A/N – I'm sorry that I missed my normal update day but I did have exams and other drama went down too and let me tell you, your time sort of disappears when you're sitting three exams in as many days. Anyway, it feels really odd to write this (well, type this up – it's been written down for weeks) since the Brexit vote. I realise now that trying to create a world in which spies are tools of diplomacy seems weak particularly when diplomacy seems to fail us at every turn – not least of all now. Maybe that's why this sort of thing belongs in fiction (fan-fiction or otherwise) because as much as we may want the ideal world in which neo-liberal institutions (like the United Nations or the European Union) succeed. Unfortunately, of late, xenophobia and a few other (relatively unfounded) claims have won and, perhaps, only in fiction can the institutions that I believe in (bearing in mind that I voted to remain) be allowed to work.
Present Day
Samantha's red dress was the kind of dress that could make a girl feel confident. It was strapless with glittery flowers embroidered all over it. It was probably the most expensive thing she'd bought since being in the U.K. (the result of a trip to Harvey Nichols in her first week, a reward for escaping S.H.I.E.L.D's clutches). She'd paired it with black ankle boots and a black leather jacket that ended at her waist.
She spun around in the outfit for her 'date', a big, beaming smile on her face. "Very nice Stark," She bit her lip, proud of herself and glad that – even on a budget – she could still put together an outfit.
"You don't look so bad yourself Reid," she said, emphasising the surname for no apparent reason other than that she felt like it. "So which ballet are we seeing?"
"Swan Lake," he answered rather simply and she smiled.
"Ooh I love that one. Well, I've never actually seen it, I've just seen Black Swan enough times to know a fair chunk of it,"
He chuckled at that. She supposed she seemed rather uncultured at this point but she didn't really care. She'd been raised by a single mother in Los Angeles. For a while there, the closest thing she'd gotten to culture was her record collection (which she sold) and the few films she'd bought on sale when Blockbuster went under (may it rest in peace). Ballet wasn't something she'd really been exposed to.
She'd never seen a ballet before but from about five minutes in she could understand why people liked them. She got a little lost in the emotion of it all. She understood every single ounce of pain Odette felt and it may have made her glad that she was wearing waterproof mascara.
"Never seen a ballet before?" Reid said almost disbelievingly and she smiled in response.
"That was beautiful, thank you… f-for taking me I mean," she said, stuttering slightly as they stood up to leave. Everyone filed out of their seats, one by one. Every-so-often a middle-aged would walk up to Reid and say something about how nice it was to see him. Then, Reid would introduce Samantha who would shake hands with the woman who merely glared at her. "They hate me. I told you this was a bad idea," she informed him when they finally got near to their car for the night. Cameras flashed in her face and Samantha looked at the ground, putting her hand over her brow in a vain attempt at covering her eyes.
"They never like anyone at first," he said by way of reassurance.
She rolled her eyes "I just have the added benefit of being a criminal,"
He shook his head, laughing "Their ancestors were all slaveholders and monopolists, I don't think your supposed criminality is the problem," she smiled at him. He paused a moment, thinking and then, with a gasp he asked "Okay, what was the one time you were ever, truly happy?" he asked and she had to think, really think.
She realised, now, that her whole life – every moment in which she ought to have been happy – had been shrouded in a hideous cloak of misery. "Can I get back to you on that?" she asked, leaning her head back against the cream leather head rest of her seat.
"What? Nothing? Not even one trip to Disneyland?" he asked and she shook her head. Regrettably, she knew that every event she could really remember had at least a moment of sadness or had occurred at a time that HYDRA had tried to blank out so she wasn't even certain it was real.
"I think the closest I ever got to being happy was the day I got accepted into Harvard. I'd applied on a whim really, just wanted to see if I could get in and I did. But I couldn't tell Audrey because she didn't want me to leave L.A. I didn't know why at the time, turns out she wanted to turn me into some kind of supersoldier so…" she explained.
His eyes widened, as if a lightbulb was going off in his head "Well then, Stark, we are going to have to change that. You are about to experience all of the happy you could need starting with a trip to Euro Disney,"
She laughed, the whole thing was implausible really, so implausible that it was laughable "You can't just whisk me off to Euro Disney! You have to meet with the Russian Ambassador and I have to deal with the press," she argued with him.
He sighed adolescently, and she was reminded of her father somehow "Fine then, we can work around that. You're going to have tea with me and the Russian Ambassador tomorrow," he explained. She was about to argue with him but then he added "It's an order Stark. You'll be able to sweet talk him. My Russian is remedial at best,"
"We have translators for that you know," she retorted.
"And I don't know what is going to be said, I need someone I can trust," he responded and she nodded by way of agreement.
Samantha's outfit was not too different from her normal work attire – a royal blue pencil skirt, matching blazer and white blouse. She smiled at Reid, offering a quick apology before saying to the Ambassador "Dvizheniye v etom gorode strashno (Traffic in this city is terrible)," he chuckled and she grinned, thankful she and the diplomat seemed to get along. She took her seat and introduced herself as Samantha Stark, Prime Minister Reid's Press Secretary. Soon after she sat down, a waiter approached and took their orders.
"Gde vy nauchilis' govorit' po-russki miss Stark? (Where did you learn to speak Russian Miss Stark?)" The Ambassador asked.
"Rossiya (Russia)," she responded. She wasn't certain that it was true but if it worked, it worked. If it didn't… well, then she'd find out. "Teper', chto my mozhem sdelat' dlya vas g-n posol? (Now, what can we do for you Mr Ambassador?)" she asked, getting straight to the point.
"Right to the point, I like her," he said to Reid, swapping to English to address him. "MI6 has one of our men held as their prisoner, we'd prefer it if we had him back,"
Reid thought for a moment "Does he have a name?" Samantha thought about telling him not to humanise the scenario. She wasn't certain, based on the diplomat's cool brown eyes, whether they would even get a name. "I can't exactly call MI6 and say 'you have a prisoner. I don't know his name but he's Russian, can I hand him over to the Russian Ambassador?'" he said and Samantha quickly realised how reasonable the request really was. The two of them, Samantha and Reid, looked at the Russian expectantly, awaiting his response.
"His name is Boris Rachmaninov," the Ambassador answered, sounding grave.
There was something off about all of it and Samantha wasn't a big fan of the sensation it was giving her. She got the feeling that she had heard or read the name before. So many names had come across her desk when she was filing for MI6 that any name could sound familiar but still that didn't mean that they would set off the self-same alarm bells that the name 'Boris Rachmaninov' seemed to. "What is it that the British people get out of this?" She asked, leaning back in her seat "Why on earth should we do this for you when you have offered us nothing in return?" Samantha eyed the Russian, steely and cold. She had no plans to suffer fools kindly.
The Ambassador ignored her, waving her off as though it was nothing "Make whatever phone call you need to make," he instructed and Samantha glared at him.
She stood up, almost immediately, slamming her palms on the table in front of her. She could feel a degree of heat emanating from them and the gaze Reid – and probably several other people – held on her but she wasn't about to let it distract her "Answer my question, what do we get out of this?" She made sure that her voice was low in both pitch and volume. This man – Russian Ambassador or not – was not about to walk all over her or Reid or Britain.
The Russian Ambassador chuckled and smiled at her slyly "What is it that you could want?" he asked and she realised that she hadn't quite thought that part through. She picked up a scone off one of the tiered plates a waiter or waitress had placed on the table at some point or another. She bit into it, not caring that it wasn't the done thing, unsure of what to say next.
"We want a guarantee that Russia will not go to war with Britain while I am Prime Minister," Reid blurted out and Samantha gasped, shocked by the audacity of the request. Even she wasn't ballsy enough to ask for that.
"What makes you think that we would go to war with you?"
"Oh come on, you've had a problem with Britain since the moment the day they industrialised. Everyone knows you're jealous because we have nuclear weapons up in Scotland and the U.S. forced you to get rid of yours. So, I'd say we have every reason to think that you'd go to war with us. So you call up whatever little diplomat you need to and we'll get our guys to see what they can do about Rachmaninov," Samantha stated. She and the Russian each took their phones out from their respective hiding places, got up from the table (well the Ambassador did) and made their way away from the table. She dialled Rita's number – having memorised it weeks before – the phone was answered on the third ring "I need a favour," Samantha began, knowing she didn't really have time for pleasantries.
"And I'd like a divorce from my husband but that doesn't seem to be happening," Rita responded. Rita's husband was a bastard and everyone knew it – the kind of bastard who would cheat on a nightly basis and then claim it as a sex addiction. Samantha had met him on one occasion and it hadn't gone well.
"I have the Russian Ambassador here and he wants us to release a man called Boris Rachmaninov. I think there's something off about it but I can't put my finger on it. Fancy looking into it for me?"
She could hear Rita sighing and knew that the outlook wasn't good. She'd gotten to know Rita pretty well over the months – it was her prerogative in her line of work – and she knew that a sigh from Rita was never a good sign. "I'll see what I can do but I doubt any good can come of it," Rita announced and Samantha knew that she, Reid and the Russian Ambassador were just going to have to accept the outcome.
"Okay, thank you Rita," Samantha said before heading back to the table. The Ambassador was still on the phone elsewhere in the restaurant. "I just spoke to my S.O. at MI6, she's looking into it for us but it's not looking good. If MI6 has him, he's not one of the good guys and whatever your non-aggression pact may be, it'll be worth nothing to the Russians from before it's even signed,"
Reid nodded along with her "And you're certain of that, are you?"
"I… yes," she responded, knowing that whatever she said in defence of her opinion could potentially undermine it – less is more, a professor once told her. Her phone rang and Samantha answered it, knowing – without even checking the caller ID – that Rita was going to be on the other end of the line "Why don't we want to hand Rachmaninov over to the Russians?" she asked, knowing that an answer that was arriving this quickly could never be good.
There was a moment of silence before the answer "He's Red Room. Worse still, he was friends with one Alexei Volkov. I believe you know him," To say that Samantha knew Alexei Volkov was like saying chocolate tastes good – a vast understatement.
Out of her corner of her eye, she saw the Russian Ambassador returning to the table. She hung up and put her phone back in her pocket, angry that this man would even entertain the idea of asking them to release such a prisoner "Pochemu vy khotite, chtoby my vypustit' krasnuyu komnatu operativnika? I ne vri mne. (Why do you want us to release a Red Room operative? And don't lie to me.)" She was angry, angrier than she'd been in a while and she smirked at the shocked look on the Ambassador's face.
"How do you even-?"
"How do I even know about the Red Room? I arrested Alexei Volkov when I was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. When I interrogated him, he sang like a canary. So, I know all about 'recruitment' and 'graduation ceremonies'. I know what you do to the young girls you train. So I'd like to know why the Russian government wants to regain an operative of an organisation you claimed died with the Cold War," she stated, panting with something akin to exhileration. Reid put his hand on her arm but she shook it off. There was no way in hell that she was going to be calmed down "If you think for one second that this government will free a Red Room operative just because the Russian government wants it, then you are sorely mistaken Mr Ambassador,"
"Is this the legendary Samantha Stark? The very one that criminals are supposed to fear? You were oversold," the Russian said and Samantha smiled.
"Oh no Mr Ambassador, you've only met the diplomatic version," she answered before standing up, leaving the restaurant and heading towards the nearest bar.
