I know it's been a while, so I'd like to give a huge thank you to everyone reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting this story. *hugs*
inperfection: Thank you! :)
NicoleR85: Yes, they're adorable. Writing them makes me so happy. :)
williewildcat: Haha, this chapter sort of has plot? But still a lot of cuddly fluff, of course!
Chapter 28: The Postcard
Varinia stood by the open window, a lit cigarette held loosely between her fingers. It was cold and dark and late, and the red silk robe she wore did nothing to keep the chill at bay. A frigid breeze blew, wafting in tiny droplets of snow that melted when they encountered Varinia's much warmer body.
With a click, the front door unlocked and opened, admitting Lucas. He was exhausted. It had been a long day of tediously researching a new Islamic terror cell that could prove to be a threat to London. Shucking off his coat and shoes, he sighed, then looked up.
"Varinia?"
She ignored him and took a drag of her cigarette instead. As Lucas approached her, he saw the smoke furl upwards in blue-gray spirals. They'd been living together for five months now, so he was relatively well-versed in her idiosyncrasies. But he had never seen her smoke before.
Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. They were tense.
"A new hobby of yours?" Lucas inquired.
"You mean the smoking or the turning myself into an icicle?"
"The smoking," he said, his lips twitching in amusement.
She shrugged. "I used to smoke when I was younger. Picked it up from this guy I dated." Another drag, another shrug. "Old habits die hard, I guess."
"Sure," he agreed. After all, Lucas still sometimes slept on the floor when his flashbacks of Lushanka were especially vivid. And that made him pause. If his habit was stress-related, then Varinia's could be, too. "Something's wrong."
"Yes," she replied. "Look on the kitchen table."
He hesitated, then walked into the kitchen. On the table, lay a postcard covered in pictures of Budapest. He picked it up and turned it over, not sure what he was expecting to find. But what he saw was such a shock that he was forced to sit down before his legs gave out beneath him.
There, staring back at him in incontrovertible print, was Chimaera.
"Fuck."
"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction," said Varinia. She sat on his lap, visibly still shaken by the postcard. "And then I vomited."
Lucas rested his forehead against her back and wrapped his arms around her.
"It's addressed to your flat," he said. "What were you doing there?"
"Getting some of my old photo albums. I missed Mum and Dad."
He kissed the silky fabric of her dressing gown and held her more tightly.
"This is serious, Varinia. Why didn't you call me?" he demanded. "Tariq could have traced the postcard to its sender."
"Because I didn't want to deal with it," she snapped. "I thought we were finished with The Cleansers when we neutralised Xióng and Co. I'm just tired of fearing for my life. What the fuck kind of world is it where I can't even get pictures of my dead parents without being accosted by crazies who hide their threats in a made-up language?"
Varinia was seething; Lucas could feel the anger radiating off her like a heat wave. He had seen her cry and heard her curse, but he'd never witnessed such sheer fury from her.
"I know, darling," he said, in an attempt to placate her enough to glean some information. Lucas took her hands and ran his thumbs over the half-moon-shaped fingernail indents in her palms. "Did you get the photo albums?"
"They're on the coffee table," she said quietly. Though she still perched rigidly on his lap, Varinia was beginning to calm down. His touched tended to have that effect on her.
He kissed behind her ear and whispered, "Shall we look at them?"
"I thought the postcard was important."
"It is," he affirmed, "and we'll talk about it in a bit. It's sat here all day, so it will keep for another half hour." He patted the sides of her thighs, urging her to stand. Following her into the living room, he sat horizontally on the sofa and pulled her down beside him. He grinned. "Besides, now you've got me itching to see you as a little girl."
"I had blue eyes," she informed him, a half-smile forming on her lips as she opened the first album. Varinia pointed to a picture of a ginger baby standing up inside her crib, a handful of front teeth peeking out through her open-mouthed smile. "See?"
"You were absolutely adorable," he said, with a grin to match baby-Varinia's. "You still are."
Lucas could only see one side of her face, but he nevertheless glimpsed the blush staining her cheeks. He felt a surge of affection for her.
"There's this square in Budapest near where I grew up," she explained, deliberately ignoring his compliment. "It has a fountain with a bunch of lions flanking it that attracts pigeons. I used to chase them as a kid."
And, sure enough, there was a picture of a five-year-old Varinia, bundled up in a fluffy, white coat, running after the pigeons.
"And I used to climb trees on Margit sziget, which is a big island in the middle of the Danube," she said. There was a picture of an eight-year-old Varinia standing on a thick branch, surrounded by leaves that were almost the exact shade of green as her eyes.
As they flipped through the pages, it was evident that she'd had a happy childhood, for she was always smiling or laughing or fixing the camera with a mock-glare.
He spied a picture of a preteen Varinia, posing on an old, crumbling, stone staircase.
"Where was this taken?"
"Oh, that," she said, with a laugh. "That's Poenari Castle, where Vlad the Impaler lived. We were living in Bucharest at the time, so I became a bit obsessed with Vlad III and made my parents take me to Bran and Poenari."
"It looks like it's in ruins."
"It was," she replied. "Bran wasn't, but Bran probably was not one of Vlad's castles. However, the stories of it being haunted were too intriguing for my ten-year-old self to pass up."
He chuckled. "And did you meet any ghosts while there?"
"No," replied Varinia, sounding disappointed even nineteen years later, "much to my parents' amusement. On the train ride over, they'd tried to convince me that ghosts weren't real, but I steadfastly ignored them. Even on our way back to Bucharest, I came up with excuses as to why we didn't see any."
"What were they?"
She paused, thinking. "Well, I accused my parents of scaring them away, because everyone knew that ghosts never revealed themselves to unbelievers."
"So why didn't you see them, then?"
"Obviously because my parents were with me," she said.
"Mmm, of course."
She craned her neck to look back at him. "I see that smile you're barely managing to restrain. You're an unbeliever, too."
"Of ghosts, maybe," he agreed. "But of you, never." Cupping her cheek, he bent and kissed her. She tasted like Earl Grey, with a hint of mint-tinged tobacco. "You smoke menthols?"
"Sod off, they were the only ciggies in my flat," she grumbled. Shutting the photo album, Varinia placed it on the coffee table and sat cross-legged on his lap, so that she was facing him. "I'm ready to talk about the postcard now."
"All right," he said cautiously. "What does the writing say?"
"It's a warning that there are still Cleansers members running free." She averted her gaze to his stomach and began fiddling with the bottommost button on his shirt. "It also blamed me for Xióng's capture. To quote the author, 'retribution is coming.'"
"Retribution is coming," he repeated, scanning her features for signs of distress.
"The Cleansers always did have a flair for the dramatic," she remarked.
Varinia was attempting to inject some humour into a dire situation-a habit of hers that Lucas knew indicated fear. He allowed her to continue playing with his buttons, as he rubbed his hands over her silk-covered thighs.
"Did the postcard say anything else?" She shook her head, still focused on his shirt. "Okay, I'll call Harry and meet Tariq at the Grid." He shifted, bringing Varinia with him, and she finally looked up at him.
"Can it wait until morning, please? I tried to go to sleep earlier, but for some reason, I dreamt of Anton and Marlina."
Lucas was torn. On the one hand, the postcard was a threat, and, as an MI5 agent, dealing with threats was his job. On the other hand, Varinia clearly wanted him here, and he'd had enough experience with traumatic events to understand why. She had thus far coped extraordinarily well with her abduction, but the postcard must have triggered something.
He nodded. "It can wait."
"Thank you," she whispered and kissed him. Standing, Varinia took his hand and led him into their bedroom. "How was work?"
"Tedious," he replied, as he stripped down to his boxer briefs. He slid into bed beside her and waited while she found a comfortable position. Once her head was safely pillowed upon his chest, he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I spent the day doing research. I felt like I was back at uni."
"So you're more of a hands-on agent, are you?" she teased.
Lucas grinned. "Very much so." To prove his point, he slipped a hand under her robe and splayed his fingers over her hip. As usual, she was wearing nothing but knickers. One of the first things he'd learned when Varinia moved in with him was that she hardly ever slept in sleepwear. "I'm surprised you're still wearing the robe."
"Oh, yeah," she said and untied the knot.
Lucas watched with fond amusement as she tried to take it off without leaving the warmth of his body. It required a bit of effort, but soon she was lying halfway atop him, skin against skin. It was these moments, when the world was quiet, that he cherished the most.
"It's snowing."
Varinia craned her neck to glance out the window.
"Good, because that slushy rain was starting to irritate me." She lay her head on his chest again and smiled. "But it won't last long. It never does."
"No," he agreed. "We get a few polite flakes here and there, unlike in Cumbria. There the snow is a like a rude guest that's overstayed its welcome."
She laughed. "We had some pretty serious snow days in Hungary, too."
"Do you miss it?" he asked. "Home."
She looked up at him, a sweet smile on her face.
"No, because I'm home right now." Lucas hunched forward to kiss her. "But really, I've always been good at feeling at home where ever I lived. I think it helps that I either already speak the native language, or am able to learn it quickly."
"Is there a city you didn't feel at home in?"
"Bucharest," she answered, without hesitation. "We were there when Ceaușescu was selling off his country's crops and natural resources to repay Romania's debts, so the atmosphere was...hostile, to say the least." She paused, frowning. "And sad. People starved. Utility companies cut back, so without proper heating, winter was especially cold. There was only one channel on the telly, which would broadcast official shit for two hours every day, and then turn off."
"But as a diplomat, your father must've had special privileges," Lucas pointed out.
"He did," she said, nodding. "Our flat was well-heated in the winter, and we always had enough food. We shared it with the tenants who struggled to make ends meet." She smiled wryly. "But we still only had one channel." Then she sobered. "Despite all the hardships, the residents of Bucharest were the lucky ones. Outside the city, Ceaușescu built apartment buildings without toilets, so it was back to the Middle Ages for the poor people forced to live there."
Lucas was solemn as he said, "This is ultimately why I do what I do. To prevent horrors like that from happening again."
"Mmm," she murmured, "but you can't control what happens in other countries."
"No, but I can help to protect my own country."
Varinia traced the star tattoo on his shoulder, studying it with creased brows.
"I should be in my own country," she said softly. "I feel like I've betrayed Hungary by working for Five and Six."
Lucas was silent, for he could not relate to her situation. He had considered leaving England a few times, but that was during his marriage to Elizabeta.
"You could go back."
"I could," she agreed and said no more on the matter.
They exchanged lighthearted banter for a while longer, until they were both yawning in tandem. Lucas drifted to sleep with an unsettled feeling, a rarity when he was with Varinia. If she did indeed return to Budapest, would he go with her?
