Author's notes: This is set between seasons 6 and 7 and details Ros' revenge on Magritte, Sholto and Juliet. I know I've done it before, but this one is fairly different and told from an original character's point-of-view.
Enjoy and please review.
Summary: Pre-season 7. Ros has some unfinished business to attend to.
Disclaimer: I do not own Spooks; it is the property of Kudos and the BBC. Only Petr belongs to me.
Blood Trail
He is asleep when she arrives on his doorstep, and he mutters beneath his breath as he hurries down the stairs, and opens the door.
"Hello, Petr."
She speaks in Russian, accent impeccable, and he finds that he can only stare. In the dim light, she looks pale, ghostly; the coat she wears is too big, and swims around her, making her appear smaller. There are smudges beneath her eyes that look like bruises, and he wonders how long it has been since she's slept properly.
"Are you going to let me in?" she asks, breaking his observations.
He starts, then moves back, ushering her inside.
"Of course, Rosa."
-o-
They sit at his kitchen table, and he watches her silently as she nurses the mug, holding it tightly in her hands. She looks more haggard inside and he realises that she has lost weight since he saw her last, two years ago, weight she couldn't afford to lose. Now, her cheekbones push against her skin, making her gaunt, but there is still something that makes him think she is as dangerous as she has ever been.
"I need your help, Petr," she says finally.
"With what, Rosa?" he asks, curious.
"Their names are Anne Boche, Sholto and Juliet Shaw."
He watches as her neck tendons cord as she says the last name, knows there is unfinished business between the two women, knows how their 'business' will end.
"Why do you need me?" he says, not voicing that particular thought, "why can't MI-5 help you?"
She looks up at him, green-eyes hard. "I'm dead, Petr, that's why."
He leans back in the wooden chair, wonders how this woman manages to get herself into these situations.
"Start from the beginning, Rosa. And go slowly."
-o-
Ros' story is long and by the time she finishes, the sun has well and truly risen, though outside it remains bleak. Petr says nothing for several moments, instead re-filling her coffee, still processing her words. Her tale was complex (though he would expect no less from Rosalind Myers,) one of uncharacteristic mistakes, and he wonders for a brief moment if she is slipping.
The hardness of her eyes suggests otherwise.
"What do I have to do with this?" he asks.
She raises an eyebrow, takes a slow sip of coffee.
"I think you already know the answer to that."
The two say nothing until he releases a long breath through his nose and rises to his feet.
"Go and get yourself some clothes, then sleep," he says, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "you look like hell, Rosa."
She gives an enigmatic smile.
"You say all the right things, Petr."
-o-
He is distracted at work, enough for his colleagues to comment, and goes home early. Ros is awake and he can't help but smile when he enters the kitchen. She has gone shopping, and her clothes are well-fitted, though she also got a haircut which suits her far better.
"You look good, Rosa," he comments.
She gives a half-smile as she leans against the bench, arms folded.
"Are you going to help me, Petr?"
Straight to the point, as always.
"I-"
"This is important to me," she interrupts, "very important."
Her eyes glitter and a smile pulls at his lips; he knows then that she will hunt these people without his help, but that is more dangerous, more time-consuming.
"All right," he says, "we start in one week."
A smile is his response.
-o-
The file skids across the kitchen table, photographs and papers spilling out like a fan, and Ros catches it before it can fall onto the floor. Petr falls onto a chair as she opens the file and looks at the topmost page. It took him only moments to type in the name 'Anne Boche,' a phone call to a contact in the French Security Services to find out Boche's last known whereabouts and get a list of aliases, and a bribe to their technical analyst to cross-reference the names and get a location.
"I got you another passport," he says as she reads through the file, brushing back an errant lock of hair, "there's a plane for Berlin that leaves in the morning."
She looks at him and offers a small smile.
"You haven't said what you want in return," she says, returning to the file.
"No, I haven't," he agrees.
"I don't expect you to help me for nothing, Petr," she continues, not looking up.
He takes a deep breath; he had thought as much, but didn't want to press her, not just yet.
"There's someone in Austria that needs to be... dealt with."
She holds her hand out for the file.
-o-
She returns three days later.
Petr reads that Anne Boche was found dead, with a broken neck, in her safe-house, and his 'problem' was garrotted in their living room.
-o-
It takes him a little longer to find Sholto, but Ros is patient. They develop an odd routine; he goes to work, she stays back and does god-knows-what. He is pleased to see that she puts on weight, though when he sees her in the kitchen, in sweats and a singlet, he realises it is all muscle.
"Morning," she says, pushing a cup of coffee towards him.
He nods in greeting and waits until she sits down before speaking.
"What are you going to do after you've finished with... this?" he asks.
Ros looks over her coffee mug and pauses before speaking. "I'm not sure," she admits.
"Will you go back to MI-5?"
She looks startled at the question and he presses on.
"As much as I like having you here, Rosa, you know it can't be permanent."
"A pity," she rebuts.
He says nothing, waiting for her to continue.
"I don't know," she admits, "I really don't."
Petr nods as he reaches into his coat, which he'd draped over the chair the night before, and hands her two files.
"Sholto is in Spain, as is this man, Allan Marsh."
Ros smiles, a smile which sends shivers running down his spine.
"Consider it done."
-o-
It takes Ros one week to complete her task.
Sholto is found floating in the pool of his apartment; and Allan Marsh is shot dead at the side of the road.
-o-
They go for a dinner at one of the more higher-end restaurants. Ros wears a simple dress, nothing overt, but eyes still follow her as the maitres-de ushers them to their table in the far corner. Ros notices (how could she not) and he hears a soft laugh.
"Something funny, Rosa?" he asks, propping up his menu.
"In a way, yes," she says, her eyes scanning the room, "I'm so used to dressing up as legends that it's strange to go somewhere as myself."
Petr raises his eyebrows; introspection has never been Ros' style.
"Now," she says brusquely, sounding more like herself, "I could kill for a glass of good wine."
Petr grins, takes his chances. "In your case, I'd take that literally," he quips, earning himself a brief glare.
He gives another unrepentant smile, one which, after a moment, she returns.
-o-
Ros takes care of two more 'problems' in the time it takes him to track Juliet Shaw.
-o-
Petr finds Juliet Shaw's location and hands Ros the file with trepidation. He knows that Ros is capable of killing this woman, but Juliet Shaw is no fool and would no doubt have safety measures in place.
"I'll be fine, Petr," she assures, reading his mind. "I promise."
She gives him a smile, small but real, but the worry he feels doesn't abate.
"Be careful, Rosa."
-o-
It is a full month before he sees her again.
His front door is unlocked and he enters, gun held loosely at his side. He looks around the corner and his eyes widen and his gun clatters to the floor.
"Rosa?"
She turns and walks over to him. He can sense her elation and knows she was successful.
"What now?" he asks as she nears.
She looks down at the floor, for once uncertain.
"I'm not entirely sure."
-o-
It surprises him when she comes into his bedroom. He hears her coming, and two parts of him argue with the other as he hears his door open. One part knows what she wants, and wants to fight; the other takes one look at her face, somehow fragile, and wants nothing more than to hold her close. The latter wins out and he sits upright and pats the mattress next to him. Ros sits and Petr says nothing as she reaches out and splays her fingers against his bare chest. Her hand is pale against his skin and he captures it in his own.
"Rosa..." he begins, half-heartedly dropping their hands down.
She shakes her head and breaks her hand free, pressing it against his mouth.
"Please?" she whispers, sounding almost child-like.
His resolve breaks and he takes hold of her wrist and pulls her towards him. Neither speak, not needing to, and he runs his fingers along her collarbone, pushing away a singlet strap. His lips replaces his fingers and she tangles her fingers in his hair. She twists and he pulls her further onto the bed, surprised by how light she is. For someone with so much presence, Ros Myers barely weighs more than a child.
She arches towards him as he lies her down. He holds himself above her and takes a moment to simply look at her; this is a side he has never seen before, one he hopes never to forget.
"Please?" she repeats.
She reaches up, and he doesn't protest as she pulls him down, their lips finally meeting in their first kiss.
-o-
Ros is gone the next day, and he feels both despondence and relief. While here, she had brought colour to his life, she was someone to return home to, admittedly not in the most conventional sense. He goes into the kitchen, her favourite room of the house, and stops still at the doorway.
In the centre of the table are three things: a bottle of vodka, a large packet of fine coffee, and a phone number.
Petr smiles; he has a feeling he will see Rosalind Myers again.
Author's notes: Hope you enjoyed.
Please review,
Odainath