Author's notes: I was reviewing my fics last night and came across 'Subterfuge' which I haven't touched for god knows how long. I still don't know where to go with it, but this fic sprung to mind instead. Lol.
Enjoy and please review.
Disclaimer: I own neither Spooks, nor Wire in the Blood.
Summary: The resemblance was uncanny.
Reverie
"Bloody hell."
"Not quite the greeting that I was expecting."
–
Tony wants to echo Don's sentiment, but finds that he can't move let alone speak. The woman stays in shadow, by choice or accident he isn't sure, but he can see the white-blonde hair, the straight posture, all reminiscent of another woman who left, without a word, three years ago. She steps forward, into the harsh fluorescent light, and Tony hears the simultaneous intakes of breath. Unconsciously, he grips the armrest of his chair, his nails digging into the leather. The woman looks around the room, her lip curled in distaste, and seeks out Alex.
"Inspector Fielding?" she says, her voice curt.
Alex nods, and ushers the woman into her office, closing the door behind them both. Tony holds his head in his hands and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that this is all a bad dream.
It isn't.
–
Ros Myers, MI-5, sent from London by a faceless bureaucrat whose name she does not divulge. Alex questions, as she would anyone else, but Ros doesn't answer and states, once again, that she is to look at their case and 'offer her opinion.' Like Alex, Tony reads this as the precursor that MI-5 will take over, and leave the police in the lurch as they have done before. However, Ros has the government onside, and Alex reluctantly hands over the files and leads Ros into an empty office.
The blonde waves a careless hand, dismissing her, and Tony watches as Alex's jaw clenches and her hands ball into fists. Ros notices, how could she not, but shows no sign she is intimidated. Rather, she bends her head forward and opens one of the files, the dismissal clear.
Alex closes her eyes, but turns and re-enters the office.
"We're to 'liaise'," she says to the team, spitting out the word.
"They're going to take over the case, aren't they?" Paula says, furious.
Alex nods. "I would presume so."
–
It seems like a cut-and-dry case: a dealer, new to Bradfield, is importing an unknown amount of heroin into Bradfield via the shipping port. Five people connected to the dealer have been killed, shot in the back of the head, and dumped in various locations. Nothing to suggest a link with domestic terrorism, and certainly not a case for MI-5.
And yet Ros remains; a constant presence in the police station.
Tony finds her intriguing; perhaps even more-so than Maggie, and watches as she interacts with the team. She is abrupt, cold and cynical, but commands a respect which is given without question.
Tony wonders if Ros said 'jump,' how many of them would respond with 'how high?'
–
A suspect is brought in, and Tony looks in from the observation room. Ros leans against the wall, arms folded across her chest, looking utterly bored. However, Tony notes the way that she drums her fingers against her elbow, the only sign of impatience.
"You have nothing," the man sneers, "now, let me go."
No one is prepared as Ros crosses the width of the room, and grabs one of the man's hands, snapping his fingers backward. The sickening 'crack' echoes around the small room, and the man cries out in pain. Ros doesn't let go and leans forward to whisper in his ear. Her voice is soft, but Tony still hears every word.
"You tell me everything or I'll break your bones one-by-one."
He laughs, regains some of his bravado.
"You wouldn't."
Ros raises an eyebrow, and her expression doesn't change as she pulls her hand back and breaks the man's nose with the heel of her palm. Blood pours out, down his shirt, over the desk, and he holds up his hand as she runs a finger along his neck, the threat clear.
"All right, all right..."
–
"She fascinates you."
"Yes."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
Tony sits on his living room floor, photographs spread on the floor around him, and tries to concentrate on the case. Instead, he finds his thoughts drifting toward Ros. She is so sure of herself, so certain she is acting for the 'greater good,' yet Tony knows instinctively that she would have no hesitation in stringing him (or anyone else) up to extract any information she may want. He thinks back to the interrogation room, the way she had so casually inflicted pain, had not changed breathing or even blinked at the man's cries.
He closes his eyes, and thinks of Carol; so alike and yet so different to Ros.
"She fascinates you."
"Yes."
Which 'she' is thinking about, Tony isn't sure.
–
A truck is found, full not only of weapons, but also of six terrorists and a bomb. This, Tony realises, was Ros' true agenda and she seems elated as she enters the Murder Unit and goes into Alex's office. She doesn't close the door, and Tony can hear their conversation, which soon turns heated. MI-5 is taking over the case, and the police are to pursue no further lines of inquiry, no questions asked. The two women look at each other; Alex apoplectic, Ros amused, and Tony sees that this woman regards life as a game; one where strategies are unplanned, and moves untested. It makes her a formidable Security Officer, allows her to play outside the rules; a harsh contrast to Alex whose life is governed by laws and restrictions. Alex doesn't respond, and Tony knows that Ros has won this game, a game she had no real chance of losing.
Ros turns on her heel, and comes into the office. He is not quick enough to get of the way, and they nearly collide. She looks down (for she is two inches taller) and he takes a step back. He searches her eyes, for a glimpse of the woman she resembles so closely but sees nothing; only the harshness of someone who has seen too many atrocities, too many examples of human depravity, who has lost most of her faith in humanity.
"Yes, Doctor Hill?" she asks, bringing him into the present.
"I'm sorry," he says quickly, abashed, "you just... look like someone I used to know."
She raises a sceptical eyebrow, but says nothing further, and steps around him. Heels snap against the floor, loud in the relative silence, and he listens as they fade. A wave of tiredness threatens to overwhelm him, and he leans against a desk. Alex appears at his shoulder, and touches his forearm.
"Tony?" she says, "what's wrong?"
He shakes his head, and opens his mouth to tell an oft-used lie. Instead, he finds that his extensive vocabulary eludes him, and he looks to the floor. Ros had been someone to study, her personality rare enough that he could ignore (for the most part) her startling likeness to Carol. Now, with her gone, he is left with memories of the two women, though he finds that Ros disappears into the back of his mind, letting Carol come forth.
The thing is, he isn't sure that he wants her to.
"Tony?" Alex repeats, concerned.
"It's nothing," he says, waving a dismissive hand, "nothing."
–
Later that night, Tony sits in his armchair, looking straight ahead. He has drunk more than usual, and feels light-hearted. He slips further into the chair, the cushioning contouring to his frame. His eyes close, and he lets himself fall into a light sleep.
He sits in his office, looking out the window, watching the under-graduates as they walk between classes. The sound of heels clicking on the polished wood catches his attention, and he swivels in his chair as the door is opened. The woman who enters is indistinct, her face a blur; but he can see the white-blonde hair, the green-eyes, the lithe frame.
None of these attributes help identify this stranger.
The woman takes a step forward, into the light, and he peers closer...
A noise outside startles him, and Tony jumps in the chair, knocking over the wine glass he'd balanced on the armrest. Red wine spills onto the floor, soaking into the carpet, but he doesn't care. Instead, his hand drifts towards the phone. His fingers type in a number he memorised long ago, but which he hadn't had the courage to dial. Now, perhaps because of the excessive alcohol, perhaps because of Ros, it seems... right. Tony holds the receiver to his ear, and listens as the phone rings. It goes on for so long that disappointment has already flooded through him, and he prepares to hang up, maybe drown his sorrows a bit further.
Instead, he hears a 'click' then a wonderfully familiar, warm, voice.
"Yes?"
He exhales a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
"Hello."
Author's notes: A semi-soppy ending. lol.
Please review,
Odainath