement class, as it’s called, and exit interviews, NDAs."

"Oh, non-disclosure agreements? Right, I guess I can see how those would be necessary. So you retire from your past with almost no evidence of your past?"

Lizzy shrugged carefully, protecting her ribs. "Lizzy Bennet, the real me, only existed now and then since I joined the Company. Like a strobe light."

Dr. Williams looked at her steadily. "Speaking of that, you’d told me that too-blonde hair of yours was necessary for your last mission. You might feel better going back to being a brunette again."

Lizzy hadn't thought about it. She had been blonde for long enough that seeing the color was no longer any shock. But Dr. Williams was right; she missed seeing her own hair in the mirror.

"It'll be good to be me again…if I can remember how."

"That's the great thing about being yourself. You do it simply by not pretending to be anyone else."

Lizzy fixed her eyes on the doctor. " Simply ?"

Dr. Williams pushed her glasses up, although she continued to look over them, and she smiled wistfully. "Well, call that word choice the triumph of hope over experience."

***

Tuesday, November 3

There had still been no news of Fitzwilliam when Lizzy and Charlie left the hospital to go to the airport.

In conversations with Charlie, Kellynch had offered to provide the plane for them. Lizzy had not talked to the director since she’d told him she was resigning. She suspected he was hoping to ingratiate himself before she returned and perhaps inspire her to a feeling of indebtedness. Lizzy, still tired, still a little sore, was glad to be saved from the effort of a commercial flight, but she felt no twinge of remorse or irresolution.

The only regret she felt was leaving Karen behind at the hospital. At least Karen seemed to be doing well. She had begun physical therapy and was able to hold Ricky for short periods so long as he was not too squirmy. She made Lizzy promise to get into contact as soon as she had finished in D.C. and settled somewhere.

But that was the problem. Beyond Langley, Lizzy still had no idea what her future held or where it might occur. She began to realize that her first post-D.C. destination likely would be Rochester, her childhood home.

She had talked to her mother briefly the day after her first visit to Karen's room. She hadn’t told her mother any of what happened, only saying that she was still traveling for work and had not been feeling well. Characteristically, Mrs. Bennet had minimized it. "Well, you know no one dies of a cold, Lizzy. You're probably just working too hard, like always. I don't understand why you do it. You've looked tired for years. It's no wonder you've never found a man. Hard to bag a man with bags under your eyes."

Lizzy had let the last comment go, but the one before it caught her attention. "Tired, Mom? I looked tired? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I tried, but sometimes you are like your father. You tune me out. I have mentioned it to you."

As Lizzy thought about it, she realized that it was true. Her mother had mentioned it to her repeatedly almost every time they saw each other in person. Lizzy had always ignored it, taking it as more of her mother's general complaining, trying to get her daughter invested in her own perpetual hypochondria. But now Lizzy knew it was true; her mother had been right.

Burning the candle at both ends . It was easier when you were not sure which end was real and which end was fake, which was you and which was a cover. Light both and let them burn away.

The day before her discharge, she had called her mother again to tell her she was resigning her position and wanted to stay at home in Rochester until she was clear about her next step. Her mother was delighted, delighted , and said so over and over. "You can work in the shop for a while if you want. Your aunt would be happy to have you, and it would free me up. I've been more and more involved at church, especially with the holidays coming up. They've put me on a committee for Thanksgiving and made me the head of another one for Christmas, the Toy Drive Committee."

Lizzy groaned inwardly. She hadn't thought about the fact that she would almost certainly end up spending the holidays in Rochester with her mother. Mom puts the dollar sign in Chri$tmas . Christmas in Rochester would be an expensive, showy ordeal. With toys added in. Lizzy would have to deal with it. Who would make Mom the head of a committee―especially a committee for a Christmas Toy Drive?

"Okay, Mom, I'll call you when I've gotten everything taken care of in D.C."

"I'll fix your room just like you like it."

That made Lizzy smile despite it all. My room. Maybe you can go home again, despite what Thomas Wolfe says. Maybe she could remember who she'd been before all this started. Before her dad died. Before Kellynch and the Company.

"Thanks, Mom."

***

Monday, November 16

Langley stood before her as the Uber turned in―stood like a vast fortress, so heavy and obdurate it was unclear how the earth could bear it. She got out and stood for a moment, the early winter wind whipping at her, blowing against the exposed skin of her neck, making her vulnerability seem worse.

She dreaded the visit. Today she would have to face Kellynch once more. She was almost done with the maze that led to the permanent exit from Langley—the narrow one for the use of the living that was not often found. The entrance to Langley was wide; the exit was not. Many are called but few are released. She hunched her shoulders, ducked her head, and walked inside.

Charlie and Jane stood at the front security desk on the opposite side of the lobby waiting for her. Lizzy put her things on the security belt for scan and walked through the radiometric scanner herself. Once she was through, the couple met her, and Jane helped her gather her bag and coat. Lizzy noticed the two were careful not to touch…not to seem like a couple.

"So, this is it. The final meeting," Charlie commented softly.

Lizzy nodded, her throat suddenly feeling dry, her hands slightly shaky, her chest constricted. Kellynch had been overseeing her life for so long that it had come to seem the natural order of things, and she struggled to get used to the new order. His had been the opinion that had mattered to her. His orders had ruled her life. Now she was in control. A Copernican Revolution.

Jane put her hand on her shoulder. "Take a breath, Liz. You're all but out the door. We talked about this last night. No problem."

Lizzy nodded. Charlie winked at her. "Listen to Jane. I'm going to go and see if there's any chatter that might be connected to Darcy." He frowned and gave her a sympathetic look. "There was none yesterday."

She nodded again in acknowledgement. Jane took her hand. "I'll walk with you part of the way, but I'm not going to face Charlotte."

Lizzy gave her a tight grin. Jane and Charlotte had never gotten along. Neither Lizzy nor Jane was certain where Charlotte’s dislike originated. Lizzy guessed it was might be because Jane had been her recruiter. Charlotte’s envy of Lizzy may have colored her impression of Jane; perhaps she blamed Jane for Lizzy. Jane had gotten Charlotte's coldest shoulder on several occasions and had decided not to bother with her anymore.

"So," she said as they weaved through the warren-like hallways toward Kellynch's office, "are your things all moved from your D.C. apartment into storage?"

"Yes, the movers took the last of it this afternoon. After I beard the lion in his den, I'm a free woman."

"Any clarity overnight about what comes next after the move to Rochester?"

The previous evening, Lizzy and Jane had sat on foldout chairs among her stacks of boxes and a few unboxed odds and ends. They drank wine and talked in the light of one lamp with its naked bulb. Lizzy had inadvertently packed the lampshade in a box, forgot which one, and had not wanted to open random boxes to find it.

"A little. I've decided to apply to the English graduate program at the University of Rochester. But as I said last night, I'm not sure I'll get in. And I’ll have to submit a writing sample. I have a few of my senior papers, but any of them would need serious work to make me competitive. Still, I've got until mid-December to do the rewriting or write a new one."

"Were those in that small box you shoved under your chair?"

Lizzy nodded. "Yeah, my self-consciousness ran riot, I guess."

"Which of them do you think you will rewrite? Or what new topic might you write about if you don’t use one of your old papers?"

Lizzy took a moment. They stopped at a junction of hallways not far from Kellynch's office. "Actually, I had an idea for a rewrite, something that might be…I don't know, therapeutic and interesting. A paper investigating the relationship between theatricality and spies in the works of Le Carré, particularly Call for the Dead and Little Drummer Girl. Take seriously the idea of the theater of the real. Spies as actors, actors as spies."

Jane raised a surprised eyebrow. "A little close to home, isn't it? Maybe a little too real ?"

Lizzy shrugged and nodded all at once. "‘Real’ and ‘fake’ have started to lose their meaning. Still, I think it might help me to write about it all without being in it all any longer. The Company therapist I talked to last week mentioned that journaling—or something like that—might be good for me. And, hey, even in school, it's still best to write about what you know…though I won't be admitting that's what I'm doing. I'll be writing about fictional spies."

Jane shook her head and chuckled softly. "‘Truth’ and ‘fiction.’ ‘Write what you know’? Someone should have told that to some of my college professors! Lectures might have been more interesting.” She pointed to the doorway ahead of them, and they slowed their walk. “Well, this is where we part company. You're still spending the night at my place before you head to Rochester tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course. You've got my suitcases, remember, and the rental car's coming to your place in the morning." It occurred to Lizzy that Jane was keeping her talking to help calm her before the meeting.

"Right. Okay! Now it's time for you to part Company. Good luck!" Jane stopped, rethinking, and she smiled mischievously. "Or should I say break a leg ?'” They shared a look, recalling that she’d said the same thing just before Lizzy was about to leave for Chicago.

"Thanks, Jane. No more acting for me."

As Lizzy approached Charlotte's desk, she made herself focus, focus on her breathing. She wished Fitzwilliam were waiting outside Langley, his arms waiting to hold her and welcome her into her new life―the life she wanted to share with him.

But he wasn't. That life remained distant from her, as he did. She did not know where either was to be found. Still, she knew that she needed to be finished with Langley, whatever was beyond its narrow exit.

I am Elizabeth Bennet. I am equal to anything. My courage always rises.

Just as Lizzy finished with her internal self-affirmations, Charlotte looked up. She seemed startled by Lizzy’s appearance at first. She's never seen me blonde. Charlotte frowned menacingly. She did not like blonde Lizzy. The old line about blondes having more fun , Lizzy suddenly knew, was simultaneously in both their minds…ironically in Lizzy’s, enviously in Charlotte’s. They don't, Charlotte, Lizzy thought as she reached the desk. This blonde didn’t have more fun.

Charlotte tucked away her startled frown, her expression slowly changing to one of subtle triumph. Of course—she knows why I'm here. From her point of view, the competition is exiting the field.

"I'm here for my appointment with the director," Lizzy said simply, deciding to go through the full formalities. Charlotte nodded and picked up her phone.

"Agent Bennet here to see you, sir," she reported.

Lizzy's attention was immediately caught by the new undertone of intimacy in that “ sir.” It was then Lizzy noticed that Charlotte’s clothes were different, too―trendier, actually a bit daring. Her blouse had a deep V neckline. Normally, she wore only achromatic colors, professional. White and black occasionally leavened with a splash of gray. But now her blouse was deep blue, and she had a matching blue hairpin in her hair―her newly-styled hair. And lipstick…red lipstick. Lizzy had never seen her wearing makeup.

Charlotte hung up the phone and stood. Her navy skirt was pleated and short, exposing the length of her legs to her navy heels. Charlotte in heels. No longer low-key Charlotte. She opened the door to Kellynch's office, making sure that she was on display in the doorway as she announced his visitor. As Lizzy stepped forward, Kellynch was giving Charlotte a look―a look with as much an undertone of intimacy as Charlotte's “ sir.”

His look disappeared as she stepped aside to allow Lizzy to enter. "Ah, Agent Bennet—I'll call you that for old times' sake—please have a seat." He gestured to the chair where Fitzwilliam had been seated the night she had been called to Langley.

Although she sat, Kellynch stayed on his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. He walked around to the front of his desk and continued to stand, considering her. Then he unclasped his hands and sighed. "I suppose all good things come to an end, don't they?"

Lizzy wasn't sure that was the most appropriate description of her time in the Company, but she did not want to cause any friction; she just wanted this meeting to be done. “Yes, sir.”

"I talked to Dr. Williams earlier today. I wanted to know what she thought about your resignation." He frowned slightly. "She told me she was all for it, and she went on to share quite a few pointed thoughts with me about the Company, our use of agents."

Lizzy suppressed a smile. She could just imagine Dr. Williams's comments. "She's not a big fan of what you do or how you do it," she offered, keeping her tone studiedly neutral.

He stared at her for a moment. "But what we do is necessary. And we only do it in reaction to the actions of others, other governments."

She knew that wasn't completely true but also knew there was no point in saying so. "I suspect the most Dr. Williams would grant is that what you do is a necessary evil , and that calling an evil 'necessary' doesn't alchemize it from evil to good. It's still evil, even if it's necessary." Lizzy thought of Fitzwilliam, the Pauline Principle: Do not do evil so that good may come.

The thought made her heart ache with missing him—but it also made it ache for the two of them, for all that had transpired in Chicago, for what they had mutually asked for and allowed in the seduction of Wickham.

"Well, Dr. Williams lives in a fantasy," Kellynch said with a hint of defensiveness. "I live in the real world. Langley is realpolitik embodied."

She nodded concessively but then added, "Dr. Williams is oriented on health, not on sickness."

He stiffened, and his eyes showed a flash of anger. He walked behind the desk to his chair and sat down. "So there's no way we can keep you? No way I can sweeten the pot?"

It was the wrong phrasing of the question. Lizzy's mind immediately fastened on “pot.” Honey pot. "No," she said with a cool final certainty, a calm tranquility that surprised her. "Nothing."

He nodded and opened a folder on his desk. "You have a lot of vacation pay coming. I hadn't realized you had used so little."

"I've been busy."

"Yes, I suppose so. Well, the check for the unused vacation time will be sent to your forwarding address in…Rochester."

"Do you have any idea how my cover was compromised or how the Wicker Man came to suspect me?"

Kellynch looked up, surprised. "No," he confessed after a moment. "I don't. We investigated here, and my counterpart in MI-6 investigated there, fine-sifting everyone involved. We both discovered nothing. I don't think there's a mole here, and he doesn't think there's one there. We’re on the alert, as we always are, but now especially." He considered her again. "We've had agents outside your apartment, as you've probably noticed. If you want, I can have agents stationed to watch over you wherever you go, at least for a time…a few weeks, a month."

"No, that's not necessary. If nothing's happened by now, nothing will. But I appreciate it, both what you've done and the offer of more."

He nodded. "I like the blonde hair," he said, smiling after a silent moment between them.

"I don't think Charlotte did," Lizzy responded, partly to provoke a reaction.

Kellynch's eyes shifted to his closed office door. "No, I suppose not." Annoyance laced his tone.

"Did MI-6 have any news about Darcy?" Lizzy asked as Kellynch signed a form and closed the file.

He glanced up at her, the glance sharp, suspicious. " Agent Darcy? No, I've not heard anything. MI-6 has told me nothing. I asked again recently. Whatever he's doing, it's not sanctioned by the Company."

"But MI-6 is involved? He has their resources? Access to help?"

"I don't know. MI-6 has been tight-lipped about Agent Darcy since he went dark. I don't think he's classified as rogue, but I'm not sure what his relationship is with his own Agency. I'm not sure they know."

It wasn't the news Lizzy wanted to hear, but it was news. Her heart thumped in her chest, anxious for Fitzwilliam. She stood, needing to move, and extended her hand. "Thank you, sir."

Kellynch stood too. He took her hand and shook it, the gesture ceremonial and solemn.

"I hate losing you, Agent Bennet. Hate it . Let me know if I can somehow be of help to you."

He led her to the door of the office and opened it. She walked out, and he closed the door.

Charlotte was watching. "So, you're doing it, quitting us? Quitting him?"

Lizzy nodded once. "Yes."

Charlotte smiled happily. "Best of luck, Elizabeth Bennet."

Lizzy thought about Charlotte's new clothes and new hairstyle, and she thought of Jane, misquoting Thoreau after dying Lizzy's hair. Beware of all enterprises that require new hair.

"Good luck to you too, Charlotte."

***

Tuesday, November 17

The next day, as Lizzy drove to Rochester in bright, cold November sunshine, she noticed that time seemed to be passing differently. She had noticed it before, but only in passing, in odd moments where the minutes or hours or days seemed altered. It was as though present time itself were thickening, becoming elastic. The present seemed as if it could be stretched backward indefinitely, stretched forward to infinity. Time seemed continuous, deeper.

On missions, time had been reduced to dust, to particles, not continuous but hard, discreet moments, the past to be forgotten and the future beyond the mission meaningless. She had been experiencing time as subservient to her mission, to her agent habits, experiencing time to facilitate action and mission necessities.

She was discovering that the world she had been living in―the Company world, the world the Farm gave to her senses and her consciousness―was no more than a shadow of itself. And it was as cold as death. All was arranged for maximum agent efficiency. Everything was in a present that seemed constantly to be starting again, discontinuous with the past and with the future.

She sighed as the miles passed by, letting her time stretch itself like a lazy cat in the sun.

***

That evening, Lizzy was stretched out on the bed in her old bedroom, having gotten to Rochester in late afternoon. Her mother, who had sent her upstairs to rest, was downstairs cleaning up after dinner. The bedroom had been freshly dusted and cleaned and the bedding changed, although it had not been used in a long time. The room looked the way it always had. Her posters from high school were still on the walls. Her bookcase was filled with her favorite books.

Instead of feeling that her life was moving backwards, she felt as if she were reclaiming herself, tugging the elasticized present backward to recover who she had once been and what she had once wanted and hoped for. The woman was being reintroduced to the girl.

It was not that she wanted to revivify all her childhood dreams, many of which now made her blush for or smile indulgently at her past self. It was rather that she wanted to revivify herself, to recover some of the youth the Company had cost her. Langley aged agents quickly, and Lizzy was weary of the world-weariness her job had taught her. She wanted to breathe free. She wanted a life, one life, hers, not a succession of lives, covers. One, not many.

"Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet shouted up the stairs. "Your aunt is here, and she has something for you."

Lizzy had been lost in thought, as she had been all day. She’d lost track of the household noises, the doorbell. Getting up, she hurried downstairs.

Her Aunt Christine stood near the front door, a box in her hands. She looked well and greeted Lizzy with a smile of deep affection. After handing the box to Mrs. Bennet, she threw out her arms, and Lizzy rushed into a hug. They held each other for a long time until Mrs. Bennet began clearing her throat.

"What's this?" she asked, shaking the box.

"I don't know," her aunt said, ending the hug. "It arrived at the bridal shop this afternoon. It was shipped to the store, but it’s addressed to Lizzy."

Lizzy took the box from her mother and recognized the writing. Fitzwilliam. She tore the box open and handed it, empty, to her aunt. When she held up the contents, Mrs. Bennet said, "Oh, it's just a book."

It was the copy of Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters from Fanny's apartment. Lizzy opened the cover. The dedication was there…but changed.

For My Love, Elizabeth, hoping for a Wife—and Daughters (or Sons)

Fitzwilliam

“Fanny” had been marked out, and “Elizabeth” was written above it; “Ned” had been marked out, and “Fitzwilliam” appeared above it. Otherwise, the book was unchanged.

Lizzy hugged it to her chest, tears in her eyes.

"Is it valuable? Worth money?" Mrs. Bennet asked, curious, slightly puzzled. Hopeful.

"It's valuable," her aunt said, hugging Lizzy again as Lizzy continued hugging the book.