Fic: Matters for Interpretation (2/3)
Part I
Elizabeth barely spoke to him for days and days and John was going to go crazy. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd gone more than eight hours without speaking. Now if he asked her to come for supper or have lunch with him in the mess hall, she would come up with some excuse. Usually it was a headache. He was on the brink of telling her to see a doctor if her head was suddenly hurting all the time, but the possibility of driving her further away with that kind of comment held him back.
The excuse this night was genuine, though - a party for Oxford alumni. John heard her leave the house, then watched surreptitiously from his window as she walked down the street and met a friend. Then he spent an hour or so stomping around in the house, telling himself that he was not really sulking like a child.
Then there were feet coming up to the steps and a rapid knock at his door. John hurried to open it, ready to hear whatever it was Elizabeth had to say.
But it was not Elizabeth. It was Cameron Mitchell.
He was sweaty and breathing heavily. "Sheppard," he said, surprised. "Sorry, I thought this was Elizabeth's. Is she home?"
"You could knock and find out."
"Let's pretend I did. Is she home?"
John shook his head, not sure why he was feeling so petulant. "She's at a party," he explained. "She should be home in a few hours."
Mitchell looked as though he was weighing his options. "May I come in?" he asked.
John stepped out of the other man's way even though he would have liked to have given him a hard time. Once Mitchell was inside and the door was shut, John asked as nonchalantly as he could manage, "So why are you looking for Elizabeth?"
"I need her to get me into the Spanish embassy."
John frowned. "And how is Elizabeth supposed to do that?"
Mitchell looked surprised. "She's never told you about her father?"
John blinked a few times. Of course Elizabeth had told him about her father. "He worked for the embassy in Paris."
Mitchell seemed surprised by that answer. "He was the embassy's cultural affairs coordinator in Paris," he clarified. "He lasted longer than any ambassador he worked for, and he's got incredible connections in the diplomatic community of Europe."
With some effort, he set aside the fact that the other man seemed to know more about Elizabeth than he did. Instead, he focused on Mitchell and the task at hand. "So she has connections at the Spanish embassy?"
"Don't know. Don't care. There's a party there tonight and I've got an invitation, but I'll look less conspicuous with a classy woman on my arm."
"Has she done this for you before?" he asked, feeling like this was a strange imposition on Elizabeth.
"No, but she'll be fine."
John heard someone come up the front steps again and he walked to his door. He opened it just in time to see Elizabeth about to unlock her front door. "John?" she said, startled by his presence.
"Elizabeth, I need you to come over here for a minute," he told her.
She opened her mouth, looking like she had no idea what to say, and John pressed, "Please, it's important."
She came then without asking questions, but gasped when she got inside and saw Mitchell. "Cameron, what's going on?"
He didn't answer her. "Sheppard, I thought you said she wouldn't be here for a few hours."
"I was going to a party," she explained for herself. "Professor Jackson was supposed to be hosting it but he never showed."
"Yeah, well, that might have something to do with him getting himself kidnapped," Mitchell said.
"Kidnapped?" she exclaimed. "Why?"
"I'm not sure yet, but apparently he was with Vala when someone grabbed her."
"You lost the kleptomaniac?" John asked.
"She wandered off," Mitchell replied darkly. "She does this occasionally but usually it's to go shoplifting. When I caught her trail, someone had seen her get dragged off with a man who looked like me, only bookish."
"And you confirmed that Jackson is missing," Elizabeth put in.
Mitchell nodded. "I wish I'd gotten here sooner. I would have saved you the trip. But there's a favor I need to ask of you, Elizabeth."
"What is it?" To her credit, she seemed wary.
"I need to meet a contact at the Spanish embassy tonight during a party they're throwing," he explained. "You're fluent in Spanish, and I don't know that I can get through this party without attracting unwanted attention if I show up alone."
Elizabeth opened her mouth but apparently was at a loss for words. She looked at John, who shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you," he said. "I just flew planes over enemy territory. Didn't have to meet the enemy while I did it."
"Technically Spain is neutral," Mitchell pointed out.
John barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Right. Neutral."
Elizabeth looked at him sternly, and he took the cue to shut up. She looked back at Mitchell. "Am I dressed appropriately?" she asked him.
The spy, or whatever he was, looked Elizabeth up and down and John had to tamp down the immediate desire to punch him in the face for it. Elizabeth herself shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, the hem of her skirt swaying about her knees. She was always dressed impeccably well, and in getting ready for the Oxford party she'd put on a pretty blue dress with a matching hat and white gloves.
"Sorry," Mitchell said. "Do you have anything more formal?"
Elizabeth glanced at John and nodded. "I'll go change."
She left quietly. When the door was shut and they heard Elizabeth open her own front door, Mitchell hefted the bag he was carrying. "I need to change clothes myself."
"Through the kitchen," John replied. "First door on the left."
With Mitchell gone, John sank down into the armchair behind him and sighed. He wasn't sure what bothered him more, the fact that Mitchell seemed to know things about Elizabeth that he didn't, or that Mitchell had her trust for something this stupid. Belatedly he realized that the two were probably related.
Mitchell came back in a few minutes wearing most of a tuxedo. The jacket was draped over one arm and he held the bow tie in one hand. "Sheppard, do you know how to tie one of these?" he asked.
"What, they don't teach you that in spy school?"
"Very funny," Mitchell replied, making a face. "I'll take it that's a no."
"Elizabeth knows," John told him.
"She's tied one of these for you before."
"Christmas party last year."
"Aha."
Mitchell wandered back into the kitchen. John heard the water running briefly. When the other man came back, he had the jacket on and the tie hanging around his neck. "How long do you think she's going to take?"
"Don't worry, you'll get to your jailbreak on time."
"Well, hopefully I'll just find out where Vala and Jackson are and I'll bring your girl home safe and sound before I rescue them."
John narrowed his eyes, thinking of what had happened the night of the opera and how she had acted ever since. "She's not-"
"She is your girl, Sheppard, don't try to deny it." Mitchell walked to the window and stood where he could see Elizabeth come out of her door. "I don't know you very well but I know her."
Mitchell's tone didn't change much, but he sounded just a little like he was taunting, something John had never responded well to. "Just how well do you know her?" he asked.
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if that meant there was kissing, but then the front door opened. Elizabeth walked in, wearing a flowing evening gown. Red and sleeveless, it crisscrossed over her chest, and there was a wide band of black around her middle. The hem swished just above the floor. She also had a lacy, cream-colored shawl over her shoulders.
John remembered seeing that dress when he helped her move in. For some reason he had never imagined her wearing it. She was always beautiful but now she was stunning.
He stared at her and she blushed. "Do I look all right?" she asked.
"You're fine," Mitchell said.
"Bit of an understatement," John mumbled, but Elizabeth heard him and blushed even more.
She held up a necklace. "Help me?"
He nodded and took the jewelry from her. She gathered up her hair, and he opened the clasp, reaching behind her neck to close it again. This close, the smell of her perfume was almost too distracting. Her dark red lipstick reminded him of the morning they'd met, and when she met his gaze, John was struck by a sudden and intense desire to kiss her senseless.
He'd thought about that before, of course, but not since the opera had the impulse and the occasion lined up so neatly as they did now. For her part, Elizabeth gasped softly when his fingers brushed the back of her neck, drawing away after he'd finished with her necklace, and in that moment he knew that she could tell what he was thinking.
And if it hadn't been for Mitchell asking Elizabeth for help with his bow tie, John might have done it.
Elizabeth stepped back from John to help Mitchell, and the other man gave John a knowing glance. She was done quickly, but before she could say anything, John blurted out, "Mitchell, do you think you could use some backup?"
Mitchell blinked. "I'd love some backup."
"He can't come," Elizabeth interjected.
Mitchell whipped back to look at her, and he seemed to understand her quickly. "You were a POW, Sheppard?"
"Yeah, it's a long story," John replied.
"She's right. The Spanish may be neutral but we can't risk that."
He'd figured Mitchell would say no for one reason or another, so it wasn't a huge disappointment. Still, he was worried about Elizabeth and no amount of experience on Mitchell's part was going to reassure John about her safety. "Be careful, okay?" he said to her as the three walked toward his front door. "I don't want to have to bail you out."
He would if he had to, of course, but he left that unspoken. At the threshold, she turned and grasped his hand for a moment. "We'll be fine, John," she said.
"Yeah, well, if he gets in trouble, don't hesitate to save yourself."
"Gee, thanks, Sheppard," Mitchell drawled.
She smiled at him, though, that soft smile she'd use when he was being especially charming and she couldn't help but be amused. Despite the circumstances, he was relieved to see that again. He squeezed her hand, and then they were gone.
John heard car doors open and close, then the engine starting and the car pulling away. Already he knew that he really hated having to wait for Elizabeth to come back.
The drive into London was relatively quiet. Though it took well over an hour to get there, Elizabeth couldn't think of much to say. It had been a long time since she'd been in the kind of circles Cameron was taking her to tonight. She didn't doubt that she could still function among the world's diplomats - she had grown up in this kind of atmosphere, after all - but she'd grown accustomed to the more relaxed atmosphere of Bletchley Park. She hoped the transition now wouldn't be too awkward.
Cameron, on the other hand, seemed relaxed about the whole thing, if focused. Elizabeth had to wonder what kind of things he'd done as an OSS agent if he could be so calm while driving to the embassy to find out where he needed to go to find the asset he'd somehow lost. Elizabeth didn't want to ask how he'd lost Vala in the first place.
When they reached the embassy, they parked some distance away and walked to the building. Cameron had explained to her that she would be using her real name, but that he was posing as her fiancé, Cameron Masters. She was starting to get nervous now that the embassy was in sight, and she tugged her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. Cameron sensed this, apparently, and offered his arm, drawing her closer to him as they walked through the night.
There was a man with a list at the door, and Cameron gave him Elizabeth's name. A few seconds later, they were allowed in and Elizabeth leaned over to whisper in Cameron's ear. "How were you so sure I'd agree to this?"
"You never miss a chance to have a little adventure," he replied as they walked through the ornate marble hall, following the sounds of the party. "Just stay with me until I find my contact."
"And then?"
"Mingle. I'll make it quick."
Elizabeth nodded, but there was no more time to speak about it. They walked into the reception hall, full of light and music and chatter. Cameron was right to have her change clothes. All the women were in beautiful gowns and the men in tuxedoes, and Elizabeth was forcibly reminded of Paris and the first time her parents had allowed her attend an embassy party. There had been many parties after that night but she'd never been so nervous again, at least until now.
A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes and Cameron grabbed two of them and handed one to Elizabeth. "Go easy on this," he said quietly.
Elizabeth sipped from her glass and leaned toward him. "You don't have to tell me how to act here," she said. "Now, where's your contact?"
"Let's act like we want to be here first, all right?"
"At least they're serving good champagne," she said to herself, and then they started into the crowd.
It didn't surprise her that a number of people recognized her name, or at least her father's name. Cameron seemed a little surprised, but the diplomatic world was a small one. He pretended not to speak Spanish and looked appropriately bored and distracted by it all while Elizabeth chatted with embassy officials and the other guests. Then while she spoke to the daughter of a diplomat, Cameron squeezed her hand. "Darling, I'm going to step outside for a cigarette."
"Don't be long," she replied.
He kissed her cheek lingeringly, and Elizabeth watched him go. The young lady with whom she was talking watched too. "You found an exceptionally handsome man," she remarked.
"That I did," Elizabeth replied.
With Cameron away from her side, however, Elizabeth soon found herself with a number of men orbiting her. Some were a little more obvious than others, but mostly she tried to be polite while keeping her distance. Quite a bit of time passed and Cameron still wasn't back, making Elizabeth's nervousness rise again. She was thinking about escaping to the powder room, however, when a male voice behind her said her name.
Stepping out into the garden, Cameron looked to his left and saw a man lighting a cigarette. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own pack. He didn't smoke as a general rule, but occasionally it helped him blend in. Drawing out a cigarette, he let the other man light it and inhaled. "Pleasant evening," he said, in Spanish.
"Indeed," the man replied, in English. "Enjoying the party?"
"Very much."
They stood there for a while, quietly smoking. "You remind me of a man," said Cameron's contact. "I saw him today at the ambassador's country house."
"Oh?" Cameron replied. Only a great deal of focus kept his spine from stiffening.
"Yes. I don't know that he was there by choice." The man tapped his cigarette, making ash fall to the ground. "There was a woman with him. Perhaps she brought him."
Vala, he thought. It wouldn't surprise him if even the Spanish distrusted her. The British, by and large, didn't take her seriously, thinking she was actually a spy. Cameron knew that his own bosses were skeptical of her and, by extension, him, except that her information always proved to be right.
The one thing he knew, though, was that he had to get her out. The British had been known to accuse foreigners on their soil of colluding with the Nazis, and he suspected that if Vala was with the Spanish for much longer, she would find herself in a very sticky situation.
Cameron stayed out in the garden long enough to make it seem like he'd actually come out for a smoke. Then he dropped the cigarette onto the gravel path and stepped on it to extinguish it. "Thanks for the light," he said to his companion, and he headed back into the party.
"Elizabeth Weir, what a surprise."
Elizabeth turned to see an older gentleman behind her, in all the regalia of a man of war, and she just barely kept her jaw from dropping. "Your Grace," she said, startled, to the Duke of Alba, the Spanish ambassador to England.
"I have not seen you in many years, Miss Weir," he remarked. "Is it still Miss Weir?"
"Yes," she almost blurted out, then she remembered her cover for the night. "I am engaged, though. My fiancé stepped out for a few moments."
"I would not think you would stay unmarried very long. How are your charming parents? Are they still on the continent?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, they left for America not long after the war broke out. I was studying at Oxford at the time, so I stayed behind."
"Do give them my best wishes," said the duke.
"Of course," Elizabeth replied.
He stepped closer and spoke quietly. "I will be leaving the party before long," he told her. "I am far too old for these kinds of gatherings, but I am hosting a little supper at my estate tonight. Would you and your fiancé be so kind as to join us?"
She opened her mouth, trying to think of how she could politely refuse him, but before she could speak Cameron was at her side, his hand on the small of her back. "So sorry to have taken so long," he said to her, though she could tell he was still playing a part.
The duke smiled. "I don't believe we've met."
Elizabeth composed herself and stood a little straighter. "Cameron, his Grace the duke of Alba, Jacobo Fitz-James Stuart y Falcó, Spain's ambassador to the United Kingdom. Your Grace, my fiancé, Cameron Masters."
"Mr. Masters," Alba said, nodding.
Cameron bowed slightly. "It's an honor, your Grace."
"I was just inviting your lovely fiancée to my estate for a late supper tonight," the duke continued. "It would be a delight to have you both. Miss Weir and I could reminisce about Paris."
Elizabeth was relieved that Cameron would be the one to refuse the duke. Her family connections were such that she felt awkward doing it herself. But then Cameron was accepting the invitation and it was all she could do to smile at the duke as he walked away.
"Cameron!" she whispered once there was no one in their immediate vicinity. "What are you doing?"
"Come along," he said, taking her elbow and propelling her forward. "I'll explain later."
They got directions from the duke's valet, and as soon as they were safely inside his car she demanded, "What is going on, Cameron? I thought you were leaving me out of the part of the evening where there's running and shooting."
"Vala and Jackson are at the ambassador's estate," he told her tersely as he buckled his seat belt. "You just saved me the embarrassment of a terrible plan."
"At the ambassador's estate?" she repeated. "The duke can't possibly know about that."
"Look, I know he's rumored to not be that crazy about Franco, but he's the ambassador and it's his house," Cameron snapped.
Elizabeth fell silent, knowing that to an extent he was right. It was hard to believe that the duke wouldn't know what they were using his house for.
After a few minutes of silence, while Cameron got out on the road again, she asked, "What was your terrible plan?"
He was silent for a moment, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. "I was going to get to the estate, take the spark plugs out of the car, and go up to the house and ask to use their telephone."
"That really is a terrible plan."
"Told you so."
The current plan didn't seem much better to Elizabeth, but she kept her mouth shut. Surely Cameron knew what he was doing.
Surely.
They drove out of the city and came upon the ambassador's estate before too long. The main house was imposing, but behind it were several smaller buildings, a garage, a stable, greenhouses, and a handful of sheds. Cameron backed the car up to the beginning of the drive, however, and got out of the car. "Get in the driver's seat," he told Elizabeth. "I'm going to search the outer buildings. I doubt they're being kept in the main house. I'll bring them out here and we'll hide them in the back seat."
"And then?" Elizabeth asked.
"Then we'll go inside, you'll fake a headache, and we'll get the hell out of here."
Before she could object to his crazy plan, Cameron took off, running along the hedgerow to the garage.
There was nothing inside but cars and car parts, and the stable was similarly predictable. He went from building to building until he came upon a potting shed near one of the greenhouses. Inside, behind an impressive array of shovels, were two people, bound and gagged.
"Vala," he whispered harshly, and she looked up, making a muffled noise.
He untied her feet first, then her hands, and while he moved to help Jackson with his restraints, Vala pulled the gag from her mouth. "Did you just want to keep me quiet as long as possible?"
"That was the idea, yeah," he replied. "Are you two all right?"
"I think so," Jackson said. "Can we get out of here?"
"I've got a car waiting," Cameron told him while he pulled Vala to her feet. "Let's go."
The three of them made their way back across the grounds, trying to stay masked in the hedgerow, but naturally there were footsteps on the nearby gravel and someone called for them to halt. They did, and Cameron turned around, though he was careful to stay in the shade of the large tree that was between them. Even though it was night, the moon was full and the night was very bright. "Who's there?" the man asked, coming up to them with a gun, with a silencer, drawn.
"Oh, we were trying to get to Fording Hall," Cameron said in a thick accent, "but I think we got a bit lost.
"You certainly did," said the man. "I need to see some identification from you three."
"Sure," Cameron replied, opening up his jacket as though reaching for his wallet. As he did, he looked back at Jackson and Vala and nodded slightly.
On cue, they all started running.
Cameron heard the gun fired but didn't think much of it as they ran. Even Vala in her terribly impractical shoes outpaced the security guard easily, and they reached the end of the drive where Elizabeth was waiting. Quickly, Cameron got the two escapees into the floor behind the front seat and covered them with dark blankets. He dropped into the passenger seat and said to Elizabeth, "Change of plans. We have to go."
"We can't," she said, looking in the rearview mirror. "The duke's here."
Cameron pressed his hand to his side. He didn't usually get a stitch from running like that. Elizabeth slowly drove the car up the driveway, letting the duke's car pass her when the lane was wide enough. When they stopped in front of the house, she looked at Cameron and said, "Stay here. I'll take care of this."
She left the door open, something he wished she hadn't, but it meant that when she ran up to the duke, he could hear what she was saying. "I'm so sorry," she told the man, "but my fiancée - he's gotten sick. I'm worried it might be his appendix."
The duke was all gracious and charming, walking Elizabeth back to the car and giving her directions to the nearest hospital. Elizabeth thanked him profusely, and then they sped away.
Once they were well away from the estate, the passengers in the back emerged from the blankets. "Vala, would you stop that!" Jackson exclaimed.
"Vala, hands to yourself," Cameron drawled.
"You're no fun," she said with a pout.
While the two in the back seat continued to bicker, Cameron said to Elizabeth, "That was some quick thinking."
She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. "I didn't want to be rude," she said, "and I thought we'd be less likely to be suspected as the group running away if we actually drove up to the house before leaving."
"You're probably right."
They were interrupted when Jackson suddenly said, "Miss Weir?"
"Professor Jackson," she replied. "You're very late for your party."
Cameron had to laugh.
Elizabeth had been gone for hours. John was starting to panic.
For the first little while, John stayed near the window, convinced that Elizabeth would figure out that this was a terrible idea and would be back soon enough, letting Mitchell do his dangerous work by himself. Then, when it became clear that that wasn't going to happen, he left his house, walking down the street to McKay and Zelenka's place. The one thing he was generally sure of there was that he would have no room to think about anything that was bothering him.
The pair were up to their eyeballs in complex mathematical formulas and theoretical physics, the likes of which John had never seen before, and for a while it helped. For one thing, Radek shoved a fistful of papers under his nose, wanting help to prove Rodney wrong. An hour later, when he felt like his eyes were about to start bleeding, John gave up. "Rodney," he announced, "you're wrong."
"Prove it," Rodney said, maturely.
"You're just wrong," John insisted. "By definition."
Rodney huffed in annoyance and went on with a soliloquy to his own genius, but John stood and got his coat. "Good night, Rodney," he said. "Sorry to abandon you, Zelenka."
But as soon as he'd stepped out of the house into the cool of the evening, he thought of Elizabeth in that red dress with a filmy shawl. When they walked together on a night like this he usually ended up draping his jacket around her shoulders. She made jokes about his chivalry, but it never deterred him.
A sick feeling settled in his stomach as he neared the cottage. Elizabeth's half was still dark.
He knocked at the door, hoping she'd gotten in already and just hadn't turned on any lights, but there was no answer. Resisting the urge to kick the doorjamb in frustration, he turned to his own door. Inside, he turned on one of the brighter lamps and pulled a manila file from a bookcase by the doorway to the kitchen. He set it on the coffee table and spread the papers out. It was his thesis in group theory, which one of his professors back in Chicago had sent him after painstakingly duplicating it, in case something happened to it in transit. He hadn't worked on it in quite some time, making him feel a bit guilty. The work he was doing now was vastly more important, but his thesis wasn't going to write itself.
Without Rodney and Radek's bickering to keep him focused on math, John found his mind wandering far from the numbers and symbols and the scribbled notes on the stack of paper. Elizabeth should have been back long ago. Mitchell had promised that he'd bring her back before going off on whatever crazy scheme he'd concocted to rescue Vala and Jackson.
Something must have gone terribly wrong. Even as he tried to focus himself on his work, his mind kept dredging up memories he'd tried to suppress of his time in a prison camp. He couldn't imagine Elizabeth being forced into those kinds of conditions. He knew by now that she could make do in tight situations, but being held prisoner by the Nazis was another matter entirely.
What if the Spanish had discovered her and Mitchell and decided to turn them over? Mitchell was an obvious target and John had no doubt that he would try to divert attention away from Elizabeth, but eventually they'd get to Elizabeth and discover her value. That beautiful mind of hers retained so much information. She could be forced to tell them about how they used Dockyard and Enigma in tandem to crack new ciphers. She could tell them that they had an Enigma machine. Moreover, she could probably tell them about the Allies' own cryptographic methods.
It would be a disaster if she told, of course, and she wouldn't talk easily. The thought of what the Nazis would have to do to her to get that information from her left John feeling cold and almost frantic.
Someone knocked on the door, making John jump and spill a glass of water on the floor. "Just a minute," he called, picking up the glass and hurrying to the kitchen to fetch a tea towel.
He dropped the towel on the puddle on his way to open the door. On the other side were Mitchell, Vala, another man he assumed to be Jackson, and Elizabeth. "Come in, come in," he said, waving them into the house. Once Elizabeth was through the door, he shut it and pulled her away from the others. "Are you all right?" he asked earnestly.
"I'm fine, John," she said, looking a little bemused by his behavior. "Are you?"
He glared at Mitchell, who looked up at him. "I thought you said you'd bring her right home."
"Plans changed. The Spanish ambassador asked us to his country estate, which turned out to be where someone had stashed those two."
"And you couldn't do this without her?" John demanded.
"She was the reason we got the invitation," Mitchell said, in an overly patient tone. "My backup plan was lousy, so it's a good thing she was there."
Elizabeth touched John's arm, drawing him back to her. "Are you all right?" she asked again.
"I -" He paused, running his hand through his hair. "I will be. I've just been worried. I would have been better about this if I'd been able to come with you."
John had always been protective by nature, but he suspected that his war experience had magnified that tendency in him tenfold. Elizabeth wasn't a delicate flower and he knew this, but knowing it and acting on that knowledge were significantly different.
He didn't want her in danger, and the thought of losing her was physically painful.
Some realization seemed to come to her in that moment, as her eyes widened just slightly. John remembered earlier in the evening, when he'd wanted to kiss her so badly. Now his heart sped up and the desire returned, only this time with an urgency to prove that she was safe and sound and with him again.
But she turned away, and then she gasped. "Cameron," she said, drawing John's attention to Mitchell. "Cameron, you're bleeding."
Mitchell was taking off his tuxedo jacket, and on the white shirt underneath there was a bloodstain about the size of his palm. "That guy had better aim than I thought," he said.
"I'll get some bandages," John muttered, and he headed toward the kitchen.
He heard Elizabeth telling Jackson to bring her some warm water and iodine, and the man joined him shortly. "Someone was shooting at you?" John asked, curtly.
"Seems like it," Jackson replied.
John clenched his jaw as he left the kitchen, not trusting himself not to say or do anything to a man who'd apparently been shot once already this evening.
Elizabeth urged Cameron onto the sofa and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I can do this myself," he protested.
She glared at him for a moment before continuing. It was at that moment that John returned with bandages, and apparently Cameron just had to needle him again. "Though I probably shouldn't object to a pretty girl undressing me."
At that, Elizabeth yanked his shirt and undershirt out of his pants so hard that he jerked, then winced.
"Thank you, John," she said pointedly, but he just nodded and left again.
Elizabeth sighed, but she waited to say anything until Daniel had delivered the iodine and water and then dragged Vala out of the room. "You don't have to antagonize him," she chided.
"You don't have to lead him around like this either," Cameron shot back.
"What on earth are you talking about?"
He gave her a pointed look. "You like him. He likes you. Stop dancing around that."
Elizabeth felt herself blushing, and she focused on soaking a towel with iodine, then lifting up Cameron's undershirt. "What makes you say that?"
Before he could answer, she dabbed the iodine-soaked cloth onto the wound, which turned out to be a simple graze. The blood on the shirt was mostly dry already, but the wound was likely to get infected if nothing was done to it. Cameron jerked at the contact, though, and Elizabeth tried not to smirk too much.
Once he'd gotten his breath back, he said, "It's not hard to figure out, Elizabeth. This entire complex is talking about you two, wondering when you're going to get married."
Elizabeth let out a testy sigh. She knew that she and John had been the objects of rumors for months now, but mostly she just wished people would leave well enough alone.
Having cleaned the wound to her satisfaction, she began bandaging it up. Cameron continued talking, even as she contemplated stuffing gauze in his mouth. "I could talk to him, you know. Tell him you're interested."
"I could shoot you."
"I'm much too pretty for you to shoot."
"Try me."
He chuckled. "Ah, Elizabeth. Does he know about your temper?"
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.
"Besides, I've been shot already once today." The clock struck one, and Cameron leaned his head back against the back of the sofa. "Reminds me of Edinburgh," he said, closing his eyes. "You?"
"No," Elizabeth replied, finishing with the bandage and scooting away. "No one got shot in Edinburgh. You mostly wanted my help to figure out if Vala was trustworthy."
"Which she totally isn't, but not for security reasons." Cameron sighed and sat up. "I was thinking more of us working together again. And being engaged."
She blushed and looked away. "We were never engaged."
"I asked you to marry me once."
"I was there, Cameron. I remember. And I said no."
"Why was that again?"
"You didn't mean it," she told him dryly. "In fact, I seem to remember that you have a girl back home."
"I told her not to wait for me," he replied.
"She's waiting anyway and you know it," Elizabeth said. "You're a good man. You're worth waiting for."
"So why did you turn me down?"
"Because I'm not in love with you. And you're still in love with her."
He sighed again. "When did the world get so complicated?"
"I think the world's always been complicated, Cameron," she told him. "But I don't think we figured out how to be complicated until we were adults."
He got to his feet and stretched gingerly. "I still say I could talk to him."
Elizabeth rose too and smiled. "I still say I could shoot you."
"Fair enough." He leaned in then and kissed her, a reminder of what she had walked away from once. "I guess we'll always have Edinburgh."
Elizabeth curled her nose up. "That line would sound better if we'd been in Paris."
He smiled, genuinely this time. "It would at that," he said. "Good night, Elizabeth."
He rounded up his people and went back out into the night. She watched from the window as they left, until the car was out of sight and John came back into the room.
"You two were engaged?" he asked.
Elizabeth looked at him over her shoulder with eyes narrowed. "How much of that were you eavesdropping on?"
He held up his hands. "It was hard not to hear a few words here and there."
She looked back out the window, crossing her arms over herself. "We were never engaged," she told him. "He asked me to marry him once but I couldn't."
"Why not?"
Elizabeth was a little surprised by this line of questioning. They almost never talked about matters of such emotional intimacy. Neither of them were prone to baring the soul. "I think I could have been happy with him," she said, "but he isn't what I want."
"What do you want?" John asked, his voice low and unsure.
You was the first thing her treacherous mind supplied and Elizabeth bit her tongue hard to keep from saying it. After a moment, she replied, "I want someone who's so in love with me that he can't think straight if I'm in trouble. Someone who wants me so badly that he'd give up anything to be with me."
He gulped hard then and looked away. But Elizabeth couldn't help herself. "What about you?" she asked. "What do you want?"
"Someone who needs me," he replied, almost immediately. "Someone who believes in me, no matter what."
Elizabeth wondered then what some woman back home had put him through to make him want something so simple. Yet as she thought about it, it wasn't that simple. He wanted a love that was unwavering. She wanted a love that was all-consuming.
She couldn't help but think that those were two sides of the same coin.
He cleared his throat then, obviously uncomfortable with revealing much more of himself. "You should probably go," he said. "That dress can't be that comfortable."
Her feet were killing her, as it happened, but at least she hadn't had to run this evening like Cameron had. "Good night, John," she said softly.
He walked her to the door and waited in the threshold while she went to her own door. She looked over at him and their eyes met, and after a moment, he said, "Sleep well."
She highly doubted it, but appreciated the sentiment anyway.
Part III
Elizabeth barely spoke to him for days and days and John was going to go crazy. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd gone more than eight hours without speaking. Now if he asked her to come for supper or have lunch with him in the mess hall, she would come up with some excuse. Usually it was a headache. He was on the brink of telling her to see a doctor if her head was suddenly hurting all the time, but the possibility of driving her further away with that kind of comment held him back.
The excuse this night was genuine, though - a party for Oxford alumni. John heard her leave the house, then watched surreptitiously from his window as she walked down the street and met a friend. Then he spent an hour or so stomping around in the house, telling himself that he was not really sulking like a child.
Then there were feet coming up to the steps and a rapid knock at his door. John hurried to open it, ready to hear whatever it was Elizabeth had to say.
But it was not Elizabeth. It was Cameron Mitchell.
He was sweaty and breathing heavily. "Sheppard," he said, surprised. "Sorry, I thought this was Elizabeth's. Is she home?"
"You could knock and find out."
"Let's pretend I did. Is she home?"
John shook his head, not sure why he was feeling so petulant. "She's at a party," he explained. "She should be home in a few hours."
Mitchell looked as though he was weighing his options. "May I come in?" he asked.
John stepped out of the other man's way even though he would have liked to have given him a hard time. Once Mitchell was inside and the door was shut, John asked as nonchalantly as he could manage, "So why are you looking for Elizabeth?"
"I need her to get me into the Spanish embassy."
John frowned. "And how is Elizabeth supposed to do that?"
Mitchell looked surprised. "She's never told you about her father?"
John blinked a few times. Of course Elizabeth had told him about her father. "He worked for the embassy in Paris."
Mitchell seemed surprised by that answer. "He was the embassy's cultural affairs coordinator in Paris," he clarified. "He lasted longer than any ambassador he worked for, and he's got incredible connections in the diplomatic community of Europe."
With some effort, he set aside the fact that the other man seemed to know more about Elizabeth than he did. Instead, he focused on Mitchell and the task at hand. "So she has connections at the Spanish embassy?"
"Don't know. Don't care. There's a party there tonight and I've got an invitation, but I'll look less conspicuous with a classy woman on my arm."
"Has she done this for you before?" he asked, feeling like this was a strange imposition on Elizabeth.
"No, but she'll be fine."
John heard someone come up the front steps again and he walked to his door. He opened it just in time to see Elizabeth about to unlock her front door. "John?" she said, startled by his presence.
"Elizabeth, I need you to come over here for a minute," he told her.
She opened her mouth, looking like she had no idea what to say, and John pressed, "Please, it's important."
She came then without asking questions, but gasped when she got inside and saw Mitchell. "Cameron, what's going on?"
He didn't answer her. "Sheppard, I thought you said she wouldn't be here for a few hours."
"I was going to a party," she explained for herself. "Professor Jackson was supposed to be hosting it but he never showed."
"Yeah, well, that might have something to do with him getting himself kidnapped," Mitchell said.
"Kidnapped?" she exclaimed. "Why?"
"I'm not sure yet, but apparently he was with Vala when someone grabbed her."
"You lost the kleptomaniac?" John asked.
"She wandered off," Mitchell replied darkly. "She does this occasionally but usually it's to go shoplifting. When I caught her trail, someone had seen her get dragged off with a man who looked like me, only bookish."
"And you confirmed that Jackson is missing," Elizabeth put in.
Mitchell nodded. "I wish I'd gotten here sooner. I would have saved you the trip. But there's a favor I need to ask of you, Elizabeth."
"What is it?" To her credit, she seemed wary.
"I need to meet a contact at the Spanish embassy tonight during a party they're throwing," he explained. "You're fluent in Spanish, and I don't know that I can get through this party without attracting unwanted attention if I show up alone."
Elizabeth opened her mouth but apparently was at a loss for words. She looked at John, who shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you," he said. "I just flew planes over enemy territory. Didn't have to meet the enemy while I did it."
"Technically Spain is neutral," Mitchell pointed out.
John barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Right. Neutral."
Elizabeth looked at him sternly, and he took the cue to shut up. She looked back at Mitchell. "Am I dressed appropriately?" she asked him.
The spy, or whatever he was, looked Elizabeth up and down and John had to tamp down the immediate desire to punch him in the face for it. Elizabeth herself shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, the hem of her skirt swaying about her knees. She was always dressed impeccably well, and in getting ready for the Oxford party she'd put on a pretty blue dress with a matching hat and white gloves.
"Sorry," Mitchell said. "Do you have anything more formal?"
Elizabeth glanced at John and nodded. "I'll go change."
She left quietly. When the door was shut and they heard Elizabeth open her own front door, Mitchell hefted the bag he was carrying. "I need to change clothes myself."
"Through the kitchen," John replied. "First door on the left."
With Mitchell gone, John sank down into the armchair behind him and sighed. He wasn't sure what bothered him more, the fact that Mitchell seemed to know things about Elizabeth that he didn't, or that Mitchell had her trust for something this stupid. Belatedly he realized that the two were probably related.
Mitchell came back in a few minutes wearing most of a tuxedo. The jacket was draped over one arm and he held the bow tie in one hand. "Sheppard, do you know how to tie one of these?" he asked.
"What, they don't teach you that in spy school?"
"Very funny," Mitchell replied, making a face. "I'll take it that's a no."
"Elizabeth knows," John told him.
"She's tied one of these for you before."
"Christmas party last year."
"Aha."
Mitchell wandered back into the kitchen. John heard the water running briefly. When the other man came back, he had the jacket on and the tie hanging around his neck. "How long do you think she's going to take?"
"Don't worry, you'll get to your jailbreak on time."
"Well, hopefully I'll just find out where Vala and Jackson are and I'll bring your girl home safe and sound before I rescue them."
John narrowed his eyes, thinking of what had happened the night of the opera and how she had acted ever since. "She's not-"
"She is your girl, Sheppard, don't try to deny it." Mitchell walked to the window and stood where he could see Elizabeth come out of her door. "I don't know you very well but I know her."
Mitchell's tone didn't change much, but he sounded just a little like he was taunting, something John had never responded well to. "Just how well do you know her?" he asked.
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if that meant there was kissing, but then the front door opened. Elizabeth walked in, wearing a flowing evening gown. Red and sleeveless, it crisscrossed over her chest, and there was a wide band of black around her middle. The hem swished just above the floor. She also had a lacy, cream-colored shawl over her shoulders.
John remembered seeing that dress when he helped her move in. For some reason he had never imagined her wearing it. She was always beautiful but now she was stunning.
He stared at her and she blushed. "Do I look all right?" she asked.
"You're fine," Mitchell said.
"Bit of an understatement," John mumbled, but Elizabeth heard him and blushed even more.
She held up a necklace. "Help me?"
He nodded and took the jewelry from her. She gathered up her hair, and he opened the clasp, reaching behind her neck to close it again. This close, the smell of her perfume was almost too distracting. Her dark red lipstick reminded him of the morning they'd met, and when she met his gaze, John was struck by a sudden and intense desire to kiss her senseless.
He'd thought about that before, of course, but not since the opera had the impulse and the occasion lined up so neatly as they did now. For her part, Elizabeth gasped softly when his fingers brushed the back of her neck, drawing away after he'd finished with her necklace, and in that moment he knew that she could tell what he was thinking.
And if it hadn't been for Mitchell asking Elizabeth for help with his bow tie, John might have done it.
Elizabeth stepped back from John to help Mitchell, and the other man gave John a knowing glance. She was done quickly, but before she could say anything, John blurted out, "Mitchell, do you think you could use some backup?"
Mitchell blinked. "I'd love some backup."
"He can't come," Elizabeth interjected.
Mitchell whipped back to look at her, and he seemed to understand her quickly. "You were a POW, Sheppard?"
"Yeah, it's a long story," John replied.
"She's right. The Spanish may be neutral but we can't risk that."
He'd figured Mitchell would say no for one reason or another, so it wasn't a huge disappointment. Still, he was worried about Elizabeth and no amount of experience on Mitchell's part was going to reassure John about her safety. "Be careful, okay?" he said to her as the three walked toward his front door. "I don't want to have to bail you out."
He would if he had to, of course, but he left that unspoken. At the threshold, she turned and grasped his hand for a moment. "We'll be fine, John," she said.
"Yeah, well, if he gets in trouble, don't hesitate to save yourself."
"Gee, thanks, Sheppard," Mitchell drawled.
She smiled at him, though, that soft smile she'd use when he was being especially charming and she couldn't help but be amused. Despite the circumstances, he was relieved to see that again. He squeezed her hand, and then they were gone.
John heard car doors open and close, then the engine starting and the car pulling away. Already he knew that he really hated having to wait for Elizabeth to come back.
The drive into London was relatively quiet. Though it took well over an hour to get there, Elizabeth couldn't think of much to say. It had been a long time since she'd been in the kind of circles Cameron was taking her to tonight. She didn't doubt that she could still function among the world's diplomats - she had grown up in this kind of atmosphere, after all - but she'd grown accustomed to the more relaxed atmosphere of Bletchley Park. She hoped the transition now wouldn't be too awkward.
Cameron, on the other hand, seemed relaxed about the whole thing, if focused. Elizabeth had to wonder what kind of things he'd done as an OSS agent if he could be so calm while driving to the embassy to find out where he needed to go to find the asset he'd somehow lost. Elizabeth didn't want to ask how he'd lost Vala in the first place.
When they reached the embassy, they parked some distance away and walked to the building. Cameron had explained to her that she would be using her real name, but that he was posing as her fiancé, Cameron Masters. She was starting to get nervous now that the embassy was in sight, and she tugged her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. Cameron sensed this, apparently, and offered his arm, drawing her closer to him as they walked through the night.
There was a man with a list at the door, and Cameron gave him Elizabeth's name. A few seconds later, they were allowed in and Elizabeth leaned over to whisper in Cameron's ear. "How were you so sure I'd agree to this?"
"You never miss a chance to have a little adventure," he replied as they walked through the ornate marble hall, following the sounds of the party. "Just stay with me until I find my contact."
"And then?"
"Mingle. I'll make it quick."
Elizabeth nodded, but there was no more time to speak about it. They walked into the reception hall, full of light and music and chatter. Cameron was right to have her change clothes. All the women were in beautiful gowns and the men in tuxedoes, and Elizabeth was forcibly reminded of Paris and the first time her parents had allowed her attend an embassy party. There had been many parties after that night but she'd never been so nervous again, at least until now.
A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes and Cameron grabbed two of them and handed one to Elizabeth. "Go easy on this," he said quietly.
Elizabeth sipped from her glass and leaned toward him. "You don't have to tell me how to act here," she said. "Now, where's your contact?"
"Let's act like we want to be here first, all right?"
"At least they're serving good champagne," she said to herself, and then they started into the crowd.
It didn't surprise her that a number of people recognized her name, or at least her father's name. Cameron seemed a little surprised, but the diplomatic world was a small one. He pretended not to speak Spanish and looked appropriately bored and distracted by it all while Elizabeth chatted with embassy officials and the other guests. Then while she spoke to the daughter of a diplomat, Cameron squeezed her hand. "Darling, I'm going to step outside for a cigarette."
"Don't be long," she replied.
He kissed her cheek lingeringly, and Elizabeth watched him go. The young lady with whom she was talking watched too. "You found an exceptionally handsome man," she remarked.
"That I did," Elizabeth replied.
With Cameron away from her side, however, Elizabeth soon found herself with a number of men orbiting her. Some were a little more obvious than others, but mostly she tried to be polite while keeping her distance. Quite a bit of time passed and Cameron still wasn't back, making Elizabeth's nervousness rise again. She was thinking about escaping to the powder room, however, when a male voice behind her said her name.
Stepping out into the garden, Cameron looked to his left and saw a man lighting a cigarette. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own pack. He didn't smoke as a general rule, but occasionally it helped him blend in. Drawing out a cigarette, he let the other man light it and inhaled. "Pleasant evening," he said, in Spanish.
"Indeed," the man replied, in English. "Enjoying the party?"
"Very much."
They stood there for a while, quietly smoking. "You remind me of a man," said Cameron's contact. "I saw him today at the ambassador's country house."
"Oh?" Cameron replied. Only a great deal of focus kept his spine from stiffening.
"Yes. I don't know that he was there by choice." The man tapped his cigarette, making ash fall to the ground. "There was a woman with him. Perhaps she brought him."
Vala, he thought. It wouldn't surprise him if even the Spanish distrusted her. The British, by and large, didn't take her seriously, thinking she was actually a spy. Cameron knew that his own bosses were skeptical of her and, by extension, him, except that her information always proved to be right.
The one thing he knew, though, was that he had to get her out. The British had been known to accuse foreigners on their soil of colluding with the Nazis, and he suspected that if Vala was with the Spanish for much longer, she would find herself in a very sticky situation.
Cameron stayed out in the garden long enough to make it seem like he'd actually come out for a smoke. Then he dropped the cigarette onto the gravel path and stepped on it to extinguish it. "Thanks for the light," he said to his companion, and he headed back into the party.
"Elizabeth Weir, what a surprise."
Elizabeth turned to see an older gentleman behind her, in all the regalia of a man of war, and she just barely kept her jaw from dropping. "Your Grace," she said, startled, to the Duke of Alba, the Spanish ambassador to England.
"I have not seen you in many years, Miss Weir," he remarked. "Is it still Miss Weir?"
"Yes," she almost blurted out, then she remembered her cover for the night. "I am engaged, though. My fiancé stepped out for a few moments."
"I would not think you would stay unmarried very long. How are your charming parents? Are they still on the continent?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, they left for America not long after the war broke out. I was studying at Oxford at the time, so I stayed behind."
"Do give them my best wishes," said the duke.
"Of course," Elizabeth replied.
He stepped closer and spoke quietly. "I will be leaving the party before long," he told her. "I am far too old for these kinds of gatherings, but I am hosting a little supper at my estate tonight. Would you and your fiancé be so kind as to join us?"
She opened her mouth, trying to think of how she could politely refuse him, but before she could speak Cameron was at her side, his hand on the small of her back. "So sorry to have taken so long," he said to her, though she could tell he was still playing a part.
The duke smiled. "I don't believe we've met."
Elizabeth composed herself and stood a little straighter. "Cameron, his Grace the duke of Alba, Jacobo Fitz-James Stuart y Falcó, Spain's ambassador to the United Kingdom. Your Grace, my fiancé, Cameron Masters."
"Mr. Masters," Alba said, nodding.
Cameron bowed slightly. "It's an honor, your Grace."
"I was just inviting your lovely fiancée to my estate for a late supper tonight," the duke continued. "It would be a delight to have you both. Miss Weir and I could reminisce about Paris."
Elizabeth was relieved that Cameron would be the one to refuse the duke. Her family connections were such that she felt awkward doing it herself. But then Cameron was accepting the invitation and it was all she could do to smile at the duke as he walked away.
"Cameron!" she whispered once there was no one in their immediate vicinity. "What are you doing?"
"Come along," he said, taking her elbow and propelling her forward. "I'll explain later."
They got directions from the duke's valet, and as soon as they were safely inside his car she demanded, "What is going on, Cameron? I thought you were leaving me out of the part of the evening where there's running and shooting."
"Vala and Jackson are at the ambassador's estate," he told her tersely as he buckled his seat belt. "You just saved me the embarrassment of a terrible plan."
"At the ambassador's estate?" she repeated. "The duke can't possibly know about that."
"Look, I know he's rumored to not be that crazy about Franco, but he's the ambassador and it's his house," Cameron snapped.
Elizabeth fell silent, knowing that to an extent he was right. It was hard to believe that the duke wouldn't know what they were using his house for.
After a few minutes of silence, while Cameron got out on the road again, she asked, "What was your terrible plan?"
He was silent for a moment, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. "I was going to get to the estate, take the spark plugs out of the car, and go up to the house and ask to use their telephone."
"That really is a terrible plan."
"Told you so."
The current plan didn't seem much better to Elizabeth, but she kept her mouth shut. Surely Cameron knew what he was doing.
Surely.
They drove out of the city and came upon the ambassador's estate before too long. The main house was imposing, but behind it were several smaller buildings, a garage, a stable, greenhouses, and a handful of sheds. Cameron backed the car up to the beginning of the drive, however, and got out of the car. "Get in the driver's seat," he told Elizabeth. "I'm going to search the outer buildings. I doubt they're being kept in the main house. I'll bring them out here and we'll hide them in the back seat."
"And then?" Elizabeth asked.
"Then we'll go inside, you'll fake a headache, and we'll get the hell out of here."
Before she could object to his crazy plan, Cameron took off, running along the hedgerow to the garage.
There was nothing inside but cars and car parts, and the stable was similarly predictable. He went from building to building until he came upon a potting shed near one of the greenhouses. Inside, behind an impressive array of shovels, were two people, bound and gagged.
"Vala," he whispered harshly, and she looked up, making a muffled noise.
He untied her feet first, then her hands, and while he moved to help Jackson with his restraints, Vala pulled the gag from her mouth. "Did you just want to keep me quiet as long as possible?"
"That was the idea, yeah," he replied. "Are you two all right?"
"I think so," Jackson said. "Can we get out of here?"
"I've got a car waiting," Cameron told him while he pulled Vala to her feet. "Let's go."
The three of them made their way back across the grounds, trying to stay masked in the hedgerow, but naturally there were footsteps on the nearby gravel and someone called for them to halt. They did, and Cameron turned around, though he was careful to stay in the shade of the large tree that was between them. Even though it was night, the moon was full and the night was very bright. "Who's there?" the man asked, coming up to them with a gun, with a silencer, drawn.
"Oh, we were trying to get to Fording Hall," Cameron said in a thick accent, "but I think we got a bit lost.
"You certainly did," said the man. "I need to see some identification from you three."
"Sure," Cameron replied, opening up his jacket as though reaching for his wallet. As he did, he looked back at Jackson and Vala and nodded slightly.
On cue, they all started running.
Cameron heard the gun fired but didn't think much of it as they ran. Even Vala in her terribly impractical shoes outpaced the security guard easily, and they reached the end of the drive where Elizabeth was waiting. Quickly, Cameron got the two escapees into the floor behind the front seat and covered them with dark blankets. He dropped into the passenger seat and said to Elizabeth, "Change of plans. We have to go."
"We can't," she said, looking in the rearview mirror. "The duke's here."
Cameron pressed his hand to his side. He didn't usually get a stitch from running like that. Elizabeth slowly drove the car up the driveway, letting the duke's car pass her when the lane was wide enough. When they stopped in front of the house, she looked at Cameron and said, "Stay here. I'll take care of this."
She left the door open, something he wished she hadn't, but it meant that when she ran up to the duke, he could hear what she was saying. "I'm so sorry," she told the man, "but my fiancée - he's gotten sick. I'm worried it might be his appendix."
The duke was all gracious and charming, walking Elizabeth back to the car and giving her directions to the nearest hospital. Elizabeth thanked him profusely, and then they sped away.
Once they were well away from the estate, the passengers in the back emerged from the blankets. "Vala, would you stop that!" Jackson exclaimed.
"Vala, hands to yourself," Cameron drawled.
"You're no fun," she said with a pout.
While the two in the back seat continued to bicker, Cameron said to Elizabeth, "That was some quick thinking."
She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. "I didn't want to be rude," she said, "and I thought we'd be less likely to be suspected as the group running away if we actually drove up to the house before leaving."
"You're probably right."
They were interrupted when Jackson suddenly said, "Miss Weir?"
"Professor Jackson," she replied. "You're very late for your party."
Cameron had to laugh.
Elizabeth had been gone for hours. John was starting to panic.
For the first little while, John stayed near the window, convinced that Elizabeth would figure out that this was a terrible idea and would be back soon enough, letting Mitchell do his dangerous work by himself. Then, when it became clear that that wasn't going to happen, he left his house, walking down the street to McKay and Zelenka's place. The one thing he was generally sure of there was that he would have no room to think about anything that was bothering him.
The pair were up to their eyeballs in complex mathematical formulas and theoretical physics, the likes of which John had never seen before, and for a while it helped. For one thing, Radek shoved a fistful of papers under his nose, wanting help to prove Rodney wrong. An hour later, when he felt like his eyes were about to start bleeding, John gave up. "Rodney," he announced, "you're wrong."
"Prove it," Rodney said, maturely.
"You're just wrong," John insisted. "By definition."
Rodney huffed in annoyance and went on with a soliloquy to his own genius, but John stood and got his coat. "Good night, Rodney," he said. "Sorry to abandon you, Zelenka."
But as soon as he'd stepped out of the house into the cool of the evening, he thought of Elizabeth in that red dress with a filmy shawl. When they walked together on a night like this he usually ended up draping his jacket around her shoulders. She made jokes about his chivalry, but it never deterred him.
A sick feeling settled in his stomach as he neared the cottage. Elizabeth's half was still dark.
He knocked at the door, hoping she'd gotten in already and just hadn't turned on any lights, but there was no answer. Resisting the urge to kick the doorjamb in frustration, he turned to his own door. Inside, he turned on one of the brighter lamps and pulled a manila file from a bookcase by the doorway to the kitchen. He set it on the coffee table and spread the papers out. It was his thesis in group theory, which one of his professors back in Chicago had sent him after painstakingly duplicating it, in case something happened to it in transit. He hadn't worked on it in quite some time, making him feel a bit guilty. The work he was doing now was vastly more important, but his thesis wasn't going to write itself.
Without Rodney and Radek's bickering to keep him focused on math, John found his mind wandering far from the numbers and symbols and the scribbled notes on the stack of paper. Elizabeth should have been back long ago. Mitchell had promised that he'd bring her back before going off on whatever crazy scheme he'd concocted to rescue Vala and Jackson.
Something must have gone terribly wrong. Even as he tried to focus himself on his work, his mind kept dredging up memories he'd tried to suppress of his time in a prison camp. He couldn't imagine Elizabeth being forced into those kinds of conditions. He knew by now that she could make do in tight situations, but being held prisoner by the Nazis was another matter entirely.
What if the Spanish had discovered her and Mitchell and decided to turn them over? Mitchell was an obvious target and John had no doubt that he would try to divert attention away from Elizabeth, but eventually they'd get to Elizabeth and discover her value. That beautiful mind of hers retained so much information. She could be forced to tell them about how they used Dockyard and Enigma in tandem to crack new ciphers. She could tell them that they had an Enigma machine. Moreover, she could probably tell them about the Allies' own cryptographic methods.
It would be a disaster if she told, of course, and she wouldn't talk easily. The thought of what the Nazis would have to do to her to get that information from her left John feeling cold and almost frantic.
Someone knocked on the door, making John jump and spill a glass of water on the floor. "Just a minute," he called, picking up the glass and hurrying to the kitchen to fetch a tea towel.
He dropped the towel on the puddle on his way to open the door. On the other side were Mitchell, Vala, another man he assumed to be Jackson, and Elizabeth. "Come in, come in," he said, waving them into the house. Once Elizabeth was through the door, he shut it and pulled her away from the others. "Are you all right?" he asked earnestly.
"I'm fine, John," she said, looking a little bemused by his behavior. "Are you?"
He glared at Mitchell, who looked up at him. "I thought you said you'd bring her right home."
"Plans changed. The Spanish ambassador asked us to his country estate, which turned out to be where someone had stashed those two."
"And you couldn't do this without her?" John demanded.
"She was the reason we got the invitation," Mitchell said, in an overly patient tone. "My backup plan was lousy, so it's a good thing she was there."
Elizabeth touched John's arm, drawing him back to her. "Are you all right?" she asked again.
"I -" He paused, running his hand through his hair. "I will be. I've just been worried. I would have been better about this if I'd been able to come with you."
John had always been protective by nature, but he suspected that his war experience had magnified that tendency in him tenfold. Elizabeth wasn't a delicate flower and he knew this, but knowing it and acting on that knowledge were significantly different.
He didn't want her in danger, and the thought of losing her was physically painful.
Some realization seemed to come to her in that moment, as her eyes widened just slightly. John remembered earlier in the evening, when he'd wanted to kiss her so badly. Now his heart sped up and the desire returned, only this time with an urgency to prove that she was safe and sound and with him again.
But she turned away, and then she gasped. "Cameron," she said, drawing John's attention to Mitchell. "Cameron, you're bleeding."
Mitchell was taking off his tuxedo jacket, and on the white shirt underneath there was a bloodstain about the size of his palm. "That guy had better aim than I thought," he said.
"I'll get some bandages," John muttered, and he headed toward the kitchen.
He heard Elizabeth telling Jackson to bring her some warm water and iodine, and the man joined him shortly. "Someone was shooting at you?" John asked, curtly.
"Seems like it," Jackson replied.
John clenched his jaw as he left the kitchen, not trusting himself not to say or do anything to a man who'd apparently been shot once already this evening.
Elizabeth urged Cameron onto the sofa and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I can do this myself," he protested.
She glared at him for a moment before continuing. It was at that moment that John returned with bandages, and apparently Cameron just had to needle him again. "Though I probably shouldn't object to a pretty girl undressing me."
At that, Elizabeth yanked his shirt and undershirt out of his pants so hard that he jerked, then winced.
"Thank you, John," she said pointedly, but he just nodded and left again.
Elizabeth sighed, but she waited to say anything until Daniel had delivered the iodine and water and then dragged Vala out of the room. "You don't have to antagonize him," she chided.
"You don't have to lead him around like this either," Cameron shot back.
"What on earth are you talking about?"
He gave her a pointed look. "You like him. He likes you. Stop dancing around that."
Elizabeth felt herself blushing, and she focused on soaking a towel with iodine, then lifting up Cameron's undershirt. "What makes you say that?"
Before he could answer, she dabbed the iodine-soaked cloth onto the wound, which turned out to be a simple graze. The blood on the shirt was mostly dry already, but the wound was likely to get infected if nothing was done to it. Cameron jerked at the contact, though, and Elizabeth tried not to smirk too much.
Once he'd gotten his breath back, he said, "It's not hard to figure out, Elizabeth. This entire complex is talking about you two, wondering when you're going to get married."
Elizabeth let out a testy sigh. She knew that she and John had been the objects of rumors for months now, but mostly she just wished people would leave well enough alone.
Having cleaned the wound to her satisfaction, she began bandaging it up. Cameron continued talking, even as she contemplated stuffing gauze in his mouth. "I could talk to him, you know. Tell him you're interested."
"I could shoot you."
"I'm much too pretty for you to shoot."
"Try me."
He chuckled. "Ah, Elizabeth. Does he know about your temper?"
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.
"Besides, I've been shot already once today." The clock struck one, and Cameron leaned his head back against the back of the sofa. "Reminds me of Edinburgh," he said, closing his eyes. "You?"
"No," Elizabeth replied, finishing with the bandage and scooting away. "No one got shot in Edinburgh. You mostly wanted my help to figure out if Vala was trustworthy."
"Which she totally isn't, but not for security reasons." Cameron sighed and sat up. "I was thinking more of us working together again. And being engaged."
She blushed and looked away. "We were never engaged."
"I asked you to marry me once."
"I was there, Cameron. I remember. And I said no."
"Why was that again?"
"You didn't mean it," she told him dryly. "In fact, I seem to remember that you have a girl back home."
"I told her not to wait for me," he replied.
"She's waiting anyway and you know it," Elizabeth said. "You're a good man. You're worth waiting for."
"So why did you turn me down?"
"Because I'm not in love with you. And you're still in love with her."
He sighed again. "When did the world get so complicated?"
"I think the world's always been complicated, Cameron," she told him. "But I don't think we figured out how to be complicated until we were adults."
He got to his feet and stretched gingerly. "I still say I could talk to him."
Elizabeth rose too and smiled. "I still say I could shoot you."
"Fair enough." He leaned in then and kissed her, a reminder of what she had walked away from once. "I guess we'll always have Edinburgh."
Elizabeth curled her nose up. "That line would sound better if we'd been in Paris."
He smiled, genuinely this time. "It would at that," he said. "Good night, Elizabeth."
He rounded up his people and went back out into the night. She watched from the window as they left, until the car was out of sight and John came back into the room.
"You two were engaged?" he asked.
Elizabeth looked at him over her shoulder with eyes narrowed. "How much of that were you eavesdropping on?"
He held up his hands. "It was hard not to hear a few words here and there."
She looked back out the window, crossing her arms over herself. "We were never engaged," she told him. "He asked me to marry him once but I couldn't."
"Why not?"
Elizabeth was a little surprised by this line of questioning. They almost never talked about matters of such emotional intimacy. Neither of them were prone to baring the soul. "I think I could have been happy with him," she said, "but he isn't what I want."
"What do you want?" John asked, his voice low and unsure.
You was the first thing her treacherous mind supplied and Elizabeth bit her tongue hard to keep from saying it. After a moment, she replied, "I want someone who's so in love with me that he can't think straight if I'm in trouble. Someone who wants me so badly that he'd give up anything to be with me."
He gulped hard then and looked away. But Elizabeth couldn't help herself. "What about you?" she asked. "What do you want?"
"Someone who needs me," he replied, almost immediately. "Someone who believes in me, no matter what."
Elizabeth wondered then what some woman back home had put him through to make him want something so simple. Yet as she thought about it, it wasn't that simple. He wanted a love that was unwavering. She wanted a love that was all-consuming.
She couldn't help but think that those were two sides of the same coin.
He cleared his throat then, obviously uncomfortable with revealing much more of himself. "You should probably go," he said. "That dress can't be that comfortable."
Her feet were killing her, as it happened, but at least she hadn't had to run this evening like Cameron had. "Good night, John," she said softly.
He walked her to the door and waited in the threshold while she went to her own door. She looked over at him and their eyes met, and after a moment, he said, "Sleep well."
She highly doubted it, but appreciated the sentiment anyway.
Part III