From Russia with Love (Lucas/Vyeta- Drama/Romance- PG13); Introduction & Chapter I

[lillianschild]

TITLE: From Russia with Love

SUMMARY: Lucas arrives home from Russia intent on getting his life back, including the love of a woman whose memory's kept him alive.

AUTHOR: Lexie aka lillianschild

RATING: PG-13/Mild R (probably in later chapters)

FANDOM: Spooks

PAIRING: Lucas/Vyeta

GENRE: Drama/romance
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.

A/N: I’m going to use some events from the beginning of Series 7 and put my own spin on them to suit my needs. In other words, the plot’s going to be largely AU after Lucas’ introduction.

I can't stand Sarah Caulfield, and Maya's a reminder of the way TPTB destroyed Lucas' journey and Richard's painstaking work building the character, so neither of them was an option as a romantic couple for this fic.

I could have come up with an OC, I suppose. However, I loved most of the scenes Lucas was in with Vyeta and all the potential of their storyline, which was thrown down the drain pretty fast. I'm sorry, but never in a million years would they convince me Maya was the love of his life and the woman he'd never been able to forget after watching the way he was around his ex-wife in Series 7.

In short, I'm going to explore what could have been if the writers had done their work properly.

A/N 2:Here's one of my Lucas/Vyeta all-time favourite videos made by the wonderful Spikesbint. Not only does it share the same title, it goes perfectly with the plot of this tale.

Click to view

Enjoy!

PROLOGUE

Monday November 3rd, 2008

He's been on English soil for a week. He's supposed to be finally back home after his hellish eight-year imprisonment in Lubyanka and yet, that sense of belonging that is expected from a member of Her Majesty's Service returned to his homeland isn't there. How could it be when Harry- his mentor and the man he cares for like a second father- has revoked his temporary clearance at work, the one place where he'd always known who he was before his forced exile? How could he feel back home when everyone but Malcolm is a stranger to him on The Grid and when he is still a dead man to the one person who's filled his thoughts for eight years? Elizaveta Starkova. Vyeta. His wife; the one he'd lost even before boarding the plane to Moscow on that ill-fated mission a lifetime ago.

He remembers what he had and what he lost, and dreams of getting it back.

She's well and happy. He hasn't been able to think of anything else since Harry's cryptic reply in the bathroom at Thames House; a pregnant silence that has done nothing but robbed him of sleep- the one he's supposed to be catching up on during his leave of absence while the MI5 psychiatrist, his superiors and his physical prove he's fit for active service again.

He's spent most of the day cleaning the flat MI5 got him in the south-west of the capital and unpacking what little he has in this world, mostly novels and poetry books Malcolm kept for him in his attic. Lucas has developed an obsession with order and cleanliness, an unconscious and irrepressible urge to remove all physical trace and memory of the acrid and fetid odours which assailed his nostrils for eight years; an anal compulsion that provides him with a false sense of control over his own life.

The floors are gleaming and all surfaces are spotless clean, and the up-to-this-morning nude white walls now house a framed reproduction of Blake's Ancient of Days; his belief in God has never deserted him... well... almost never. He wonders what his father, the Methodist minister, would have thought of him if he'd been told Lucas tried to hang himself in Lubyanka and that he'd have succeeded if his torturer hadn't found him in time.

He sets his empty cup down on the saucer and finishes off the last macaroon the officious landlady gave him as a housewarming gift. It's the only food he's had today. Even though he's aware his malnourished body needs more than doughnuts and Danish pastries to fill up and regain its healthy status, his dietary habits have taken a second place amongst his priorities since the minute he was declared officially on leave.

There's only one thought occupying his mind- seeing Vyeta again and facing whatever Harry's left unsaid.

ST JOHN'S GARDENS- LONDON- 4 p.m.

The beginning of winter is less than a month away, but it's making its presence known as he inconspicuously shadows Elizaveta at a quiet pace; the late autumn wind cold against his angular features. Although he knows the greyish blue dress shirt he's wearing under the open long overcoat Adam got him isn't warm enough, he needs to feel the cold breeze on his skin to remember he's alive... and free... or as free as he can be considering the circumstances.

He stops at a safe distance and observes her as she pauses to check the time on her wrist watch before she looks to her right, her body posture revealing she's here to meet somebody. He wonders who that someone is and if he should be jealous, if his rival's hands have felt the silk of her black hair, now tied in a ponytail, slip through his fingers, if he's seen her brown eyes turn to melting chocolate the way they used to when they made love before Russia. Eight years ago. A lifetime ago.

She takes a few steps forward and her face breaks into a loving smile as a pair of young legs rush to meet her halfway and both people hug each other tight.

Lucas can feel the blood pounding fast in his ears and his eyes starting to burn with unshed tears while he struggles to swallow the big lump in his throat on witnessing the scene.

He wonders if Harry knew. Of course, he did. He had to; it would be unlike him to be in the dark when it comes to the private lives of his people and those close to them. And even though Lucas subconsciously begrudges him for not having secured his release sooner, he knows his mentor well enough to interpret his silence as a thoughtful attempt to spare his protegé the pain- if only for a short while- of knowing Vyeta has moved on completely.

The thought of his boss seems to have conjured him up after forty-eight hours of silence. Lucas takes his ringing mobile out of his pocket and, taking a deep breath to school his troubled emotions, answers the call keeping his eyes fixed on the receding backs of his wife and her companion.

"Harry?"

"How are things doing, Lucas?"

"Adjusting."

"Give it time. Things will eventually fall into place."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"… Have you talked to her yet?"

"No. I wanted to, but it wasn't the right time or place."

"I know you're officially on leave, but would you mind coming on to The Grid, Lucas? I need you to brief us about Kachimov."

"I'll be there in two minutes," he replies after a brief pause, disconnecting the call and slowly turning back the way he came.

Maybe he's clutching at straws. but a new thought is taking shape in his mind. Maybe things aren't as lost as he's deemed them to be after all.

Dum Spiro Spero. While I breathe I hope.

CHAPTER 1

Tuesday November 4 th, 2008

Elizaveta is sitting on the narrow bed, raking its occupant's hair with loving fingers as he lies peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil Vyeta's mind has been in since Arkady Kachimov surprised her outside the art gallery where she works.

The moment she saw the FSB head of operations in London turn up at the gallery she knew either something momentous had happened or was about to. Her heart galloped and her hands started sweating; she wondered how Lucas had been able to live and breathe in a world full of secrets, lies and betrayal, a world inhabited by cold, heartless and unscrupulous men such as Kachimov and sadistic, manipulative monsters such as his tormentors at Lubyanka.

She leans forward and presses a soft kiss on the boy's brow, tears gleaming in her eyes as she stands up and walks to the bedroom door where Anatoly's standing.

"It was time to let him go. I know it was a hard decision to make, Vyeta, but Nick is a good man. You did the right thing."

Yes, Nick is a good man. He loves her. He's safe, caring, has a nine-to-five job in a law firm and is a good provider. He's the kind of husband any parent would wish for their daughter, but she doesn't love him, at least, not the way she's supposed to love a husband, not the way she loves...loved... Lucas.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, Vyeta and Anatoly walk down the corridor to the living-room, where a cosy fire's burning to mitigate the cold of the late autumn evening.

A log crackles in the fireplace as her father takes a seat in his favourite armchair and Elizaveta shifts her gaze from the bluish flame to her left hand. The perfect one-carat diamond set in an eighteen-carat platinum band sparkles and the memory of the plain gold wedding ring Lucas slid on her finger reminds her of all the love, hope and dreams he offered her when he chose her above all others.

Love, however, hadn't been enough to forgive the lies and, what still hurts her the most, his lack of trust in her. Love has brought her nothing but unbearable pain and, for that reason, it wasn't a factor in her decision to accept Nick's marriage proposal after almost eight years of hoping Lucas was still alive somewhere.

Only her father's gentle but inflexible prodding convinced her it was time to move on and have her family lawyer begin her divorce proceedings, a decision that would come to haunt her a few months later when a sealed anonymous envelope turned up at her doorstep and the agony increased twofold on viewing its contents.

An ever-present sense of guilt robs her of sleep. Guilt for letting others convince her to do what in her heart she felt wasn't right. Guilt for becoming the very thing she accused Lucas of being- a liar, a keeper of secrets. She's been keeping the truth from two of the most important people in her life on the same grounds her husband used to hide his real identity from her, to protect a loved one.

“When are you going to set a date?” asks Anatoly, observing his daughter’s pale visage.

Just like Nick, her father has been putting pressure on her to tie the knot- after all, a little over a year has gone by since she was declared officially free. She’s young still. It is high time she started to live again!

Vyeta sighs. How can she tell her father that Lucas is indeed alive and that she’s been praying for his release for a year? How can she confess the truth- that she judged him wrong, that yes, he lied to her but not in the way she’d assumed? How she wishes she could find forgiveness in her heart for the way they parted knowing now the truth and what came after their goodbye!

She shivers at the thought of all the indignities she knows he must have suffered at Lubyanka and feels her gut clench for she’s aware she’s privy only to the tip of the iceberg.

How to set a date after what she learnt this morning? Lucas has known too many betrayals in the last eight years to add one more. He deserves better, and she wouldn’t be able to face either him or their son if she were to take this step without sorting things out between them first.

“Papa, it’s too early to make plans. A wedding’s not something that one can rush into, especially when there’s a child to think about.”

“Nick loves Ioann as if he were his own son.”

“But he is not.”

“Vyeta, doch’ka,” he remonstrates,”don’t hide behind Ioann. We both know what all this is about. In spite of all the years that have gone by, you haven’t been able to forget Lucas. And those damn anonymous phone calls have done nothing but make matters worse. I hate to see what this false hope is doing to you. If only there had been a farewell…”

Oh, but there was one, Papa- one I wish I could erase!

She can still recall every moment of that morning as if it were only yesterday; every wretched minute and the painful look in the unforgettable blue-grey eyes of her husband are etched on her memory. She can’t remember how many times she’s replayed the scene in her mind, his words and the hurt in his voice ring in her ears even now.

“There’s no need for you to see me off at the gate,” he told her, closing the passenger door and throwing the garment bag over his shoulder.

They were in the airport’s car park surrounded by people rushing to and fro, escaping from the freezing cold. The first snowflakes of the year started to fall as she stood next to the driver’s door, looking at her husband over the roof of her car and struggling to keep the tears at bay. She adjusted her overcoat and pulled up the collar of her red jumper both to seek some warmth and to prevent herself from doing what her heart was urging her to do- to get lost in her husband's arms and beg him not to leave.

Lucas’ eyes reflected his worry as he observed her fidgeting, incapable of meeting his searching glance. After months of awkward silences and half-truths he knew something wasn’t right. Understanding seemed to have dawned on him, maybe too late.

“Golubushka, you know I have to go on this trip. It’s important for my career. I’m the only one at the office who’s proficient in Russian and if I manage to solve this mess, there’s a fair chance I’ll get a big promotion,” he explained. “We’ll talk when I come back,” he promised, tilting up her chin with his right hand to be able to look into her chocolate eyes.

“It’s too late, Lucas. It’s been too late for a while now. There are things that I just can’t become reconciled to,” she told him tightly, seeing him flinch as if she’d slashed him with a knife.

“It didn’t seem that way last night,” he croaked, stroking her cheek.

Last night, when they’d made love.

Although they might not be able to communicate with words, they never had trouble in the confines of their bedroom. Lucas was both a passionate and tender lover, and she’d never yearned for another man’s caresses and kisses the way she longed for her husband’s.

Lucas was her first and only lover and even now that she’s promised in marriage to Nick, she can’t imagine her fiancé will ever make her feel the way Lucas did with just a look, a brush of his fingers or a morning kiss.

There in the car park, standing close to each other, feeling the magnetic pull of his eyes and the warmth of his beautiful hands through her woollen overcoat, Vyeta uttered the words she’d never thought she’d say to him.

“Lucas…” she began to say, trying to muster the courage to look him in the face.”I want… I want a divorce.”

“What?” he choked, visibly swallowing the lump in his throat after a few moments of frozen silence.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, lowering her eyes to focus them on something less distracting than his Adam’s apple.

“Vyeta, look at me,” he urged her with a hint of desperation in his voice. “You don’t mean that,” he added shakily.

“This isn’t a decision I`ve made overnight or one I’ve taken lightly, Lucas. I’ve only asked you to be honest with me… “

“I just need time, Vyeta,“ he replied, trying to take her hand in his before she snatched it away and crossed her arms protectively in front of her.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she shook her head.

“I have to be on that plane in five minutes. I should be back in a couple of weeks. Please, sladkij,” he urged her.

“I’ve given you too many chances to open up to me. Trust is the basis of a marriage and it’s clear we’ve both lost it along the way. You don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth and I can no longer live with someone who lies to me on a daily basis.”

“I’ve never lied to you about what matters. I love you, Vyeta.”

“Sometimes love is not enough,” she whispered, looking into his pain-stricken blue-grey eyes for the last time before stepping back to unlock her car and sitting behind its wheel like an automaton. She wasn’t aware of fastening her seatbelt or firing the engine, but she did see Lucas in the rear-view mirror, the winter wind dishevelling his dark hair and the cold giving his usually pale complexion a red tinge.

Haunted by the look of misty sadness in his eyes as she left him behind, Vyeta parked her car in front of their block of flats, unaware of the constant flow of tears rolling down her cheeks.

She blinks several times to chase away the memory and looks out of the bay window of her father’s house seized by a sudden wish to cry once again.

She misses what she used to have with Lucas- passion, hope, dreams of raising a happy family… the illusion of growing old together.

“Nick won’t wait for you eternally,” says the man who tried to drive her away from Lucas, the son-in-law he’s never considered good enough for his daughter.

“I know,” she states quietly, straightening a picture frame of Ioann on the mantelpiece.

“Excuse me, sir,” Anatoly’s maid butts in, entering the living room after announcing her presence with a discreet knock.

“Yes, Stella?” asks Vyeta’s father, noticing the middle-aged woman’s unusual discomfiture.

“Sir, there’s… there’s a gentleman in the hall… he says he wishes to speak to Ms. Elizaveta.”

“Now?” groans Anatoly, checking the time. “ It’s already past nine.”

Through the door Stella’s left ajar, Elizaveta spies a profile reflected in the corridor’s mirror, and her heart starts pounding in her chest.

“It’s all right,” replies Vyeta. “ Show the gentleman to the study, Stella. Tell him I’ll be with him in a couple of minutes.”

“Who did he say he was?” frowns Vyeta’s father, looking at his maid.

“He…”

“He’s a colleague from the gallery,” interrupts Vyeta. “I forgot I’d told him to come over to discuss a few last-minute details for next week’s exhibition. It might take us some time, Papa, so don’t wait me up.”

“You shouldn’t bring work home,” he remonstrates.

“The pot calling the kettle black,” she replies with a shaky smile.

* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Once she makes sure her father’s out of the way, Vyeta approaches the oak door behind which her visitor’s waiting for her, checks her appearance in the looking glass hanging to the right and, taking a deep breath, turns the doorknob.

He’s standing in front of the well-stocked bookcase, leafing through a leather-bound volume of eighteenth century English poetry, when she steps quietly into the study. He seems not to have noticed her but appearances are many a time deceptive as she’s learnt only too well; Lucas can’t have survived this long as a spy if anyone can sneak up on him this easily.

Vyeta takes advantage of his facing the other way to observe him at leisure.

He’s a lot thinner and clearly in need of a few hearty meals to fill up the long blue overcoat he’s wearing despite the crackling fire blazing in the room. His black hair’s crying for a haircut; the old Lucas would have never let it brush the starched collar of his dress shirt and yet, she’s never felt a stronger urge to rake her fingers through those tresses than she does now.

It’s a strange feeling but, for once, she feels like the protector rather than like the one in need of sheltering. Maybe the fact she’s given birth to a baby since she saw him last is the reason behind this sudden urge to mother him even when being in the same room still makes her all shivery and his musky vanilla scent brings back memories that tinge her cheeks a delightful red.

Soon the need to touch him, to make sure he’s alive and breathing after this eight-year nightmare, overpowers the insecurity and nervousness which seized her the minute she realized who it was that had turned up at her father’s doorstep unannounced.

“Lucas,” she whispers haltingly.

After everything he’s been through and survived, it’s funny a wisp of a woman can make him feel so insecure. He’d never felt more of a coward than the moment she stepped into the room and he stood rooted to the spot, gripping the book in his hands as if it were an anchor, looking at the printed page in front of him with feigned concentration.

He wonders if she can hear the wild beating of his heart across the room, if she knows how much he’s dreamt of this moment or how hard it’s been to keep his distance since his return when the thought of seeing her face again was the one thing that helped him put up with the hell that was Lubyanka.

He closes his eyes and savours the way his name sounds coming from her mouth, waits a moment longer until she calls him again and an almost imperceptible disturbance in the air around tells him she’s but a couple of steps away, close enough for her soft perfume of lilacs to reach his nose and transport him to a cosy bed & breakfast in the Lake District where he made a woman of her on their wedding night.

Through the veil of unshed tears, he stares at his wife until she takes a hesitant step forward and grabs his hands. He lowers his eyes to contemplate their intertwined fingers and feels his hands shake.

“Vyeta...”

She raises her head on hearing his voice for the first time and looks up into his glassy blue grey orbs as the tears she’s been withholding since she crossed the threshold finally roll down her cheeks.

Lucas envelops her in his arms and hugs her to him with all his being. She’s warm, soft and no longer a vision conjured by his mind. After so long she’s back where she belongs and smells like the young girl he fell in love with fifteen years ago and has yearned to hold again since boarding that wretched flight to Russia.

She stands on tiptoe and he dips his nose in her glossy black hair, which she’s wearing down, and whispers her name repeatedly. Vyeta feels his long-fingered hands stroke her back with tender urgency as if he needed to ascertain she is flesh and blood.

Lucas, the man she fell madly in love with and married despite her father's opposition is back home and Vyeta’s bursting with joy... until her eyes fall on her engagement ring and she remembers Lucas is also the man she intended to divorce eight years ago... the husband she's had declared officially dead.

Feeling the strong beat of his heart against her breast, she wonders if he can feel her heart start to break.

GO TO CHAPTER II