{ So Darkness I Became }
So Darkness I Became
S8; Ros Myers, Andrew Lawrence, Petr Milhailov
"Do you remember when we first met?" / "I was wearing a red dress."
And in the dark,
I can hear your heartbeat, I try to find the sound,
But then it stopped,
And I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became.
- Cosmic Love
She is sure she can recite the file verbatim, that she knows everything that it is possible to know about Robert Neeson. New to London, an arms dealer with links to Al Qaeda. She is to infiltrate his organisation, posing as a secretary, and siphon information to the Grid.
Simple, really.
The door to the flat opens and she snaps the file shut as Andrew enters, placing it on the coffee table. He offers her a smile which she briefly returns and watches as he goes into the kitchen. She is surprised by the animosity she feels as he opens a bottle of wine, knowing that he does not deserve it. Yet, she knows there is no possibility she can tell him the full details of the operation, that Neeson has a penchant for blondes in heels, that there is every chance she will have to bed the enemy.
She curls her feet beneath herself as he crosses over to her and hands her a glass of wine. It has become routine, she realises.
They have become routine.
“When does the operation start?” he asks.
She swills the wine, watching it splash against the glass, nearly spilling over.
“Tomorrow,” she answers. “I've been given a safe-house. In case I'm followed.”
He nods, pretending that he can understand.
Fool.
*
The safe-house the service provides for the operation is large, empty, and Ros sits in the living room watching the news, volume muted. She loathes the lies the newsreaders spout but knows they are a necessary evil. The British public do not want to know what goes on behind the scenes, what they, MI-5, she, deals with everyday to allow them to live in a state of wilful ignorance.
She stretches, lithe and strong, and her head whips to the side at the sound of a soft 'knock.' Few are meant to know her address; even Lucas, her second-in-command is unaware. Slowly, she rises to her feet, taking her gun from the drawer in the kitchen and walks slowly down the hallway, making no sound.
“For god's sake, Rosa, let me in.”
She starts, and the grip she has on her gun loosens as she opens the door a fraction, enough to peer out.
Petr looks back, eyes twinkling, one corner of his mouth tilted upward.
“Hello, Rosa.”
*
She doesn't ask how he found her, isn't sure she wants to know. They stand in the kitchen, an opened bottle of wine between them, and she marvels at how easily their conversation flows. It's not something that should surprise her, but it is unexpected and a relief. At home (if she could truly call it 'home') she chooses her words, weighs each one carefully before speaking.
Now, here in this bare safe-house with Petr, there is no need and she finds herself relaxing and true smiles, usually so hard to elicit, come often.
*
Her body is weak as she forces herself up the stairs, hating the stench that clings to her skin. It is a risk in any operation, the 'bedding of the enemy', one she will always hate.
“Which is why you and I have to be much tougher than them to do it.”
Her own words, spoken nearly two years ago, flicker in her mind and she straightens her back, juts her chin forward.
Just another operation.
She clings to this thought as she opens the door and walks inside, heels snapping against the polished wood. She steps into the living room and sees Petr leaning against the wall. He looks at her, gaze non-judgemental, and the walls she has laboriously built over the years break. She exhales a rattling breath, one that shakes her body to the core, and he crosses the room in three long strides.
He doesn't touch her immediately, unsure how she will react, and it is she who reaches forward. He draws her close until her forehead rests against his chest and runs his fingers through her hair, not saying a word.
There are none to say.
*
Sometime later, he peels her fingers away and leads her into the bathroom. She doesn't protest as he pulls her inside and turns on the shower, the sound of water hitting tile echoing in the resonant room.
“Get yourself clean, Rosa,” he says softly, pressing his lips against her forehead.
She nods, knowing that he means 'clean' in the literal sense, for no amount of scrubbing will wash away her self-hatred.
*
The water is cold when she finally re-emerges and she runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her forehead. Petr is in the kitchen as she steps out, clad in a towelling robe, and he holds up a full wine glass. She crosses over and stands opposite him, taking the out-stretched glass.
“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.
Ros looks at the floor.
He doesn't press her for details.
She provides them anyway.
*
The operation is successful, the data found, and Ros goes back to her flat. Andrew is already there and she can smell dinner as she walks inside, mouth-watering as ever. It is different to the safe-house, where the main scent was rich coffee and she knows which one she prefers.
“Ros.”
Andrew looks around the corner and the smile which spreads across his face is more than she can bear.
“I...” she begins, placing her bags on the ground, “I've forgotten... a file,” she finishes, fumbling for words.
His brow furrows, but after a moment he gives a small nod.
“This tastes better cold.”
She manages a garbled, “okay” as she opens the door, breaking into a run as soon as it shuts.
*
Petr looks up she enters, surprised, and the shirt he had been folding falls to the ground. He recognises that look, it is the same one she wore in Russia when she'd let herself into his bedroom.
“Rosa,” he says softly, his voice both and warning and a plea.
She ignores both as she crosses the room and places her hand against his chest.
He has never been so grateful.
*
The safe-house is needed and she and Petr re-locate to a hotel. It's cheap, it's sordid, but neither could care less. Sometimes, before she drifts off to sleep, she thinks of Andrew sitting in her flat (for they had moved into hers - she was never one of ostentation) alone, nursing a glass of wine.
Petr presses his lips against her shoulder.
Any thoughts of Andrew disappear.
*
She should have known it was too good to last (her kind are never allowed 'happy endings') but she is nevertheless surprised when she arrives back at the hotel and finds Petr bleeding on the floor. She calls an ambulance and presses her hands against his chest, trying to stem the blood flow. Petr rambles; about work, about life, about her, and she can't stop tears running down her cheeks.
My Rosa.
His blood is slick against her skin and she tries not to think about how much he's lost, how weak he's become.
She stays at his side in the ambulance and at the hospital; her hands still covered in his blood.
*
“Do you remember when we first met?”
“I was wearing a red dress.”
Their hands are entwined; hers slender and delicate, his large and calloused. She looks at him, not able to believe that this man and the one she (dare she say it?) loves are one-and-the-same. The Petr she knows is able to lift her with ease; the one before her can barely sit upright.
And yet she can't leave.
Ros' throat constricts and her shoulders shake.
*
Petr's hold on her hand tightens and she is on her feet in a moment. His chest heaves, and she grips his shoulders. He is gasping for air and it takes her a moment to realise he is trying to speak. She leans downward, trying to make out his words.
“My Rosa.”
A moment later and Ros knows, without being told, that this is it. He is gone.
She walks out of the hospital without looking back.
*
Andrew watches as Ros stands in the rain, water running down her skin, her eyes focused on the newly turned earth. He stays back, allowing her this time alone, knowing she has to say her 'goodbye.' Though, he doubts she will ever be able to fully let Petr Milihov go. The two are inextricably linked; both beautiful, both deadly, and he knows that while she may go home with him, part of Ros will reside with Petr.
This is reason enough to walk away.
Instead, he looks down at his feet and waits.
S8; Ros Myers, Andrew Lawrence, Petr Milhailov
"Do you remember when we first met?" / "I was wearing a red dress."
And in the dark,
I can hear your heartbeat, I try to find the sound,
But then it stopped,
And I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became.
- Cosmic Love
She is sure she can recite the file verbatim, that she knows everything that it is possible to know about Robert Neeson. New to London, an arms dealer with links to Al Qaeda. She is to infiltrate his organisation, posing as a secretary, and siphon information to the Grid.
Simple, really.
The door to the flat opens and she snaps the file shut as Andrew enters, placing it on the coffee table. He offers her a smile which she briefly returns and watches as he goes into the kitchen. She is surprised by the animosity she feels as he opens a bottle of wine, knowing that he does not deserve it. Yet, she knows there is no possibility she can tell him the full details of the operation, that Neeson has a penchant for blondes in heels, that there is every chance she will have to bed the enemy.
She curls her feet beneath herself as he crosses over to her and hands her a glass of wine. It has become routine, she realises.
They have become routine.
“When does the operation start?” he asks.
She swills the wine, watching it splash against the glass, nearly spilling over.
“Tomorrow,” she answers. “I've been given a safe-house. In case I'm followed.”
He nods, pretending that he can understand.
Fool.
*
The safe-house the service provides for the operation is large, empty, and Ros sits in the living room watching the news, volume muted. She loathes the lies the newsreaders spout but knows they are a necessary evil. The British public do not want to know what goes on behind the scenes, what they, MI-5, she, deals with everyday to allow them to live in a state of wilful ignorance.
She stretches, lithe and strong, and her head whips to the side at the sound of a soft 'knock.' Few are meant to know her address; even Lucas, her second-in-command is unaware. Slowly, she rises to her feet, taking her gun from the drawer in the kitchen and walks slowly down the hallway, making no sound.
“For god's sake, Rosa, let me in.”
She starts, and the grip she has on her gun loosens as she opens the door a fraction, enough to peer out.
Petr looks back, eyes twinkling, one corner of his mouth tilted upward.
“Hello, Rosa.”
*
She doesn't ask how he found her, isn't sure she wants to know. They stand in the kitchen, an opened bottle of wine between them, and she marvels at how easily their conversation flows. It's not something that should surprise her, but it is unexpected and a relief. At home (if she could truly call it 'home') she chooses her words, weighs each one carefully before speaking.
Now, here in this bare safe-house with Petr, there is no need and she finds herself relaxing and true smiles, usually so hard to elicit, come often.
*
Her body is weak as she forces herself up the stairs, hating the stench that clings to her skin. It is a risk in any operation, the 'bedding of the enemy', one she will always hate.
“Which is why you and I have to be much tougher than them to do it.”
Her own words, spoken nearly two years ago, flicker in her mind and she straightens her back, juts her chin forward.
Just another operation.
She clings to this thought as she opens the door and walks inside, heels snapping against the polished wood. She steps into the living room and sees Petr leaning against the wall. He looks at her, gaze non-judgemental, and the walls she has laboriously built over the years break. She exhales a rattling breath, one that shakes her body to the core, and he crosses the room in three long strides.
He doesn't touch her immediately, unsure how she will react, and it is she who reaches forward. He draws her close until her forehead rests against his chest and runs his fingers through her hair, not saying a word.
There are none to say.
*
Sometime later, he peels her fingers away and leads her into the bathroom. She doesn't protest as he pulls her inside and turns on the shower, the sound of water hitting tile echoing in the resonant room.
“Get yourself clean, Rosa,” he says softly, pressing his lips against her forehead.
She nods, knowing that he means 'clean' in the literal sense, for no amount of scrubbing will wash away her self-hatred.
*
The water is cold when she finally re-emerges and she runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her forehead. Petr is in the kitchen as she steps out, clad in a towelling robe, and he holds up a full wine glass. She crosses over and stands opposite him, taking the out-stretched glass.
“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.
Ros looks at the floor.
He doesn't press her for details.
She provides them anyway.
*
The operation is successful, the data found, and Ros goes back to her flat. Andrew is already there and she can smell dinner as she walks inside, mouth-watering as ever. It is different to the safe-house, where the main scent was rich coffee and she knows which one she prefers.
“Ros.”
Andrew looks around the corner and the smile which spreads across his face is more than she can bear.
“I...” she begins, placing her bags on the ground, “I've forgotten... a file,” she finishes, fumbling for words.
His brow furrows, but after a moment he gives a small nod.
“This tastes better cold.”
She manages a garbled, “okay” as she opens the door, breaking into a run as soon as it shuts.
*
Petr looks up she enters, surprised, and the shirt he had been folding falls to the ground. He recognises that look, it is the same one she wore in Russia when she'd let herself into his bedroom.
“Rosa,” he says softly, his voice both and warning and a plea.
She ignores both as she crosses the room and places her hand against his chest.
He has never been so grateful.
*
The safe-house is needed and she and Petr re-locate to a hotel. It's cheap, it's sordid, but neither could care less. Sometimes, before she drifts off to sleep, she thinks of Andrew sitting in her flat (for they had moved into hers - she was never one of ostentation) alone, nursing a glass of wine.
Petr presses his lips against her shoulder.
Any thoughts of Andrew disappear.
*
She should have known it was too good to last (her kind are never allowed 'happy endings') but she is nevertheless surprised when she arrives back at the hotel and finds Petr bleeding on the floor. She calls an ambulance and presses her hands against his chest, trying to stem the blood flow. Petr rambles; about work, about life, about her, and she can't stop tears running down her cheeks.
My Rosa.
His blood is slick against her skin and she tries not to think about how much he's lost, how weak he's become.
She stays at his side in the ambulance and at the hospital; her hands still covered in his blood.
*
“Do you remember when we first met?”
“I was wearing a red dress.”
Their hands are entwined; hers slender and delicate, his large and calloused. She looks at him, not able to believe that this man and the one she (dare she say it?) loves are one-and-the-same. The Petr she knows is able to lift her with ease; the one before her can barely sit upright.
And yet she can't leave.
Ros' throat constricts and her shoulders shake.
*
Petr's hold on her hand tightens and she is on her feet in a moment. His chest heaves, and she grips his shoulders. He is gasping for air and it takes her a moment to realise he is trying to speak. She leans downward, trying to make out his words.
“My Rosa.”
A moment later and Ros knows, without being told, that this is it. He is gone.
She walks out of the hospital without looking back.
*
Andrew watches as Ros stands in the rain, water running down her skin, her eyes focused on the newly turned earth. He stays back, allowing her this time alone, knowing she has to say her 'goodbye.' Though, he doubts she will ever be able to fully let Petr Milihov go. The two are inextricably linked; both beautiful, both deadly, and he knows that while she may go home with him, part of Ros will reside with Petr.
This is reason enough to walk away.
Instead, he looks down at his feet and waits.