"A Voice in the Dark" (Lucas/OC; Thriller/Romance- PG13/R) Chapter VI
TITLE: A Voice in the Dark
AUTHOR: Lexie aka lillianschild
FANDOM: Spooks/MI5
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Lucas/OC
SUMMARY: Section D has a traitor in its midst and a mysterious man arrives with what appears to be the key to rid MI5 of the mole.
A/N: this fic is my own version of Series 7. I will probably update it once a month, considering my busy work schedule, and try to pen a one-shot in between to continue my Guy & Marian Acrostic Series.
Disclaimer: all recognisable characters belong to BBC and Kudos Productions; I'm just playing with them for a little while without making a profit. No infringement's intended.
READ THE BEGINNING HERE
READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE
CHAPTER 6
When Annabelle woke up the following day, the sun was high up in the sky and her head was throbbing with a dull ache.
Closing her eyes, she remembered the events of the previous night, the way his gentle and soothing touch had affected her and what it'd felt like to be held in his arms. She should stop daydreaming about her captor, but deep down she was aware it was a lot easier said than done.
Last night had been a real turning point, an experience which had left her vulnerable and emotionally stripped. She wished she could wash away the imprint of his hands and lips on her skin because, as welcome and comforting as they'd been, they only reminded her of what would never be hers.
Stepping out of the shower, she studied her face in the mirror and saw the strain of the past few days reflected in the depth of her eyes. Carefully applied make-up helped her disguise the evidence of last night's tears and gave her back the appearance of normalcy she craved. She was once again calm and collected, outwardly unaffected by his interference in her life.
Annabelle couldn't help but go over the events of the previous day. Someone had provided her kidnappers with that photo to convince them she was the one who'd betrayed the dying man. Clearly, whoever had furnished her captor with this allegedly incontestable proof of her guilt wanted to detract attention from his own involvement.
Soon after she'd finished with her ablutions a knock was heard.
“Come in,” she called, surprised when the door opened and a tall, slim and very attractive man in his early thirties stepped in carrying a tray.
Tom. She recognised his gait and perfume.
“He'd like to see you once you've finished your lunch,” he told her, his voice as deep and musical as that of his partner. “I hope you're feeling better this morning.”
“Is that an apology?” she cocked a thin and shapely eyebrow.
“If there's anyone to answer for what happened yesterday, that would be me. He didn't want you harmed in any way, and I went against his wishes. It was my call, my decision, and I was wrong. I'm sorry.”
“Had our roles been reversed and several lives been at stake, I'd probably have done the same. As to your apology, the fact that I'm not wearing a blindfold and you're showing your face for the first time is enough proof of your contrition and your actual trust in me. So let's bygones be bygones, shall we?”
“Will you come then? To meet him I mean.”
“Yes,” she agreed after a pause.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
An hour later Annabelle was escorted to the ground floor, full of anticipation at the prospect of finally seeing face-to-face the mysterious man who had managed to bewitch her like some powerful sorcerer. However, it wasn't meant to be for, as soon as she crossed the threshold with Tom, she found herself in a dimmed-lit room once again.
It took her eyes a few moments to adjust and yet, all she could make out was a shape wrapped in shadows thanks to the strategic position of the desk lamp, which concealed his features with its brightness.
Tom ushered her to an armchair far from where her mystery man was sitting and then took a seat across from her closer to the desk.
“How do you feel?” asked the silken voice.
“As if I'd been run over by a herd of elephants,” she replied, letting out a deep breath.
“I'm sorry. I'd made you a promise, and I pride myself on being a man of my word. My partner... .”
“You mean Tom. He's taken all the blame upon himself and, finally, shown his face,” she cut him off, a clear note of censure in her voice which seemed to suggest a challenge addressed to her interlocutor to get him to follow his partner's lead.
“I understand your anger... .”
“Do you?”
“I'm only thinking of what's best for your safety.”
“Is that the truth? Is the thought of my protection what prevents you from stepping out of the shadows or is there something else?”
“I invited you to come down because I thought you'd like to know why you're here and what lies ahead.”
“And what is that, now that I can identify one of you? I'm not naïve. “
“I know it must be difficult for you to believe anything that comes from my mouth after what happened yesterday, but...”
Annabelle made an attempt to steel herself against that voice which he used like a gifted musician. He sounded so sincere that her resolve to put an end to the inexplicable attraction between them was soon defeated. After all, hadn't his arms been the ones to hold her and his gentle hands the ones to soothe her through the waves of nausea, the cold sweat and the unstoppable shaking which seized her body as her system absorbed the serum Tom had injected her?
“Try me,“ she replied. “When I entered this room you told me you'd summoned me to share your plans for me. “
“I can't let you go. Not until whoever sold out your source is identified and stopped.”
Annabelle was still as intrigued as the very first day. Weren't her abductors FSB agents and weren't they the ones behind all the killings? Or was this a case of a pair of cleaners shadowing a rogue Russian agent who was carrying out some kind of personal vendetta?
“Eight years ago MI5 discovered there was a Russian mole in their midst. Nobody knew their identity and so Harry Pearce decided to send his most trusted officer to follow the trail back to Moscow,” he began. “ Haven't you ever asked yourself why your boss has kept you in the dark this long?”
“The dying man... he... he was MI5? Is that what you're saying? Are you suggesting someone in Section D sold out one of their own? That my co-workers are the real enemy and that Sir Harry's involved? I don't believe you.”
Memories of the night she hadn't been able to shake off in months assaulted her once again. Had the dying man been sent to an early grave by the same people he must have trusted to keep his back so many times in defence of the realm? She'd spent a few hours with him in a dark room, listening to his cracking voice and sharing in his agony. His courage and his endurance, his readiness to go through hell and give his life to spare hundreds had left an indelible mark on her. The man had known too much; he must have been either a repentant FSB agent or a British spy who'd managed to penetrate the impregnable fortress of the Russian intelligence headquarters and learn its secrets.
“Sir Harry would have never betrayed one of his own,” she added softly, refusing to believe that the man who'd been her surrogate father wasn't what she thought he was.
She hated doubting her mentor and yet, she couldn't help but remember her conviction that Harry hadn't been absolutely sincere with her when it came to their asset's death. At the time she'd thought the lie had to do with the way the man had died; there had been a minute there when she'd believed her boss involved in hastening the man's passing to spare him any further agony. But even that suspicion had shown the head of Section D in a humane light, nothing like this. Could it be Harry had instead been lying about everything?
“If what you're suggesting is true... If he felt his own superior had abandoned him, betrayed him,” she replied, swallowing the big lump in her throat,”then why didn't he give us Pearce's name? Why...”
"What do you know of an operation called Sugarhorse?" he interrupted her quietly.
“I've never heard of it. And even if I had, I would never share government secrets with the enemy.”
“I'm not the enemy.”
“Then show your face and tell me who you are.”
“There would be no harm in that now. She's more than earned it. Don't you think it's time?” voiced Tom, looking at the man behind the desk.
The tension in the room suddenly increased. She liked Tom better after the unexpected outburst; but doubted it would make much of a difference. The man in the shadows had a quiet determination and strength which she suspected would hardly be swayed when challenged.
“Leave us,” replied the mystery man.
“I don't think...”
“Don't you trust Miss Reed, Tom? “
“It's OK, Tom. I promise I won't attack him. And I'm sure he has no intention of ravishing me. So you see, I think we'd both be safe if left alone in a room,” she smirked. “Don't you agree?” she asked the man in the dark after a short pause.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
“Я не тот, кто вы думаете. “
“If you aren't who I think you are, then why don't you reveal yourself? I'm tired of riddles and darkness, aren't you?”
“Sometimes darkness is all there is.”
“Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear his voice,
Saying: "Come out from the grove, my love & care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.''
“You like Blake?”
“And you like poetry. So did the man I heard dying that night. What was he to you? He wrapped himself in shadows when he learnt a woman was going to debrief him. What is it that you don't want me to see? “
“I'll ask Tom to get you some poetry books. If there's any other favourite apart from Blake, let him know. It'll give you something to while away the hours during my absence,” he replied after a pregnant pause, skirting round the question he obviously didn't intend to answer.
“Your absence?”
“You're staying here, where it's safe. Tom's going to look after you. I swear we won't let whoever's behind this get to you or harm you in any way.”
“How long will you be away?”
“I thought you'd welcome the reprieve. You'll miss me?” he teased her with a smile in his voice.
“There would have to be feelings of closeness involved for me to miss you, and you are just not my type.”
“And who's more your type? Him?” he asked, pointing at the grainy black and white photograph which had trigged the events of the previous day.
“Do I hear a hint of jealousy in your voice?”
“You can do better than him, Annabelle.”
“I thought any misconceptions you might have had about the nature of my relationship with him were dispelled yesterday. I thought you believed me.”
“And I do. It's him I don't trust,” he said coldly.
“Is he the mole?”
“Probably. But even if he weren't, he's an unsavoury character; one I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.”
“Why do I have the feeling there's history between you two?”
“You're right; there is. However, my reservations have nothing to do with a personal vendetta. They go way beyond that. I promise I'll tell you the story one day, but not today.”
“In our line of business, we rarely get the luxury of living up to promises made for another day. The Latin adage Carpe Diem is part of our world.”
“Somehow I don't think you fit the mould. Seizing the day would never be enough for someone like you. “
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant that way.”
“Why won't you show me your face?”
“Reality seldom lives up to one's expectations.”
“I'd have never thought of you as an insecure person. “
“Annabelle...”
“Yes?”
“I... “
Whatever confession, if any, he was about to make got interrupted by Tom's untimely barging into the room.
“I'm sorry,” apologised the intruder. “You'd better hurry. There's been an unexpected development.”
“Это прощание, затем,“ the man in the shadows said softly.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
прощайте. Goodbye... not 'See you later'. His last word had sounded too much like a farewell, and the echo of finality in that greeting still did odd things to her stomach.
Curiously, it wasn't her well-being but her captor's she was worried about as she lay on her bed. Fear assailed her waking hours and she found herself willing his safe return. It wasn't until the wee small hours of the morning, when she managed to fall asleep, that her disquiet was replaced with images of assuaging a passion whose power threatened to burn everything in its path.
It was as if they'd been predestined, as if their souls and their fates had been entangled long ago. It was the only way she could explain this overwhelming urge to have his lips and fingers touch her face and her skin once again.
And in her dreams she surrendered to the shadows and let them wrap her in their alluring warmth.
GO TO CHAPTER VII
A/N: The extract of the poem which Annabelle recited to Lucas is from "The Little Black Boy" by William Blake.
AUTHOR: Lexie aka lillianschild
FANDOM: Spooks/MI5
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Lucas/OC
SUMMARY: Section D has a traitor in its midst and a mysterious man arrives with what appears to be the key to rid MI5 of the mole.
A/N: this fic is my own version of Series 7. I will probably update it once a month, considering my busy work schedule, and try to pen a one-shot in between to continue my Guy & Marian Acrostic Series.
Disclaimer: all recognisable characters belong to BBC and Kudos Productions; I'm just playing with them for a little while without making a profit. No infringement's intended.
READ THE BEGINNING HERE
READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE
CHAPTER 6
When Annabelle woke up the following day, the sun was high up in the sky and her head was throbbing with a dull ache.
Closing her eyes, she remembered the events of the previous night, the way his gentle and soothing touch had affected her and what it'd felt like to be held in his arms. She should stop daydreaming about her captor, but deep down she was aware it was a lot easier said than done.
Last night had been a real turning point, an experience which had left her vulnerable and emotionally stripped. She wished she could wash away the imprint of his hands and lips on her skin because, as welcome and comforting as they'd been, they only reminded her of what would never be hers.
Stepping out of the shower, she studied her face in the mirror and saw the strain of the past few days reflected in the depth of her eyes. Carefully applied make-up helped her disguise the evidence of last night's tears and gave her back the appearance of normalcy she craved. She was once again calm and collected, outwardly unaffected by his interference in her life.
Annabelle couldn't help but go over the events of the previous day. Someone had provided her kidnappers with that photo to convince them she was the one who'd betrayed the dying man. Clearly, whoever had furnished her captor with this allegedly incontestable proof of her guilt wanted to detract attention from his own involvement.
Soon after she'd finished with her ablutions a knock was heard.
“Come in,” she called, surprised when the door opened and a tall, slim and very attractive man in his early thirties stepped in carrying a tray.
Tom. She recognised his gait and perfume.
“He'd like to see you once you've finished your lunch,” he told her, his voice as deep and musical as that of his partner. “I hope you're feeling better this morning.”
“Is that an apology?” she cocked a thin and shapely eyebrow.
“If there's anyone to answer for what happened yesterday, that would be me. He didn't want you harmed in any way, and I went against his wishes. It was my call, my decision, and I was wrong. I'm sorry.”
“Had our roles been reversed and several lives been at stake, I'd probably have done the same. As to your apology, the fact that I'm not wearing a blindfold and you're showing your face for the first time is enough proof of your contrition and your actual trust in me. So let's bygones be bygones, shall we?”
“Will you come then? To meet him I mean.”
“Yes,” she agreed after a pause.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
An hour later Annabelle was escorted to the ground floor, full of anticipation at the prospect of finally seeing face-to-face the mysterious man who had managed to bewitch her like some powerful sorcerer. However, it wasn't meant to be for, as soon as she crossed the threshold with Tom, she found herself in a dimmed-lit room once again.
It took her eyes a few moments to adjust and yet, all she could make out was a shape wrapped in shadows thanks to the strategic position of the desk lamp, which concealed his features with its brightness.
Tom ushered her to an armchair far from where her mystery man was sitting and then took a seat across from her closer to the desk.
“How do you feel?” asked the silken voice.
“As if I'd been run over by a herd of elephants,” she replied, letting out a deep breath.
“I'm sorry. I'd made you a promise, and I pride myself on being a man of my word. My partner... .”
“You mean Tom. He's taken all the blame upon himself and, finally, shown his face,” she cut him off, a clear note of censure in her voice which seemed to suggest a challenge addressed to her interlocutor to get him to follow his partner's lead.
“I understand your anger... .”
“Do you?”
“I'm only thinking of what's best for your safety.”
“Is that the truth? Is the thought of my protection what prevents you from stepping out of the shadows or is there something else?”
“I invited you to come down because I thought you'd like to know why you're here and what lies ahead.”
“And what is that, now that I can identify one of you? I'm not naïve. “
“I know it must be difficult for you to believe anything that comes from my mouth after what happened yesterday, but...”
Annabelle made an attempt to steel herself against that voice which he used like a gifted musician. He sounded so sincere that her resolve to put an end to the inexplicable attraction between them was soon defeated. After all, hadn't his arms been the ones to hold her and his gentle hands the ones to soothe her through the waves of nausea, the cold sweat and the unstoppable shaking which seized her body as her system absorbed the serum Tom had injected her?
“Try me,“ she replied. “When I entered this room you told me you'd summoned me to share your plans for me. “
“I can't let you go. Not until whoever sold out your source is identified and stopped.”
Annabelle was still as intrigued as the very first day. Weren't her abductors FSB agents and weren't they the ones behind all the killings? Or was this a case of a pair of cleaners shadowing a rogue Russian agent who was carrying out some kind of personal vendetta?
“Eight years ago MI5 discovered there was a Russian mole in their midst. Nobody knew their identity and so Harry Pearce decided to send his most trusted officer to follow the trail back to Moscow,” he began. “ Haven't you ever asked yourself why your boss has kept you in the dark this long?”
“The dying man... he... he was MI5? Is that what you're saying? Are you suggesting someone in Section D sold out one of their own? That my co-workers are the real enemy and that Sir Harry's involved? I don't believe you.”
Memories of the night she hadn't been able to shake off in months assaulted her once again. Had the dying man been sent to an early grave by the same people he must have trusted to keep his back so many times in defence of the realm? She'd spent a few hours with him in a dark room, listening to his cracking voice and sharing in his agony. His courage and his endurance, his readiness to go through hell and give his life to spare hundreds had left an indelible mark on her. The man had known too much; he must have been either a repentant FSB agent or a British spy who'd managed to penetrate the impregnable fortress of the Russian intelligence headquarters and learn its secrets.
“Sir Harry would have never betrayed one of his own,” she added softly, refusing to believe that the man who'd been her surrogate father wasn't what she thought he was.
She hated doubting her mentor and yet, she couldn't help but remember her conviction that Harry hadn't been absolutely sincere with her when it came to their asset's death. At the time she'd thought the lie had to do with the way the man had died; there had been a minute there when she'd believed her boss involved in hastening the man's passing to spare him any further agony. But even that suspicion had shown the head of Section D in a humane light, nothing like this. Could it be Harry had instead been lying about everything?
“If what you're suggesting is true... If he felt his own superior had abandoned him, betrayed him,” she replied, swallowing the big lump in her throat,”then why didn't he give us Pearce's name? Why...”
"What do you know of an operation called Sugarhorse?" he interrupted her quietly.
“I've never heard of it. And even if I had, I would never share government secrets with the enemy.”
“I'm not the enemy.”
“Then show your face and tell me who you are.”
“There would be no harm in that now. She's more than earned it. Don't you think it's time?” voiced Tom, looking at the man behind the desk.
The tension in the room suddenly increased. She liked Tom better after the unexpected outburst; but doubted it would make much of a difference. The man in the shadows had a quiet determination and strength which she suspected would hardly be swayed when challenged.
“Leave us,” replied the mystery man.
“I don't think...”
“Don't you trust Miss Reed, Tom? “
“It's OK, Tom. I promise I won't attack him. And I'm sure he has no intention of ravishing me. So you see, I think we'd both be safe if left alone in a room,” she smirked. “Don't you agree?” she asked the man in the dark after a short pause.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
“Я не тот, кто вы думаете. “
“If you aren't who I think you are, then why don't you reveal yourself? I'm tired of riddles and darkness, aren't you?”
“Sometimes darkness is all there is.”
“Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear his voice,
Saying: "Come out from the grove, my love & care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.''
“You like Blake?”
“And you like poetry. So did the man I heard dying that night. What was he to you? He wrapped himself in shadows when he learnt a woman was going to debrief him. What is it that you don't want me to see? “
“I'll ask Tom to get you some poetry books. If there's any other favourite apart from Blake, let him know. It'll give you something to while away the hours during my absence,” he replied after a pregnant pause, skirting round the question he obviously didn't intend to answer.
“Your absence?”
“You're staying here, where it's safe. Tom's going to look after you. I swear we won't let whoever's behind this get to you or harm you in any way.”
“How long will you be away?”
“I thought you'd welcome the reprieve. You'll miss me?” he teased her with a smile in his voice.
“There would have to be feelings of closeness involved for me to miss you, and you are just not my type.”
“And who's more your type? Him?” he asked, pointing at the grainy black and white photograph which had trigged the events of the previous day.
“Do I hear a hint of jealousy in your voice?”
“You can do better than him, Annabelle.”
“I thought any misconceptions you might have had about the nature of my relationship with him were dispelled yesterday. I thought you believed me.”
“And I do. It's him I don't trust,” he said coldly.
“Is he the mole?”
“Probably. But even if he weren't, he's an unsavoury character; one I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.”
“Why do I have the feeling there's history between you two?”
“You're right; there is. However, my reservations have nothing to do with a personal vendetta. They go way beyond that. I promise I'll tell you the story one day, but not today.”
“In our line of business, we rarely get the luxury of living up to promises made for another day. The Latin adage Carpe Diem is part of our world.”
“Somehow I don't think you fit the mould. Seizing the day would never be enough for someone like you. “
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant that way.”
“Why won't you show me your face?”
“Reality seldom lives up to one's expectations.”
“I'd have never thought of you as an insecure person. “
“Annabelle...”
“Yes?”
“I... “
Whatever confession, if any, he was about to make got interrupted by Tom's untimely barging into the room.
“I'm sorry,” apologised the intruder. “You'd better hurry. There's been an unexpected development.”
“Это прощание, затем,“ the man in the shadows said softly.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
прощайте. Goodbye... not 'See you later'. His last word had sounded too much like a farewell, and the echo of finality in that greeting still did odd things to her stomach.
Curiously, it wasn't her well-being but her captor's she was worried about as she lay on her bed. Fear assailed her waking hours and she found herself willing his safe return. It wasn't until the wee small hours of the morning, when she managed to fall asleep, that her disquiet was replaced with images of assuaging a passion whose power threatened to burn everything in its path.
It was as if they'd been predestined, as if their souls and their fates had been entangled long ago. It was the only way she could explain this overwhelming urge to have his lips and fingers touch her face and her skin once again.
And in her dreams she surrendered to the shadows and let them wrap her in their alluring warmth.
GO TO CHAPTER VII
A/N: The extract of the poem which Annabelle recited to Lucas is from "The Little Black Boy" by William Blake.