Ok, so here it is, my Baxley modern AU that I've been promising. This started because I got a prompt to write Baxley as Cold War spies; to which my reply was essentially "Well, I don't know an awful lot about the Cold War, can I interest you in a Spooks rip off instead?" And here it be. This is based on the premise that Phyllis and Joe went to university together, joined MI5 together, got married, and that he was kidnapped and held and interrogated in Russian custody over an extended period of time. This is hime coming back- but this is also one of my good old two chronology pieces so there is going to be some earlier too. I really hope you like this, because I have quite an extensive plan. xxx
2015
The car was dark. It had been parked just out of the beam of the single street light which lit the empty stretch of road. Habitually early for this, as Charles was for everything else, they had already been there for fifteen minute and they had been silent almost ever since then, their conversation ceasing as Charles switched off the engine.
Phyllis checked her watch again and Charles' eyes followed hers. He could obviously see that she was getting restless.
"They'll be here," he assured her, "They're not due yet."
"You sure they're not trying to just draw this out?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "They have been known for it, the Russians."
"Well, perhaps," he conceded, "But they're always known to deliver too, in situations like this. They've never not returned a man that they've said they would."
"I know," she replied with a quiet sigh, "It's just, I've been waiting for this for so long. It seems unbelievable. I can't make myself believe that nothing's going to go wrong."
"I know," he replied gently, "I know it's hard. But it will be alright. We are going to get him back, Phyllis."
She gave him a strained smile, swallowing the lump in her throat, looking out of the windscreen again, not wanting him to be able to look directly at her face. She hadn't been around spies for a long time now and she found it freshly discomforting to sit there, exposed under Charles' contemplative look.
"Are you still living in your old place?" he asked her a moment later.
"You know where I live," she replied bluntly, giving him a very frank look.
Charles gave an appreciative sniff and a smile, acknowledging that she was right.
She pushed the hair away from the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear.
"I didn't want to give up that flat and live somewhere else," she told him after a moment, "I wanted to stay where I'd been with him, where we'd lived together. I've tried not to change it too much. To have gone somewhere else would have felt too much like admitting defeat."
"Still, it was brave of you to wait out nine years," Charles told her, "Not many people have that much durability."
"You would have held out nine years for Elsie," Phyllis told him in reply, "Easily."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Yes, I think I probably would," he replied.
They were silent for a few more moments.
"I'm sure Elsie told you this," Charles started again, clearing his throat slightly, "But I still want to tell you myself, there is a very good system of support in place, should either of you need it, if any problems were to arise or… persist."
"I know," Phyllis replied briefly, "I've used it myself, remember?"
"I know that," Charles replied, "But things were rather different then. You were still a commissioned officer of the security services then,when you-… whereas now neither of you-…"
Phyllis' eyes flashed in the dark as she turned towards Charles.
"You're decommissioning Joe?" she asked incredulously.
Charles looked at her in something like confusion.
"I'm surprised that you think I would do anything other than decommission him," he replied honestly, "I have very little choice in the matter. The man's been in Russian custody for nine years," Phyllis did not flinch now as she used to do when her husband's situation was articulated out loud, "Obviously, we can't know what he's been through but from the reports we've had from our people and what we know from others who've been through similar things, someone in his position is the last person we can commission to work for us. Phil, you of all people have got to understand that."
"I do," she admitted reluctantly, after a moment, "But he's been in Russian custody for nine years, because he was working for you. You can't just throw him out the minute he comes back."
"I didn't say it was a permanent measure," Charles replied, calmly, "After he's had some time to adjust, he's more than welcome to his old job. That's if he wants it."
"Of course he'll want it," she replied immediately, not thinking about it, and then, to counter Charles slightly incredulous look, "He loves his job."
"He did love his job," he acknowledged calmly, "He loved being able to work with you."
When she did not say anything, he tilted his head a little, looking at her closely, "Have you thought about how you're going to tell him," he asked her, "That you're not with us any more?"
"He'll know soon enough," she replied shortly.
"So, no, then," Charles surmised, and she glared at him just a little. He looked apologetic, and went on in a much more conciliatory tone, "I suppose you're right, he'll know soon enough anyway. But," he ventured tentatively, "I think you should tell him sooner rather than later, and I would be glad if at least you told him before I discuss recommissioning him. He did love working with you."
"I know," she replied quietly, "I will talk to him."
"Thank you," Charles said softly, gratefully.
They were quiet for a few long moments.
"There will," Charles began slowly, "Be nights when he can't sleep. There will be difficult days too, and maybe panic attacks or nervous ticks or paranoia or depression-…"
"Charles, why are you doing this?" Phyllis asked him sharply, "Have you forgotten that I went through a fair few of them after Joe was taken and after-…"
"I know you did," Charles told her quickly, firmly, "And I know there's not much chance that you've forgotten about it. I'm just trying to treat you as I would the partner of any agent in circumstances like this."
"Well don't," Phyllis told him flatly, "Because Joe is not just any agent, and I am not just the wife of any agent. I get it, I understand it. And I'm going to get him through it," she told him firmly, "I am going to. I will."
"I'm sorry," he replied, "You're right, you don't want me lecturing you now."
She was quiet for a moment.
"I know I'm not saying that everything will go smoothly," she told him at last, her voice just a little uneven, "In fact, I know it's going to be exactly the opposite. But I am so looking forward to him being back here again. I don't care even if this makes things more difficult for me, just to know that he is safe will be worth it. I've missed him so much," she told him, "I'm looking forward to having him back so much."
Charles looked at her careful. She knew her former boss was not exactly one for overt displays of strong emotions, but still, as he looked at her his eyes widened kindly.
"I know you are," he replied softly, "And even if it doesn't go smoothly at first, you do deserve, more than anything, and eventually it will. God knows, you've waited long enough for this."
She sniffed a little.
"I just want him back," she told him softly, "That's all I can remember wanting now."
Charles gave her a sad smile.
"I know," he assured her again.
They were silent again.
"Have you thought about how you're going to tell him abou-…"
"Of course I've thought about it," she replied, sharply; knowing what he was talking about from the tone of his voice, "I could hardly not think about it. You've got to give me some time, Charles. I need to know how he is, Charles, how he really is, before I tell him that I'm not with the Service anymore, let alone before I tell him something like that."
Charles nodded calmly.
"I understand," he told her, "And if you want to talk about it with Elsie, or with me-.…Well, maybe just with Elsie, then," he replied, seeing her raised eyebrows, and acknowledging that she probably had a point, "You'd be more than welcome round at our place."
She smiled at him.
"That's very kind of you, Charles," she replied, "I'm very grateful. I mean it."
He gave her a smile in return.
"You're welcome," he replied.
As she faced him to return his smile, she saw the colour of his face light up. There was another car, facing theirs that had approached without its headlights on and was now beaming them forwards at them. They both turned around immediately.
"It's them," Charles told her, reaching for the car door, "Stay in the car."
"Like hell," she murmured, opening her door and getting out too.
Charles did not even look particularly surprised.
The doors of the Russian car had opened too. There was a man wearing glasses and a dark coat, almost indistinguishable from the night, standing in front of the bonnet of the car, looking at them both. He smirked at the sight of Phyllis.
"Mrs Molesley," he remarked, his native accent smooth and alms in distinguishable, "How nice of you to join us."
The cold of the night and the look on his face had piqued Phyllis' impatience.
"Where's my husband?" she asked plainly.
The man turned towards Charles.
"You have what we want?" he asked him.
Charles' gloved hand reached into him pocket, holding out a USB stick. It caught Phyllis' eye in the dark. She tired not to think about what might be on it. Tired not to think about what her husband was worth to these people.
Even so, as the man took it and quickly plugged it into the notebook he hand with him, she took a few steps closer to Charles.
"What was on it?" she could not stop herself from asking in a low murmur.
Charles looked down at her.
"Don't think about it," he advised her.
She let out a quiet sigh.
"This is in order," the man on the car told them.
Phyllis' heart jumped into her throat. She was so on edge that she flinched at the sound of the doors of the Russian car being opened and closed.
And then he was there, being led towards her through the dark and into the light of the street lamp, wearing dark clothes, she would have known him anywhere, even having lost weight and looking as worn as he did.
The Russians were getting back into their car, and backing out.
His eyes had focused in the dark, and he had seen that she was there. She watching him closely enough to see them widen in surprise, and, she thought, something like relief.
"Joe," she murmured, above the dimming sound of the engine.
She saw the corners of his mouth move upwards as he replied, "Phyllis."
His voice sounded a little hoarse, but ultimately the same. She was moving towards him.
And then, not caring that Charles was standing a few feet away from them, enfolded him carefully in her arms.
"Oh, my love," she murmured, pressing her face against his, breathing in the same old scent of him.
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