Marian grinned as she put down the phone and jumped up and down excitedly. Finally, after all her years of hard work, after straining and blearily staying up all hours of the night so she could prove herself, it happened. The higher-ups at Dyad had gotten their heads out of their asses and given her the promotion she deserved. Very well deserved, she thought as she walked into the kitchen to pour herself a celebratory glass of wine. After all the sacrifices she had made (not all of them bad, she reminded herself as she peered into Charlotte's room to make sure the toddler was still asleep), it was nice to know that someone in the organization was invested in her. It would help her sleep better at night, with all of the secrets she was being forced to keep.
Tomorrow, she decided as she got into bed and reached for her book, she was making Charlotte chocolate chip pancakes to celebrate.
Marian groaned internally as she saw Leekie saunter into her office as she was beginning to unpack. Clearly, her shiny new promotion was going to lead the asshole to annoy her even more.
"Your first responsibility," Leekie grunted as he shoved a thick folder across her desk, "Is to make sure she and the children who are with her are monitored at all times."
Marian's heart sank to her stomach as she noticed the Sadler, S written at the top of the folder. It dropped to the floor when she opened the folder and saw her face staring out of the photograph.
It was the early 80s. Tensions had been high between the Thatcher government and the youths, the Protestants and the Catholics, the rich and the poor - hell, between everyone. She'd been caught up in a protest by accident while out on a shopping trip. The police were just beginning to swarm with tear gas when a pair of strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into an alleyway.
"You'll be safe with me, chicken," a rough voice had whispered as the police began beating the other protesters with batons. She looked up and gasped - her protector was as old as she was, with flowing black hair and blue eyes that made a lump form in Marian's throat. The woman took her hand and led her through what seemed like miles of the same alley before delivering her to Piccadilly, almost vanishing before Marian had caught her arm.
"Th-thank you. For saving me."
The woman had smiled. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, love. You shouldn't have had to be caught in the middle of that."
"I'm Marian. Marian Bowles."
"Siobhan Sadler. 'Most everyone calls me S."
It hadn't been the last they'd seen of each other - Marian had sought Siobhan out at almost every protest thereafter, and one memorable evening Siobhan had sought her out by climbing in through the window to her dorm at Oxford. Marian shivered as she remembered Siobhan's laugh, the way Siobhan's hands felt as they tangled into her hair when they kissed, the delicious feeling of Siobhan's lips against her inner thigh - and the pang she still felt when, after a week of missed phone calls and frantic knocks on Siobhan's door, one of the younger punks had delivered a note in the middle of the night.
I can't see you. Not anymore. I'm sorry, love.
(She still has the note buried in her desk.)
"I-I'll get it done," she said, absently thumbing through Siobhan's file (lives in Toronto with three foster children, a boy and two girls), as Leekie nodded and walked out.
Marian swallowed roughly.
This new position was going to be a very interesting one indeed.