Mr. Sandman

Matthews sat on the credenza in Cowley's office, leafing through a magazine. It was an American publication. Matthews closed his eyes for a moment. Seemed to him, that he was surrounded by things from the United States--that song, this magazine. Shrugging, he continued to go through the magazine, stopping at an ad for gin. Napoleon Bonaparte was the image in the printed display. Matthews grinned. A french leader...a dead, french leader, he corrected, in a yank advertisement. Well, why not? The American magazine was in a british government office.
Harriet, Cowley's secretary, came out. "He's just leaving the hospital now, Mr. Matthews. Shouldn't be long."
"Thank you."
"Would you like a nice cuppa?"
"That sounds like a good idea. I could go with a strong cup."
"Will bring it right in, then. White?"
"black." The woman smiled and left him. Matthews's attention went back to Napoleon. Old Boney... The agent studied the picture and the stupid song came back...

****** ["...AND LOTS OF CURLY HAIR LIKE LIBERACE..."] ******

Curly hair? Matthews mused. No, he should look like Nappy here, just like him, only taller, the agent laughed to himself. Don't want one that comes up to my belly button. And buns...he had to have great buns...
Irritation flung itself through his body, his mind. He threw the publication down on Cowley's desk and scowled at the picture of Napoleon Bonaparte who stood in the illustration, smugly smiling back, with not a care in the world.
What good is wanting? he demanded of himself. Would it invent such a man from thin air? Matthews knew he would have no trouble in finding a lover, for a night, a week, a month or two...but just having a lover wasn't what he wanted.
He wanted someone permanent in his life, someone he could trust and believe in and love, and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that his lover would trust and believe and love him just as much.
The image teased him...the song tormented...

****** ["...SOMEONE TO HOLD..."] ******

Passionate, solid arms around him, a warm body to give him comfort, take away the loneliness... someone to lie beside him... someone to make him moan in passion and tremble in desire.
Sometimes, the feeling of seclusion, the knowledge that he may never have anyone to share his life with, grew so strong, he could not sleep.
Shaking the thoughts away, he took the few steps from the credenza and Cowley's desk, and picked up the magazine once more. Napoleon Bonaparte stared back, that Mona Lisa smile on his calm, knowing face.

****** ["MR. SANDMAN...BRING ME A DREAM...MAKE HIM THE CUTEST THAT I'VE EVER SEEN..."] ******

The image appeared once more at the back of his mind, only now, it was clearer. He was an awful lot like Nappy here. He was strong and quiet, a leader who was not afraid to follow when the need arose...someone to stand at his side or his back to guard and protect and be safeguarded in turn.

Harriet returned with the tea and then left him to the quiet of Cowley's office. He drank the hot liquid, trying not to look at the photo, but his eyes constantly returned to the print. He sat there, holding the publication, fantasizing. The time passed in a haze.
About fifteen minutes later, Cowley arrived, looking harried, disquieted. "Ah, Matthews. Sorry to keep you waiting."
"I kept myself busy." He lifted the American periodical and motioned once toward his boss.
"Reading?" Cowley was pleased.
"Yeah." Matthews laid the magazine down and settled back against the credenza once more.
"Reading improves the mind." Cowley sat, folded his hands and looked in interest at his young agent. "You've never worked with a partner, have you?" He knew the answer of course but waited until Matthews shook his head. "One of my best men has just lost his. I want you to work with him when he gets out of the hospital."
"Hospital?"
"They were caught in cross fire. He was injured but Adams was killed outright. I'd like you to go tomorrow and see him, get acquainted." Cowley hesitated but admitted, "You might find him against taking you on. He and Adams have been working together for five years. I...he doesn't want a young partner, Matthews. He's made that quite clear."
"Then give him someone older. I don't mind working alone."
Cowley agreed gravely, "No, I know you don't but I think you two will serve well together. Give it a try. If it doesn't work out, I'll separate you two."
"He know I'm gay?"
"No. If you want him to know, you'll have to tell him...or remain mum...do as you see fit; I'll not interfere."
"He anti-gay? Homophobic?"
Cowley smiled, his eyes lighting up in delight. Matthews wondered why. "No."
"What's his name?"
"Gladden, William. Well?"
Gladden? He had heard of him, and the things he had heard, one bird after another, one night stands... "Don't have much choice, now do I?" He didn't like the idea; that showed on the thinness of his lips.
The boss of CI5 nodded. "No, afraid you don't, Matthews."
"Then I'll go see him."
"And work with him."
Matthews's face closed up. "And work with him."
He kept his face impassive as he left, but his mind, his heart, protested the idea. He knew Gladden's kind... if he ever found out John Matthews was a homosexual, Gladden would be against him, maybe not openly, but... No, he'd have to keep his private life thoroughly private, which would be a problem. Good partners shared after hours as well as work time together. In a good team, it was hard to keep labor and private life separate...birthdays, Christmas, births of children, problems in marriages. No, it was next to impossible to keep them apart unless the team had a vital spark missing. How could you stand beside someone, waiting to kill or be killed, and trust them if they couldn't be trusted in the confidential things in a man's life? How could Cowley have forgotten something that important? Maybe Murphy was correct; maybe the old man was loosing it. Damn... Sighing, Matthews left.