MIDNIGHT

Rollin saw her in Steve's Place and there was an immediate attraction.

He liked her. She was a tall, sexy brunette with exotic, heavily-lined eyes, ruby red lips, a short dress, and a deep-smoky voice and raspy laugh that he found earthy and exciting. Rollin told the woman, Angie was her name, that he was in show business. She instantly bit, as they often did, telling him she always wanted to be an actress.

From there the evening rapidly progressed. They kissed, embraced, and talked with one another by the bar. Then she made a bold suggestion, a whisper in his ear, and he told her it was a terrific idea. Soon they were in a taxi, headed in the direction of his apartment building.

Mr. Hand was not a foolish man but, during his off time, he loved to cut loose, drinking, gaming, and keeping company with beautiful women. He knew it was probably in his best interest to keep a low profile but the ladies he dated, especially lately, were hardly high-end or significant. Few had ever drank champagne let alone know what Dom Pérignon was. They were fun, good for a night or three of thrills, but ultimately empty encounters.

He liked that too.

Rollin was an agent, in a highly dangerous line of work, and could not get too serious. But that did not mean he should endure loneliness - and he did not. Life was meant to be lived, not lamented.

In the hallway leading into his apartment she was giggling, slightly woozy from drink, and all over him. They had both imbibed a little more than they should and while Rollin was known for holding his liquor well he did feel a rush of eagerness that usually came from a morally ambiguous woman and some great scotch.

He slipped the key inside the lock and the door swung open. He and the women were kissing and holding one another, ready to head toward the bedroom, when he realized the lights were on and someone was sitting on the sofa in his living room.

Wide-eyed, Rollin looked at her. "Cinnamon?"

His date was unsteady on her feet and leaned against him as she tried to figure out what was going on.

"Hello, darling." Cinnamon squished out the cigarette she was smoking in one of his ashtrays, and smiled warmly. Her coat was flung over an arm-chair, a purse on the sofa's side table, and she was dressed impeccably in green. The dress matched her lovely eyes. Cinnamon looked like she made herself comfortable while waiting for her fellow agent.

"Who is she?" the brunette asked, spotting the beautiful blond, and now was wary and curious.

"I'm his wife." Cinnamon said quickly and stood. "I've just returned from Paris." She nearly appeared amused by the look on both Rollin and the girl's faces. "Oh, don't get upset." she said to Angie, "Rollin and I have an open relationship."

"Open?" The girl pushed away from Rollin a little.

"Oh yes," Cinnamon spoke pragmatically, "It's very convenient. You're very lovely. Much prettier than the last girl my husband brought home."

"You mean you and he …?" Angie's mouth opening in an appalled O.

"Well dear," Cinnamon folded her arms, "We are closing in on the 1970s, after all. I wasn't alone in Paris either, as he well knows."

"Sick!" The girl suddenly turned around angrily and headed toward the door.

"Angie!" Rollin followed her but his plea was cut short when his cheek met with her palm in a loud slap.

"Sick!" the girl repeated and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her.

Rollin lifted a hand to touch his cheek then turned to look at Cinnamon, "That was not funny." He said, miffed.

The sophisticated blond could not prevent a throaty chuckle. "I'm sorry, Rollin." She said in a tone that clearly indicated she was not. "But you weren't really serious about her, were you?"

"No." he admitted, "Not really. Still …" he looked back at the door longingly. She would have made the night a little less dull. Then, struck by the situation, he looked again at Cinnamon. "Why are you here? How did you get in?"

Her eyes widened slightly and she gave him a 'really?' look.

"Not that I'm not pleased to see you but …"

Cinnamon lifted a hand and nodded, humoring him. She picked up her bag and pulled out a packet of notes; what looked like a script. "Dan has an assignment for us. We need to do a recording, something very romantic and a little suggestive. Then we'll meet with him tomorrow afternoon at his place. All the information is here."

"Just the two of us?"

Cinnamon nodded as she watched him visually skimming the papers and script.

"Nick and Betsy?" he murmured and a small smile appeared.

They moved into his living room once again. Cinnamon waved a hand at a tape recorder sitting on the coffee table. "We'll get it done tonight; needs to be around forty five minutes. Dan said he'd fill us in on the rest tomorrow. We'll be doing some traveling." Cinnamon gently licked her lips as she sat on a cushion, "If it helps you can pretend I'm your pretty brunette friend that just left."

Rollin blinked, sitting beside her as he flipped through the pages. "I won't need to pretend you are anyone other than who you are." He muttered.

"Is that a compliment?" she asked, inquisitively.

He looked up from the script then directly at Miss Carter. "I suppose it is. But it's also the truth." Cinnamon was one of the few women Rollin genuinely valued. It wasn't that he did not respect all women but there was something about Cinnamon, her self-awareness and refinement, that made him want to be a better person. So much so that Rollin now found himself a little disappointed she had seen him during one of his more uncensored moments.

"Thank you." She said, warmly. Then, breaking from the moment Cinnamon said, "I made a pot of coffee. Would you like some?"

"I better." He replied and watched as she moved to his small kitchen to get the cups and pour coffee.

She returned as he adjusted the recorder, deciding on what accent he was going to use. Sipping, Rollin thought about the new assignment. "This couple have been parted for a few years after a quick but sensational affair." He commented.

Cinnamon nodded as she blew at the hot liquid in her own cup. "She is somewhat prim but sensual and he's handsome and charming - but also a bit of a player. She's a photographer and he's into boats."

"Did Dan say what exactly we're after?"

"No, not yet."

Rollin nodded. Missions frequently started this way; disjointed. Eventually everything fell into place. And, he thought with an internal sigh, a mission once again interfered with his personal life, as it often did with all of them. He was sorry Angie was scared away by Cinnamon's intervention. On the other hand, this mission seemed to be an interesting combination of romance and intrigue. He liked that almost as much, perhaps even a little more, than the pretty woman who just stormed off … And he also liked that he was working closely with Cinnamon Carter again. Dan had seen their working chemistry and obviously knew what they were capable of; a good team for an important mission.

"If it's any consolation," Cinnamon spoke lowly near his side, "You can do much better."

He looked at her, unsure of what she meant for a moment. He then realized Cinnamon was talking about Angie. "Well, I wasn't really looking for Mrs. Right." he confessed.

"Just Mrs. Right-now?" she asked.

He shrugged, "For us can there be anything else?"

Regrettably, Cinnamon concurred. Barney Collier, their electronics expert, was the exception. He had a wife and a very young son. But, for most of them, their work was their first love and all consuming. Cinnamon did not know how long that would remain true but, after working with such smart, handsome, wonderful men she was unsure a mere "regular Joe" would ever satisfy her. If she were to get serious it would have to be with someone involved with their line of work; a man who truly understood their crazy way of life.

She looked at Rollin as he studied for his new role. Often, she wondered if he was like Dan, too involved with his work to think of true love and an on-going relationship. Rollin was dedicated and loyal to his team members, she knew, but did he want more?

"Okay, I'm ready." he said, "Let's do it."

There, in the space of nearly forty five minutes, Cinnamon and Rollin spoke words of love, teasing one another, flirting, whispering, pausing for affect, softly laughing and expressing their dreams and desires. Cinnamon reached for him often as they spoke, his hands holding her's, and even then she wondered how much of what they were doing and saying was that of talented agents playing their parts, and how much was real.

A few times Rollin met her eyes with such yearning and, for a spit second, she believed he was sincere. But then his accent would thicken and he was the charming lout again. Cinnamon had to remind herself that he was a professional actor and good at his job.

When it was over, when the tape had run its course, Cinnamon leaned back on the sofa, a little exhausted. It was a few minutes before midnight. "That was good." she said.

"Dan should be pleased when we play it for him tomorrow." Rollin agreed.

They looked at one another for a moment but did not speak.

Then, feeling a little awkward, Cinnamon said, "It's getting late. I better go." She made a move to stand but was stilled when Rollin grasped her hand.

"Do you have to? We don't have to meet with Dan until lunchtime tomorrow and I …" Suddenly, as if for the first time, he realized the implications of what he was suggesting. Turning their working relationship into anything more friendly than a man and woman sharing an assignment together could be disastrous. "But if you're tired ..." He released her hand.

Cinnamon felt a little rejected although she understood. "Yes. We need a little down time, a good eight hours of rest, before we fly off to God knows where."

"You're right. It's late." he said, offering her his hand as he stood.

She nodded, not speaking, and clasped his hand again. It was warm and surprisingly gentle. Cinnamon picked up her purse and Rollin helped Cinnamon put on her coat.

He escorted her to his door.

"Rollin …" Cinnamon turned and looked up at him, her eyes saying much more than what her lips imparted. "I truly am sorry about Angie."

He smiled mildly. "Forget it. Some women are far more special than others. Angie was a good kid but …" He shrugged then added, "I had a very good night … just doing our job." Then he mentally added: And just being with you.

The couple looked at one another for a while then Cinnamon turned to leave. "Goodnight." she said, trying to prevent her bottom lip from trembling. Stop it, she thought. You're acting like an enamored teen. Just stop it.

"Goodnight." He replied.

Even after he closed the door Rollin stood and stared at it for a long while. Something had just happened but he was not certain what it was. Then slowly, running the evening over in his head, he turned and made his way to the bedroom.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

Midnight chimed on his mantel clock.

THE END.

This was my first MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE story. Please let me know what you thought of it.

this story take place around the time of the first season episode, "A Spool There Was".