A Rocky Road

a Spooks story

by RoadrunnerGER

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Spooks, the BBC and Kudos do.

Summary: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he has to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.

Chapter 11 - Anniversary

August 26, 2007

Lushanka interrogation camp

Once more, Lucas lay on the cold concrete floor right behind the door to read, but he could hardly concentrate on the words. When he caught himself reading the same line for the fourth time, he paused.

I could try and consume the book literally. I'm hungry enough for it.

Staring at the pages, he seriously considered how they might taste as lettuce.

With a sigh, he rested his head on his upper arm. The scarce light falling in below the door could not light much, but it was enough to decipher the text.

A smile tugged on his lips. The situation reminded him of how he had read by flashlight in his room well after midnight when he was a boy. Hidden under the blankets, he had devoured everything from Enid Blyton's Famous Five and thriller novels by Robert Ludlum to classics from Charles Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson. Later, he also snuck in erotic magazines that he borrowed from his friends at school. Thankfully, his minister father never caught him with those. Getting caught reading already was unpleasant to say the least. His father never said anything, just confiscated the book and the torch and switched out the light. On the following day, Lucas's usual list of chores he was expected to do at home doubled. He always got the books back when his chores were through, but never the torches.

His heart clenched with the memory.

Back then I would never have thought that I'd live to see adventures like those I enjoyed in my books.

A sigh escaped him.

Though I wouldn't call vegetating in a Russian cell an adventure.

Lucas recalled quite a number of titles. Treasure Island was among them and Moby Dick, Robinson Crusoe and The Three Musketeers. The Time Machine, 1984 and Lord of the Flies were among his favourites as well. There were so many that he could not count them. He had a whole library at home, stacked in double rows on the shelves. Sometimes his friends said he was a bit geeky because he read so much.

I wonder what Dad did with all those torches.

Delving into his memories, he did not pay attention to his surroundings and missed the steps approaching his cell. As a result, he was startled out of his musings by the door being unlocked. Shocked, he tried to scramble to his feet. As he was not fast enough, the door was shoved into his back. He dropped the book and stumbled against the wall.

They descended upon him rapidly, grabbing his arms and pulling him with them. The light in the hallway hurt his eyes that were used to darkness now. Grimacing, he blinked a few times before he squinted against the sudden brightness. He wanted to know where they were dragging him.

It was not that he struggled, but when they had grabbed him, he tensed and as he could not see much yet, they had to steer him in the right direction.

Lucas heard how they pushed another door open and the men holding him propelled him forward. His left wrist hit the doorframe and he stumbled against the opposite wall. His hands touched tiles before they pulled him backwards again and roughly stripped him of his track pants.

Where have they taken me?

Everything happened so quickly that Lucas was hit totally by surprise, when the guards stepped back and a cold stream of water hit him.

Shocked, Lucas cried out. His attempts to protect himself were futile. They hosed him down and dragged him a few steps aside where they fiercely rubbed him off with towels. Two men forced him onto a chair and held him while a third unceremoniously shaved him.

They were finished in a matter of minutes. Lucas got his pants back and put them on. Then he was dragged out of the bathroom and further down the hall. From there he was forced through yet another door. They pushed so hard that he dropped to the ground.

That was when the smells hit his nose.

Delicious smells.

Food!

Twisting around, he got up to hands and knees. Raising his gaze, he saw several plates laid out on the floor, among them a bowl filled with fruit.

Being starved as he was, he did not waste a thought about his environs and crawled forward, reaching out for a piece of meat. He hardly chewed it before he picked up strawberries and shoved them into his mouth. Fleetingly he wondered what time in the year it was and how they got strawberries.

It never crossed his mind that he should have wondered why they gave them to him.

For a blissful moment, Lucas feasted on the rare treats.

Gently a hand brushed over his hair, running to the back of his head and coming to rest against the left side of his neck.

Lucas froze.

The fingers ran along his neck to his chin, lifting his head. Looking up, he stared right at the brown eyes of Oleg Darshavin.

Shit!

Lucas knew he was in trouble, he just did not know exactly why. Did his interrogator notice that he could actually read the book he was given? He could not think of anything else he might have done wrong. That would require that he had something to do in the first place, though, which was not the case with him being locked up alone in darkness.

Confusion filled Lucas as he realized that Darshavin looked at him full of compassion and tenderness. His grip was not cruel either. Instead his fingers rested against his skin, applying just enough pressure to lift his chin. Caressingly, his thumb moved over his cheekbone.

Lucas felt his cheeks warm with a blush. He never knew how to respond in these moments when Darshavin seemed to show him some bizarre sort of affection.

So bizarre that it made Lucas's stomach roll.

In vain, he tried not to let himself be affected by Darshavin's treatment. His torturer smirked and reached out with his other hand as well to caress Lucas like he was a pet. The sensation was intensified by the fact that he still crouched in front of Darshavin on his fours. Shivers of aversion coursed through him. He felt his bottom lip tremble and bit on it.

'Affection?' devil Harry snorted. 'What do you mean affection? Maybe if being his favourite dog to beat is affection!'

'It's called Stockholm syndrome, you dolt!' angel Harry told him.

It isn't just my imagination, Lucas thought to himself, carefully avoiding engaging the two Harrys, even silently. It is affection, a very cruel and abusive affection, but Oleg does care, in his own sick, twisted way, and, God help me, that makes it almost bearable.

Almost being the keyword.

Even after years of being treated like an animal, Lucas still felt the humiliation burn in every fibre of his body. The abuse never was nor would it ever be bearable.

Darshavin's smirk softened as he patted Lucas's cheek before he sat back, leaning against the wall.

"Happy anniversary, Lucas."

All Lucas could do was stare at his captor.

That's eight then. Eight years in hell.

Once more his stomach rolled unpleasantly. With mental agony? With anger? With repulsion? Maybe it was just the hunger.

Pushing himself up, he sat back on his haunches and his gaze fell on the buffet laid out on the floor.

"Thank you," he muttered.

"You're welcome," Darshavin replied.

Lucas felt a chill run down his spine as he heard how his interrogator tried to imitate Kachimov's lilting tone.

Where the hell is Arkady? Why didn't he come back? I should be on my way back home already, right? Did he even make any arrangements for my return? Did he even tell anyone? Was his plan denied? Why am I still here?

Deciding that it could not hurt to ask, Lucas said, "Have you heard from Arkady lately?"

"Oh, yes, I did," Darshavin nonchalantly told him. "Tovarisch Kachimov was very sorry about having to turn down my invitation. He's very busy."

At first, Lucas was surprised to get this answer, but then he wondered if Kachimov was working on his own case.

"In London," Darshavin added, almost as an afterthought.

Even knowing his every twitch was being monitored, Lucas could not completely control his horrified reaction to the news. With Arkady in London, what was to become of him in this place?

'He's abandoned you!' devil Harry sneered on one shoulder.

'Or perhaps he's just getting things in order before he takes you home,' angel Harry whispered in his other ear.

"Why don't you eat, Lucas?" Darshavin wanted to know, failing to sound cheerful. "It's your anniversary! Enjoy the party!"

Yeah, why?

Even the soul-crushing heartbreak of being abandoned in Lushanka could not override his body's instinct for survival. Lucas hesitated for just a few seconds before he reached for the food. Starved as he was, he had to be careful, he knew that, but once he got started it was hard to withstand the temptation to stuff as much food into his mouth as possible.

This is eerily similar to my last meeting with Arkady, Lucas thought. Is Oleg doing it on purpose? It seems like he's trying to imitate Arkady.

"You did know, didn't you, that Director Kachimov has been promoted to FSB head of station in London," Darshavin chatted away. "A reward for unearthing another British spy in Moscow. We are just waiting for Rangefinder to meet her asset so we can discover what information she has acquired. Perhaps then, you will have some company."

Lucas choked on a broccoli floret at this latest revelation. It was bad enough, Harry abandoning him in this hell hole, but the thought of what Oleg would do to a woman made his guts churn.

As he coughed and gasped, Oleg slapped him on the back, harder than necessary, as if trying to help him dislodge the offending vegetable morsel.

"You should not feel guilty," he said. "She was not looking for you."

Lucas finally coughed up the broccoli. It hit the floor with a wet splat.

"Things are changing, Lucas," Darshavin rambled, sounding almost melancholy. "The world is moving on without you. Only Lushanka remains the same."

Lucas had no words for how he felt. His stomach twisting up in painful knots and his whole body aching were mere symptoms for a much deeper and all encompassing mental agony. Desperately, he concentrated on taking deep breaths and he had to close his eyes.

"Don't you enjoy your dinner?" Darshavin queried with false casualness.

"I… got something… into the wrong throat," Lucas all but croaked.

"Easy…" Darshavin soothed, ruffling his captive's hair, only to scold next, "You shouldn't gobble like a hog, though, Lucas. You're not a wild beast."

Then stop treating me like one!

By a hair's breadth, Lucas would have spat it out loud. Choking it down, he tried to smile instead as he turned back to the food hesitantly. Of course, he still was hungry, but the latest news had curbed his enthusiasm considerably.

Reaching down, Darshavin picked up a few grapes. Plucking one off the stem, he slowly pushed it past his lips and chewed pointedly. A crooked grin cracked his features.

Bastard!

Having no desire for more broccoli, Lucas also chose fruit instead and took some strawberries. They were fresh and ripe, sweet treats for his deprived tongue. As Darshavin neither objected nor did anything to keep him from eating, Lucas slowly helped himself to more food. Carefully, he chewed and took only small bites to make the feast last as well as to ease his digestion. Finally, when he simply could not eat any more, Lucas sighed contentedly and sat back, one hand resting across his stomach, which was stretched tight it was so full of food.

"What? Finished already?" Darshavin mocked. "The guards who helped me prepare this feast will be very disappointed. It might not be healthy for you to disappoint the guards."

Now Lucas's overfull stomach cramped painfully with anxiety. He had wanted more, but he just could not take it. He had stopped just shy of uncomfortably full, and knew, after being starved for so long, even a few more bites could make him violently ill. As it was, his metabolism had slowed to such a crawl that he was likely to be constipated for days.

Of course, he could not tell Darshavin that and in lack of a better reply, he chose to remain silent.

"Well, if you are finished we can proceed with the program, right?" Darshavin cheerfully stated and stood to go to the door and knock. When it opened, another man came in whom Lucas recognized at once even though a year had passed since he had last seen him.

Warily, he watched the newcomer set down the bag he carried and spread a woollen blanket on the wooden bench Darshavin had occupied before. Suddenly, Lucas's mouth was dry and his insides churned. Not with fear. At this point he did not give a shit one way or the other about the actual procedure that awaited him. What was getting to him was the reason why Darshavin was about to put him through that procedure in the first place.

"I brought you a present," Darshavin told him happily.

Because it's a symbol.

While the stranger unpacked his equipment, Darshavin looked at Lucas expectantly. Having no other choice, Lucas stood and went over to lie down on the bench. As he stretched out prone, Darshavin approached him. Lucas put his chin on his forearms and tried to relax which was not easy lying on his over-full belly. In addition, he could not shake off the feeling that his captor was up to something bad. Apparently, he was right as he felt two fingertips touch his bare back. Slowly they moved across his skin and Lucas wondered what Darshavin was doing until he realized that he traced the contours of the domes marking his skin.

Six, Lucas counted with his captor's motions.

Seven.

Lucas sensed Darshavin pause before his fingers moved further down, circling a spot right on his spine.

Oh, crap!

Right at that moment, Lucas knew that it was going to hurt. Even the pressure of Darshavin's fingernail was uncomfortable. The spot was too close to bones, the skin thin and full of nerves.

What's his name again? Lucas tried to distract himself. Did Oleg even tell me his name?

He heard the men talk to each other but did not pay attention to what they said. Despite better intentions, Lucas listened to the preparations and tensed with anticipation. Any second now the needle would pierce his skin and set his nerves on fire.

'What do you care? It's not your first tattoo,' devil Harry whispered.

Shut up! Lucas inwardly screamed. Shut up and get lost!

It was then that a stinging pain made him suck in a sharp breath through his nose. Clenching his teeth, he prepared for the next sting. With every dot that added to the shape of the onion dome the ink etched a constant reminder of eight years lived in hell into his skin.

Eight years.

Once getting a dome tattooed for every year spent in prison had filled him with stubbornness and pride as it meant that he had survived the evil that was done to him, but now a dull ache paralyzed him. Time seemed to slow, every sound, every sensation being perceived more clearly in a state of suspension. It almost felt like his breathing ceased and his heart stopped beating.

Closing his eyes, Lucas willed the moment to pass, but it seemed to take forever until the man put his machine down. Listening alone did not tell him what was going on. Footsteps indicated that the man left. Darshavin said a few words that Lucas could not understand due to a rush in his ears.

Cautiously, Lucas flexed his muscles. It hurt. He felt light-headed and his stomach rolled unpleasantly. Reflexively, he obeyed to the order to stand up. Like in trance, he followed Darshavin back to his cell. The door closed with a thud.

For a few endless seconds, Lucas stood in the middle of the cell, staring at the tiled wall but seeing nothing but emptiness.

All of a sudden, he darted to the cot and grabbed for the bucket beneath it. With painful heaves, he emptied his guts. In the end, he huddled on the floor, clutching the bucket, and fought for every ragged breath. Disgusted by himself, he spit out in a vain attempt to clean his mouth.

Well, looks like I won't be constipated after all.

His bitter comment could not fence off his repulsion and misery. His gaze fell on the shabby blanket on the cot and an atrocious thought formed in his mind.

tbc…