From Russia with Love (Lucas/Vyeta- Drama/Romance- PG13) Chapter III
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-15/R
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 viewREAD THE BEGINNING HERE.
READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE
A/N 3: Some lines of dialogue in the present chapter have been taken almost verbatim from S07E02, “Split Loyalties”.
CHAPTER III
Tuesday November 11th, 2008
The next day, following an early morning debrief at Thames House - which has left him feeling demoralized and betrayed anew- he drives aimlessly for a couple of hours in an attempt to get back the flimsy control he’s had over his emotions ever since his release.
Although today’s session has been the hardest, he knows there’s still a long way ahead of him. They don’t trust him; Harry might have chuckled when Lucas joked in the car he’d promised Arkady to spy for the FSB, and yet the younger agent is acutely aware of the ever-present suspicion whenever he's summoned to The Grid to continue with his debrief.
Even though Lucas knows it's standard procedure to be given the third degree and common sense to suspect an agent's true allegiances after an eight-year imprisonment in a Russian interrogation camp, he can't help but experience an overwhelming feeling of utter despair and renewed loss on sensing his old mentor's waning faith in him. He tells himself he's being childish and petty, and yet the green-eyed monster still stings after showing its head on The Grid when he witnessed the easy camaraderie and implicit trust between Harry and the newly-appointed section chief, Ros Myers.
Rehashing some of the worst moments of his incarceration has turned Lucas into a quivering mass. He managed to keep up the façade and not crumble in front of the Head of Section D and his Ice Queen, a fact which makes him infinitely thankful for small mercies since breaking down on The Grid would have been the ultimate denigration.
And now, sitting in silence in the marshlands of Tilbury, an echo of the barren and bleak landscape of his haunted soul, he relinquishes the tenuous control he's retained over his emotions by letting go of his grief in a silent scream, which finds its voice in the cry of a solitary grebe.
One day we'll go bird-watching together by the Tilbury Water Tower, Oleg Darshavin's promise rings in his ears.
The psychiatrist at Trig would have a field day if she saw her patient now. He might be over 1,700 miles away from Moscow; however, he's still a prisoner in a Russian cell, clinging to life only thanks to the memory of Elizaveta and the prospect of a walk with his torturer in the marshes of Lushanka between sessions.
Raising his gaze to the leaden sky, the moisture from his tears hanging from his long eyelashes, he wonders if there's still a part of the old Lucas alive somewhere, that side of him which made Vyeta fall in love with him. Things wouldn't look so hopelessly dismal then.
Clenching his fists with impotence, he fights to stop the images of his walks with Darshavin from interfering with his happy memories of bird-watching in The Thames Estuary with his father, the minister, during his childhood holidays. There's so little left in him that isn't tainted that Lucas prays to God it will be enough not to be stripped off the only blessing which has kept him sane this eight years- his wife... and the unexpected gift of the life they created together.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
It's stopped raining, and the last sunrays are beginning to filter through the dissipating clouds when Lucas parks the rented car in front of a block of flats in the Docklands; six hours after the crippling emotional upheaval he's barely managed to control by sheer force of will.
Leaning against the car with his arms crossed, both to keep the cold at bay and to make sure his protective armour is still in one piece, he surreptitiously scans the street out of habit and feels warm for the first time that day on seeing the welcoming smile spread across Tom Quinn's face.
Lucas grasps the hand Tom extends and then finds his still malnourished body wrapped in a warm brotherly hug, which puts a suspiciously misty veil over his eyes.
“You thought you'd finally got rid of my ugly hooter,” he chuckles in an attempt to disguise his discomfiture when Quinn steps back and gives him an assessing once-over.
“I'm so glad you're back,” replies the former Section Chief with a sincere smile.
“Yeah, you know, I was beginning to miss London's fish and chips and my five o'clock tea.”
“Do you still have a sweet tooth? Christine's hopeless at cooking, but she's a mean baker.”
“You know me too well. I've been stuffing myself with macaroons and doughnuts since I got back. A definite improvement over the usual stale bread or the occasional mouldy cheese they used to serve at Lushanka.”
“Well, you're welcome to partake of our table anytime you like. I've become quite the expert with my pots and pans.”
“It certainly shows,” replies the lanky agent, shooting a smirk at Tom's thicker waist. “Married life suits you,” he adds with a barely disguised trace of wistfulness in his voice.
“Have you seen her? “ asks Tom after a brief lull in their conversation.
Lucas slips his hands in the pockets of his jeans and, bowing his head, nods.
With a comforting hand on his shoulder, Tom steers Lucas towards the front entrance of the refurbished building. “Shall I show you the flat? If you approve, you can move in whenever you feel like it. There are no bugs... or officious old ladies reporting back.”
“A pity. I rather liked her macaroons,” he sighs with a lopsided smile.
“I remember they were good but not as good as Christine's,” interjects Tom proudly.
“I'm glad you were wise enough to leave before this machine we both chose to jump onto chewed you up and spat you out. “
“It isn't too late for you either.”
“What do you know about Nicholas Sark?” asks Lucas as they enter the building.
“He's a good-looking guy in his mid-forties. Never been married. Has no known vices. Extremely well-connected in the financial district; several sharks in The City would kill to have his portfolio of clients. And... he seems to be genuinely in love with Elizaveta,” replies Tom as the lift doors slide close.”Unfortunately, for him, his feelings are unrequited,” he smirks.
The car stops on the second floor and the searing anguish which left Lucas' stomach in knots during today's debrief diminishes somewhat. Vyeta doesn't love Stark. Relief washes over him and his legs become shaky as if he'd been running a marathon and arrived at the finishing line hanging by a thread. The possibility of losing the woman he loves has been haunting him from the very moment he boarded that fateful plane to Moscow, and the threat has become even more ominous since his return. Tom's words give him hope and put colour back on the barren canvas of a prospective life without Vyeta for, deep in his heart, Lucas knows that he'd do anything to see her happy, including giving her up if she loved Stark.
Feeling his tense muscles uncoil, he steps out of the lift and follows Tom up the corridor to the door of the vacant flat for sale.
Crossing the threshold, they walk into a spacious living-room with floor-to-ceiling windows that provide a stunning view of The Thames and London's skyline. It's a far cry from the one-bedroom flat MI-5's assigned to him, and definitely not the kind of dwelling the old Lucas would have gone for. However, he's suffered the crippling asphyxia of close and confined spaces for far too long and yearns for the light and air that this flat offers in plenty.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
The sun's already set when Tom joins him on the balcony overlooking the river, having finished the guided tour of the premises and discussed the arrangements for Lucas' move.
Tom sees his best friend leaning on the railing in a world all of his own, his eyes completely focused on an old sepia photograph he's pulled out of his wallet. Seeing its worn and creased edges, Tom wonders how many times during captivity Lucas clung to that picture of blissful conjugal happiness and traced his wife's smiling face with loving fingers.
“Losing you and almost dying giving birth to your son changed her. Neither of you is the same; not after everything you've both been through. I don't know what happened between you before you left for Russia- it's none of my business- but I love you both like family and all I want is for you to have what I thought would never be mine after Ellie. If you asked me, it's Anatoly the one who's more enthusiastic about this marriage; you must have already guessed Sark's an associate of his. Fight for her Lucas. Not everything's lost. Not yet.”
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
Lucas drives from the Docklands to Belgravia, eager to see Elizaveta and Ioann again and feel the soothing balm of their closeness.
He clenches his fists and takes a deep breath; it won't do for one of his prison flashbacks to haunt him now of all times. He doesn't want Vyeta to see him like that. Trying to find courage and hope in Tom's words, he locks the car and walks to the house.
Neither Elizaveta nor he are who they used to be when they said their last goodbye at the airport, but Vyeta's still the only woman Lucas wants to wake up next to every morning.
“Good evening, sir. Please, come in. She’s expecting you,” says the housekeeper with a welcoming smile as she opens the door wide for Lucas to step inside.
He hasn't thought of anything other than his reunion with Vyeta since Friday. At night he lies awake on the floor and stares at the ceiling of his MI5 flat, reliving the first two weeks of his resurrection; for that's what this is, a rebirth. Ever since his release, he’s felt suspended between the past and the present, pondering on how best to approach his ex-wife, agonising over how she'll react to his wish to give their marriage a second chance.
Although he's back in England, it doesn't feel like home, not without Harry's trust or Vyeta by his side. Not having the former hurts, but the prospect of losing his most cherished bond with the Lucas he used to be before he lost all trace of innocence fills his heart with a choking sense of desolation.
At least now he doesn't feel like a stalker, lurking in the shadows for a glimpse of her and their son or phoning her only to chicken out at the last minute when he hears her voice.
Coming to a stop a few steps away from the library, he waits for Stella to announce him and takes advantage of his superior height to spy into the room for a glimpse of the only woman he's ever loved.
Vyeta is sitting on the sofa opposite the fireplace, seemingly absorbed by the winter landscape outdoors as the first snowflakes begin to fall. She's actually staring with blind eyes, lost in memories of happier days when she was a young bride in love, full of dreams and ideals and stubbornly determined to stand up for her choices even if it meant alienating herself from the most important man in her life until Lucas.
She hates this weak woman inhabiting her body, who can't find the strength to take the reins of her own life again. She can hardly recognise this frightened creature who's taken over her rebellious spirit and is terrified of leaving the safe cocoon both Anatoly and Nicholas have spun around her. And yet, she can't remember ever feeling more alive than now, glancing at her watch every other minute with a pounding heart, dreading and yearning to see Lucas once again.
Eight o'clock is just five minutes away. Vyeta's sure he won't keep her waiting today. He never used to be late early in their marriage but things changed when his career became his all-consuming priority.
And then the wait is over when Stella knocks on the door and finally shows him into the room.
Standing in the doorway tall, gaunt and alive, he steals Vyeta's breath away and makes her heart skip a few beats. He's never had to do anything but just be in her vicinity for her heart to go haywire. From the first moment she set her eyes on him with his piercing blue-grey eyes, his jet black hair and that shy smile of his, he's sent her senses reeling. She knew the minute their eyes met for the first time all those years ago that there would be no other.
“Lucas.” Vyeta leaves her seat and, crossing the distance between them, stands on tiptoe to kiss him softly on both cheeks.
His father-in-law's welcome is almost as cold as the wind that used to blow across the marshes of Lushanka.
“Anatoly,” nods Lucas gravely before turning his blue-grey eyes to Vyeta.
His gaze on her feels like a warm caress as it roams her face with sweet longing. Then he smiles that heart-melting smile she's been dreaming of for eight years and Vyeta lowers her gaze in a desperate attempt to resist its call.
“Papa, would you leave us, please?”
Anatoly Starkov glares at his son-in-law, clearly begrudging Lucas for trespassing on his territory and daring to claim what the older man still considers to be his property.
For a minute Lucas doubts her request will be granted, but exchanging a silent look with his daughter, Starkov reluctantly steps out of the room.
Vyeta's finally alone with her husband. Her ex-husband, who's been dead for eight years. His experience in Russia has changed him. The Lucas she fell in love with had a dark and mysterious side to him which is still there, but different in a way she cannot fathom. And yet, at the core, he's the same man she married, the man who ended up shutting her out of his life without even realising he'd left her behind.
There's so much she needs to say to him. Nevertheless, she knows her words would mostly hurt him, and he's been inflicted enough pain to last him a lifetime and more. She's only seen pictures of the way his body and soul were defiled in that hellhole and can't help but feel partly responsible for that. If she'd fought for their marriage harder, been vocal about her feelings instead of simmering with misery in silence; if she'd been honest with him about her frequent bouts of melancholy caused by the doubts that were haunting her and created a real opening for him to trust her with the truth about his job, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe he wouldn't have plunged into a nightmare to prove himself worthy. Or maybe he would have made the same decisions... It's no use dwelling on what-ifs. And still, she can't stop feeling guilty.
Lucas studies Vyeta with tender eyes. She looks so fragile and vulnerable, almost as ghostly pale as he does when he faces the mirror. He yearns to kiss her mouth and put some colour back in her cheeks, see the man she fell in love with reflected in those beloved eyes that seem to be determined to avoid his.
Although they may be different people now, time and distance have done nothing except strengthen his love for her. He aches to take her in his arms and show her how much he loves her. However, her silent reticence and his fear of overwhelming her with his neediness curve his urge.
Standing in front of the French doors, he stares at the snow falling in an attempt to collect himself.
“I'm so sorry, Vyeta. I swear I didn’t realise how miserable I’d made you.”
“I believe you. But that doesn't change the fact you lied to me.”
“I never lied.”
“Did you tell me what you were?”
“You used to love who I was,” he replies with haunted eyes.”I thought of you. All that time. Eight years.I thought of nothing but you.”
She swallows the lump in her throat and looks down at her tightly clasped hands.
“Vyeta, what do I have to do to convince you that I’ve changed? That my career's no longer my primary focus?”
He could tell her that he has a small fortune now- eight years of back payments have seen to that- that he can afford the lifestyle she's always been used to and he's never been able to give her with a government salary. But he holds back. Social position and money have never been important to Vyeta- she wouldn't have chosen him as a husband if they were- and he won't insult her or their marriage by bringing them up, no matter his occasional bouts of inadequacy as a working-class Cumbrian boy married to a Russian upper-middle class girl.
“Do you remember the first time we talked to each other?” he asks, clinging to a treasured memory of a time when nothing else mattered except how much they loved each other.
Misty chocolate eyes meet his, belying her desperate attempt to remain distant.
“Chekhov's Summer Festival,” he adds, filling in the silence. “I fell in love with you then, Vyeta. It's always been you and nobody else.”
She closes her eyes to fight back the tears and then looks past him to the window ledge now covered by a thick layer of snow.
She yearns to drown in his eyes and melt away, wishes she were strong enough to give him what he needs so desperately and hates herself for the words she's about to utter, for her incapacity to be the woman he needs her to be to help him mend.
“Lucas…I’m so sorry for everything you've been through... so very sorry. And I thank God every day for bringing you back home.”
“But?” he eggs her on quietly, bracing himself for her answer.
“Love wasn’t enough then, Lucas. How can it possibly be enough now?”
“Vyeta, sladkayaj...”
“I'm sorry... I can't do this again. I just can't.”
Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans, he tries to fight off the overwhelming feeling of helplessness which has suddenly seized him. Her rejection on top of the suspicion of his colleagues and mentor is something he doubts he's equipped to handle when his grip on the reins of his life is so weak.
He can't lose her. Finding his way back to her is what's kept him alive and sane for eight years and he refuses to believe there are only ashes left. He just has to find the way to make her see what he sees when he looks at her- the other half of a whole, a reflection of his own crippling fear of breaking his chains and living again.
TBC