A/N: Nice to know that I'm in more danger of being lynched if I don't
finish this story rather than for anything else! Thank you for all the
reviews, and welcome back to Iolana! Lovely to see you're still around. I
would recommend that you all immediately go to her page (can access through
my review page) and read her wonderful work that always inspires.
It was Iolana that led me to this page – interesting debate over why Alec could still be playing with the ending, still not wanting this to end... a.
The two men were clearly arguing over something or other. However, what wasn't immediately clear. Sighing, Ashleigh hit the 'rewind button' listened carefully to the sequence again, before jotting down neat, precise notes when she felt it was appropriate.
Anyone who happened to peer inside the office would simply see a young, smartly dressed woman, working hard in a cool efficient manner. Appearances could be so deceptive though.
Inside, she was seething.
Her triumphant return to MI6 had not gone as well as she had hoped. Half expecting to be welcomed back like the prodigal son, she had been confused when it had become apparent that no one knew what she was supposed to be doing there. Moneypenny, however, came to the rescue, with a collection of files. She had handed them to Ashleigh with a slightly guilty look.
'M left specific orders for you,' Moneypenny gestured to the top file in an apologetic manner. 'You'll find them in there.'
'I was supposed to see M when I returned,' Ashleigh had persisted, struggling to get a grip on the high pile of slippery folders. 'You told me so last night.' She was aware that she was sounding like a spoilt brat, but her confusion was combining with tiredness, and she didn't have the strength to fight.
'Yes, I'm afraid that won't be possible at the moment. M has been called abroad on urgent business.' It sounded like a flimsy excuse, and Moneypenny knew it. The red head's had face softened as she spoke. 'I'm sorry, Ashleigh, but I've already told you too much. I'm sure though that M will want to see you when she returns.'
'I'm sure,' Ashleigh had muttered sullenly, and retreated with her stack of files.
The small office she found herself in was definitely small. Drab and dreary were also words that sprang to Ashleigh's mind. It was depressing, and disheartening, and nothing like she had imagined. The work she was doing didn't help.
The men continued arguing in Russian. Ashleigh knew several languages, learnt at her employer's insistence, and was therefore considered the perfect person for the job of working through the large pile of surveillance recordings. It was difficult work, but dull. Each recording could hold the key to something huge, a terrorist attack, underhand dealings, anything, and Ashleigh had to catch what the key statements were. Unfortunately they were usually well hidden in the most trivial conversations. It was a punishment duty, loosely disguised as serious work, and Ashleigh had to grit her teeth and get on with it.
She would probably have had more success with the task if she were actually focused on the job in hand.
Instead, she tapped her pen lightly against the desk in front of her, and thought of the events of the night before.
Sleeping with Dan had not been her wisest decision. But caught up in the moment, lost in her own loneliness she had needed him, pulling him closer all the time, kissing him hard, wrapping herself around him as if his body could exorcise all thoughts of Alec. They knew each other, and they had quickly found the kind of pleasure that comes from familiarity, and at the time she hadn't regretted it.
It was afterwards, when they lay quietly in the dark, not knowing whether to speak, or to fall into sleep, that the doubts had begin to rise once more. It had felt so good to have someone touch her, someone who was warm and welcoming, and unlikely to hold a gun to her temple afterwards. Someone who had wanted her for herself, and not what he could gain from bedding her. When he had taken her hand, and led her to her bed, she had gone willingly, almost enthusiastically.
However, that one act couldn't heal everything.
Couldn't wipe away the memories of another man.
In the darkness, he had held her, stroking her, whispering to her, thoughts that made her cold, thoughts of their future together. Not now, he had been quick to warn, but some day. He didn't want to lose her again, he wanted them to follow the same paths, to think of a life together.
Marriage. A family. 2.4 children. Only that statistic was wrong now, the figure was closer to 1.3. 1.3 children and a Labrador. The 4x4 sitting outside their fashionable London home, later they could move to the country away from the smog of the city, give the child and the Labrador more room, more security, a better healthier life for all involved.
Of course he hadn't said these things. But the implication was there. And even just idea of it all left her cold. She wanted her career. She wanted her own independence. Whatever way she looked at it she knew it was wrong.
It wasn't the life she wanted.
As that thought had flared in her mind, his hand had tightened on her arm. In the almost dark room, it should have been difficult to see, but the scar on her bicep had glowed palely in the dim light, catching his attention. For a moment she hadn't known what he was talking about, but he was moving, shifting his position so he could see it better.
'What the hell happened to you?' he had asked, anger flaring on his face.
She had jerked her arm away, wrapping it around herself defensively. 'Nothing.'
'It doesn't look like nothing.'
I was stabbed by a psychotic megalomaniac, she had wanted to say, to throw the words at him in defiance. She didn't want to think about it, she didn't want to remember the blood, the pain, the pale blue eyes slowly clouding over as the woman had died in Ashleigh's arms. Instead, she had fallen back on the old reliable. 'I was in a car crash on my last business trip.' She tried to say it so matter of factly that he had no choice but to accept her statement, but he persisted.
'A car crash?' he had tried to pull her arm to him to take a closer look, but stubbornly, she held it back. 'It looks more like a...'
'Glass,' she interrupted. 'The window shattered, and a pane of glass hit me.'
He had traced the healing skin with a long finger. He had spoken quietly, knowing she would object to his words. 'Have you ever thought that perhaps you take too much on?'
'What do you mean?' she had snatched the covers over her, pulling them tightly around herself as if she could defend herself from his attack.
'You take on so much. Surely your company could cope without you?'
'Perhaps I enjoy my work.' Her temper was rising, and she refused to hold her tongue. 'How dare you suggest that I give it up? What the hell gives you the right to say that?'
'I'm not saying give it up, I'm saying that you don't have to take every business trip abroad, you don't have to over see every merger, every transaction. Isn't there something else you could do?'
'No,' she snapped shortly.
'You're never home, Ashleigh. You look exhausted, you work so hard. You should take a break.'
'I've just had a break.' And hated every minute of it, she thought bitterly.
'Look, if you won't listen to me...'
'I am listening to you! I understand perfectly what you're saying, and I simply don't agree with it. This is my work, my career, and I don't think I work too hard. I don't see how you can judge that. How about I ask you to stop throwing yourself around in the mud every weekend? Ask you not to work every hour of the day, or push yourself more than you should?'
He ignored her. 'I'm worried about you.'
'Well, don't be. I don't need people worrying about me. I never have and I never will.'
She was breathing hard, her face flushed with anger. Why did everyone try to dictate her life? Why couldn't people see that she had survived this long on her own, she could continue doing so.
He seemed to understand that he had pushed her too far. Leaning over her, he brushed a strand of hair from her face. 'Sorry,' he whispered.
She sighed; knowing it was easier to say nothing than to argue. She was too tired to fight, and so she turned, sliding her hand up his chest.
The toned muscles danced beneath her hand, her fingers curled into the light dusting of dark hair, the olive skin was smooth and supple beneath her palm. He dropped a kiss onto her dark hair, and she sighed, content, ready to slip into the welcoming embrace of a dreamless sleep.
Suddenly she jerked away, confused. The broad shoulders were similar, but the solid muscles of Dan's chest were wrong, they should have been subtle and lithe. The dusting of dark hair was wrong too, and she stared at him.
'Ashleigh? Are you alright?'
She half expected to see green eyes where there were brown, blond hair were there was dark, and there should have been a knowing smirk in place of a worried expression.
She knew that then he would haunt her forever.
She shook her head to clear it, and then licked her dry lips. 'I'm fine,' she managed to whisper. 'I think I just startled myself.'
'You look tired. Perhaps you should try to sleep.'
I am tired, she had thought. Tired of everything.
She had just wanted to get back to work. Work was normality. Work meant no complications, just the necessity to do her duty. When she woke up, she could go to work. So she had slept.
In the morning, Dan had been awake, and enthusiastic about matters. Their argument in the dark had seemed to wash over him, he took no notice of the dark looks she had shot him, or the way she had hurried him out of her house.
'Dinner, tonight,' he had ordered, as she had practically pushed him down the front steps to the pavement. 'No refusing.'
Accepting had seemed the easiest way to get him to go. And a lot less violent than brute force.
He had rung twice that day already. Both times she had refused to answer, and in anger, had eventually turned the phone off. He knew she hated being contacted while she was at work, claiming she didn't need the distractions, and yet he had deliberately ignored that.
It was unfair to be so angry with Dan, Ashleigh knew that, but common sense had returned with a vengeance. She couldn't use one man to forget another. For once, she wished her life were less complicated.
She slipped the headphones on once more, and listened as the two Russian voices blended harshly into each other. There was absolutely nothing going on in this conversation, except perhaps some very shady deals involving oil, but nothing to warrant MI6's investigation.
The pile of files towered over her. Each disc filled with conversations, each more monotonous than the last. Where was the excitement in this? Where was the job satisfaction? She should be in the field, doing something, not sitting at a desk. She looked at her watch, discovering it was still only midmorning. She could go and find something to eat, something to drink, anything to break up the boring task in front of her.
Sliding her chair back, she opened the door to the office. And turned left.
Which surprised her. She had intended to turn right.
No one paid any attention to the dark haired woman who stared intently at the heavily sectioned wall. Everyone was far too busy, and it wasn't unusual that people would simply come to this room to think. To remember. After all, that was what the memorial wall was for.
Hundreds of plaques covered the wall, endless names, dates, and the sense that those that stood there should never forget. They had died in the line of duty, and they would be remembered.
Alec had sneered at the triviality of these plaques, the stars that decorated them, but agents who fell received one. It was the final honour. Their names would live on forever. They would be remembered for their sacrifice.
On the far right, the newest plaques were placed. Three up from the bottom stood one remembering Gregory Fraser, a man killed as an afterthought. Ashleigh nodded at it, as if that action could somehow say more than words ever could.
She knew where all the important ones were. Or rather, the ones that were important to her. Nancy Simmons. The third woman to achieve 00 status. Killed in Afghanistan four years ago. The three letters that told her status, how important she had been to MI6 – 004. Three women had made 00 status, one had retired, Simmons murdered, and Melissa Cassidy, 008, executed in some extreme region of South America. Her body had never been recovered. She had been the first woman to reach that pinnacle of ambition, and among the female agents, those three names were held in esteem. They inspired, they encouraged the women to achieve all they wanted. They too could prove themselves as members of the elite 00 agents.
It wasn't feminism that drove this ambition. It was feminine pride. That they too could do the job as well as their male counterparts.
It was what Ashleigh had always worked towards.
If it meant that one day the name Ashleigh Kain was engraved onto a plaque and fixed to this wall, then so be it. As long as those three important numbers were on there as well. Perhaps future agents would come, and stare at her name, and feel their own passion for their work flare, inspired by her sacrifice, driven to succeed by her death. Perhaps some would even look to the past, glancing back over black marble rectangles, and make the connection between her name, and another, years earlier.
As she stared at her father's name, at the 009, she felt the same burst of pride as she always did, immediately followed by the familiar stab of grief that always came too. Idly she wondered if he would have approved of her relationship, or rather her 'fling' with Alec.
At the merest flicker of his name, her eyes jerked to the next column on the left, and immediately fell upon his name.
There had been so many protests over Alec's memorial being left on the wall. They called him a traitor, called him evil, a betrayer to Crown and Country. More importantly, they called him a traitor to MI6. And that crime was unforgivable. The plaque still bore a scar where a furious agent had taken a hacksaw to it, disfiguring it easily as the explosion at Arkangel had scarred Alec. Lightly Ashleigh ran her finger down that groove as she had so many times before.
The black marble was covered in smudged fingerprints that suggested Ashleigh was not the only person to stand in front of that name and stare in fascination. A mythology had sprung up around Alec and his story, a strange epic tale of betrayal, and danger. There were elements of truth in there, but like a game of Chinese whispers, the truth had been distorted with each telling of the story. Rumours were everywhere. Some believed that Alec's Cossack heritage had been discovered and he had been forced out (ignoring the fact that of course, everyone had already known about it), or that he had been set up by a another agent (more often than not Ashleigh had heard James's name connected with that.) Some even said that he was an undercover agent, and that the events of Goldeneye had been a cover up.
Ashleigh had laughed grimly at that. She had always ignored the rumours, and if anyone had brought them up in her presence, her temper had always caused her to snap, turning on the gossiping agent, and demanding to know why the dead could not be left in peace?
She couldn't deny the fact that he was a traitor. But she had known him, even if only for the briefest moment in her childhood, she had touched him, spoken to him, and seen his relationship with her father and with James. She had known Alec Trevelyan, 006, not these simpering smirking agents, and she would not let those memories be sullied by their gossip mongering.
It was M who had come to Alec's defence, and in a round about way had agreed with Ashleigh's point of view. After several attacks on the memorial wall, M had ordered severe punishment for any agent who dared deface such an honour. There had been protests of course, but M had been adamant. The wall commemorated those that had died. Alec Trevelyan, the 00 agent had died, and had been lost to them. The plaque would remain and remember the man, the agent that had been, and not the man he had returned as.
Janus had been a separate man to Alec.
Gradually though, since her return, and as her anger abated, Ashleigh had stopped thinking of him as Janus. Once more he was Alec in her mind.
She missed him.
A few nights together. A few illicit kisses.
And she missed him.
She missed how easy it had been around him, how she didn't have to pretend to be someone she wasn't.
She missed the danger.
She missed his touch.
Yes. She missed that the most. His kiss, his touch, his caress. The anger had faded, her fury at his refusal to help her further had gradually slipped away to be replaced by this helpless longing.
Things were certainly complicated.
Except, at the same time, things weren't. How could things be complicated, when she knew, knew without a doubt that she would never see him again?
No, things were disturbingly simple. She would get over him, eventually, but throwing herself into a relationship was not the way to do it. M had been right to force her to take a break, to give her time to let herself adjust.
To remember how to survive by being alone.
She sighed, not with dismay, but with realisation. The Americans called it closure, the psychobabble that passed for common sense these days.
Fight for no one but yourself, Kain, she told herself firmly, not for the first time either. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on the cool marble surface.
'Kain?' A hesitant pause as the speaker took in the strange position of the other woman. It was a situation that didn't require the usual formalities. 'Ashleigh?'
Reluctantly Ashleigh pulled away from the wall. 'Moneypenny.'
Moneypenny's arms were filled with more files. Ashleigh glared at them darkly.
'I thought you might find you here.'
'I'm that predictable am I?'
'No. I asked if anyone had seen you.' Moneypenny smiled kindly. 'It tends to be easier.'
'Sorry,' Ashleigh coloured. She found herself snapping at people more and more often recently.
Moneypenny hesitated again, unsure whether to say what she wanted to say. 'I know what happened out in Russia, I know who you got involved with, and I know that things didn't work out well between you and him.'
'Oh.' Ashleigh bit her lip. 'Its not, I mean, what happened between Alec and I, its not common knowledge is it?'
'Of course not, believe me, MI6 are reluctant to announce the fact that Janus is alive and well.' Moneypenny was quick to reassure. 'But I do get to hear things, and I know from experience just how charming Alec can be when he wants to.'
'You and Alec?'
The thought of Alec and this attractive elegant woman together made her head swim with a sudden burst of jealousy. It made sense of course, the handsome young playboy agent, and the younger, beautiful Moneypenny, the short moments of flirtation in the office, perhaps the suggestion of dinner, his lips touching hers, his hands roaming that soft pale skin, tangled in the thick red hair. The beginnings of an office romance, secret glances, stolen moments, frantic hasty kisses before anyone could spot them together.
The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
She hated the thought of Alec touching anyone but her.
But what could she do about it now?
Move on, that little voice repeated somewhere in the depths of her skull.
She took a deep breath, and composed herself. Forced herself to listen to what Moneypenny was saying.
'Almost,' Moneypenny sensed the flicker of unhappiness from the younger woman, and smiled sadly. 'Perhaps if we'd been less busy, less involved with work something more might have happened, but I do remember that when Alec sets his mind on something he usually gets it.'
'I'm not what he wants anymore.' Ashleigh forced a stoical smile onto her face.
'Perhaps not, but you should be flattered. Alec isn't James. A pretty face isn't enough for him, he likes to be challenged, admires intelligence. Or at least the Alec I knew did. Maybe he's changed, I just don't know.'
Was there a trace of regret in Moneypenny's voice?
'I don't mean to bring up the past, Ashleigh, or stir up bad memories, but if you ever have any questions about ... him... ' Moneypenny refused to meet Ashleigh's eyes, 'Then you know you can always ask me. I knew him.'
For a moment Ashleigh was lost for words, and then she felt gratitude threaten to overwhelm her. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? If anyone would have known Alec, it would have been Moneypenny. Ashleigh knew that she would never be able to take Moneypenny up on her offer, would never be able to face the humiliation that would swamp her if she ever plucked up the courage to actually ask.
'Thanks,' she murmured awkwardly. 'But would you mind awfully if I put all this as far behind me as possible? I'm clinging onto the last shreds of my dignity by my fingernails...' her voice tailed off.
'Of course.' Moneypenny seemed to remember why she had sought the younger agent out. 'These are for you, I'm afraid.'
'I had guessed,' Ashleigh flipped through the top file. 'More translating?'
'More translating. However, these are to take priority, new orders from the woman herself.'
'Any particular reason?'
'Not that I know of. You might want to brush up your Italian though.'
'Not Italian, please.' The language was a beautiful fluid language, filled with passion and enthusiasm, but it was a nightmare to keep up with, particularly when, as in Ashleigh's case, the listener was rather rusty.
'Italian.' Moneypenny confirmed. 'Just remember that while M tends to work in mysterious ways, she usually has an ulterior motive.'
A genuine smile crossed Ashleigh's lips, the spy on her wondered if the other woman was trying to hint at something. 'I'll make sure I remember that then.'
Moneypenny smiled herself, and leant forward in a confiding gesture. 'You did not hear this from me, and if M ever finds out I told you, then I hate to think what terrible punishment she would think up, but this isn't what you were originally assigned to do. M had specific duties for you, you were to be informed of them this morning, but at the last moment, she pulled you from them. Right now, you're supposed to be preparing yourself to fly out with three other agents to Kyoto. However, at the last minute M changed her mind, and you're not on your way to Japan, you are about to work your way through a pile of Italian conversations for reasons known only to the woman in charge. Who, in her usual mysterious manner has vanished off the face of the earth. There is no point in asking me where she is, because even I don't know. But I do know that this is not what you were supposed to be doing.'
Ashleigh listened carefully. It always struck her as being ironic that at MI6 there was very little that could ever be kept a secret. 'So what do you think I should do?' she asked as casually as she could.
'What you have been told to do of course. If M has something up her sleeve, then all you can do is wait for her to return.'
She shot Ashleigh a conspiratorial glance, turned on her heel, and walked away. The sound of her shoes on the floor was suddenly very loud. Ashleigh held the files close to her chest, gnawing on her lower lip thoughtfully.
Moneypenny was right. For now there was nothing that she could do, but obey, like the good dutiful agent she was. Slowly she worked her way back through the maze of bland corridors back towards the small lifeless room that would be her office for the next few days.
If M was planning something...
The question was what...
She would find out soon enough. Suddenly she was fired up with a sudden enthusiasm.
There was something to work for again.
It was Iolana that led me to this page – interesting debate over why Alec could still be playing with the ending, still not wanting this to end... a.
The two men were clearly arguing over something or other. However, what wasn't immediately clear. Sighing, Ashleigh hit the 'rewind button' listened carefully to the sequence again, before jotting down neat, precise notes when she felt it was appropriate.
Anyone who happened to peer inside the office would simply see a young, smartly dressed woman, working hard in a cool efficient manner. Appearances could be so deceptive though.
Inside, she was seething.
Her triumphant return to MI6 had not gone as well as she had hoped. Half expecting to be welcomed back like the prodigal son, she had been confused when it had become apparent that no one knew what she was supposed to be doing there. Moneypenny, however, came to the rescue, with a collection of files. She had handed them to Ashleigh with a slightly guilty look.
'M left specific orders for you,' Moneypenny gestured to the top file in an apologetic manner. 'You'll find them in there.'
'I was supposed to see M when I returned,' Ashleigh had persisted, struggling to get a grip on the high pile of slippery folders. 'You told me so last night.' She was aware that she was sounding like a spoilt brat, but her confusion was combining with tiredness, and she didn't have the strength to fight.
'Yes, I'm afraid that won't be possible at the moment. M has been called abroad on urgent business.' It sounded like a flimsy excuse, and Moneypenny knew it. The red head's had face softened as she spoke. 'I'm sorry, Ashleigh, but I've already told you too much. I'm sure though that M will want to see you when she returns.'
'I'm sure,' Ashleigh had muttered sullenly, and retreated with her stack of files.
The small office she found herself in was definitely small. Drab and dreary were also words that sprang to Ashleigh's mind. It was depressing, and disheartening, and nothing like she had imagined. The work she was doing didn't help.
The men continued arguing in Russian. Ashleigh knew several languages, learnt at her employer's insistence, and was therefore considered the perfect person for the job of working through the large pile of surveillance recordings. It was difficult work, but dull. Each recording could hold the key to something huge, a terrorist attack, underhand dealings, anything, and Ashleigh had to catch what the key statements were. Unfortunately they were usually well hidden in the most trivial conversations. It was a punishment duty, loosely disguised as serious work, and Ashleigh had to grit her teeth and get on with it.
She would probably have had more success with the task if she were actually focused on the job in hand.
Instead, she tapped her pen lightly against the desk in front of her, and thought of the events of the night before.
Sleeping with Dan had not been her wisest decision. But caught up in the moment, lost in her own loneliness she had needed him, pulling him closer all the time, kissing him hard, wrapping herself around him as if his body could exorcise all thoughts of Alec. They knew each other, and they had quickly found the kind of pleasure that comes from familiarity, and at the time she hadn't regretted it.
It was afterwards, when they lay quietly in the dark, not knowing whether to speak, or to fall into sleep, that the doubts had begin to rise once more. It had felt so good to have someone touch her, someone who was warm and welcoming, and unlikely to hold a gun to her temple afterwards. Someone who had wanted her for herself, and not what he could gain from bedding her. When he had taken her hand, and led her to her bed, she had gone willingly, almost enthusiastically.
However, that one act couldn't heal everything.
Couldn't wipe away the memories of another man.
In the darkness, he had held her, stroking her, whispering to her, thoughts that made her cold, thoughts of their future together. Not now, he had been quick to warn, but some day. He didn't want to lose her again, he wanted them to follow the same paths, to think of a life together.
Marriage. A family. 2.4 children. Only that statistic was wrong now, the figure was closer to 1.3. 1.3 children and a Labrador. The 4x4 sitting outside their fashionable London home, later they could move to the country away from the smog of the city, give the child and the Labrador more room, more security, a better healthier life for all involved.
Of course he hadn't said these things. But the implication was there. And even just idea of it all left her cold. She wanted her career. She wanted her own independence. Whatever way she looked at it she knew it was wrong.
It wasn't the life she wanted.
As that thought had flared in her mind, his hand had tightened on her arm. In the almost dark room, it should have been difficult to see, but the scar on her bicep had glowed palely in the dim light, catching his attention. For a moment she hadn't known what he was talking about, but he was moving, shifting his position so he could see it better.
'What the hell happened to you?' he had asked, anger flaring on his face.
She had jerked her arm away, wrapping it around herself defensively. 'Nothing.'
'It doesn't look like nothing.'
I was stabbed by a psychotic megalomaniac, she had wanted to say, to throw the words at him in defiance. She didn't want to think about it, she didn't want to remember the blood, the pain, the pale blue eyes slowly clouding over as the woman had died in Ashleigh's arms. Instead, she had fallen back on the old reliable. 'I was in a car crash on my last business trip.' She tried to say it so matter of factly that he had no choice but to accept her statement, but he persisted.
'A car crash?' he had tried to pull her arm to him to take a closer look, but stubbornly, she held it back. 'It looks more like a...'
'Glass,' she interrupted. 'The window shattered, and a pane of glass hit me.'
He had traced the healing skin with a long finger. He had spoken quietly, knowing she would object to his words. 'Have you ever thought that perhaps you take too much on?'
'What do you mean?' she had snatched the covers over her, pulling them tightly around herself as if she could defend herself from his attack.
'You take on so much. Surely your company could cope without you?'
'Perhaps I enjoy my work.' Her temper was rising, and she refused to hold her tongue. 'How dare you suggest that I give it up? What the hell gives you the right to say that?'
'I'm not saying give it up, I'm saying that you don't have to take every business trip abroad, you don't have to over see every merger, every transaction. Isn't there something else you could do?'
'No,' she snapped shortly.
'You're never home, Ashleigh. You look exhausted, you work so hard. You should take a break.'
'I've just had a break.' And hated every minute of it, she thought bitterly.
'Look, if you won't listen to me...'
'I am listening to you! I understand perfectly what you're saying, and I simply don't agree with it. This is my work, my career, and I don't think I work too hard. I don't see how you can judge that. How about I ask you to stop throwing yourself around in the mud every weekend? Ask you not to work every hour of the day, or push yourself more than you should?'
He ignored her. 'I'm worried about you.'
'Well, don't be. I don't need people worrying about me. I never have and I never will.'
She was breathing hard, her face flushed with anger. Why did everyone try to dictate her life? Why couldn't people see that she had survived this long on her own, she could continue doing so.
He seemed to understand that he had pushed her too far. Leaning over her, he brushed a strand of hair from her face. 'Sorry,' he whispered.
She sighed; knowing it was easier to say nothing than to argue. She was too tired to fight, and so she turned, sliding her hand up his chest.
The toned muscles danced beneath her hand, her fingers curled into the light dusting of dark hair, the olive skin was smooth and supple beneath her palm. He dropped a kiss onto her dark hair, and she sighed, content, ready to slip into the welcoming embrace of a dreamless sleep.
Suddenly she jerked away, confused. The broad shoulders were similar, but the solid muscles of Dan's chest were wrong, they should have been subtle and lithe. The dusting of dark hair was wrong too, and she stared at him.
'Ashleigh? Are you alright?'
She half expected to see green eyes where there were brown, blond hair were there was dark, and there should have been a knowing smirk in place of a worried expression.
She knew that then he would haunt her forever.
She shook her head to clear it, and then licked her dry lips. 'I'm fine,' she managed to whisper. 'I think I just startled myself.'
'You look tired. Perhaps you should try to sleep.'
I am tired, she had thought. Tired of everything.
She had just wanted to get back to work. Work was normality. Work meant no complications, just the necessity to do her duty. When she woke up, she could go to work. So she had slept.
In the morning, Dan had been awake, and enthusiastic about matters. Their argument in the dark had seemed to wash over him, he took no notice of the dark looks she had shot him, or the way she had hurried him out of her house.
'Dinner, tonight,' he had ordered, as she had practically pushed him down the front steps to the pavement. 'No refusing.'
Accepting had seemed the easiest way to get him to go. And a lot less violent than brute force.
He had rung twice that day already. Both times she had refused to answer, and in anger, had eventually turned the phone off. He knew she hated being contacted while she was at work, claiming she didn't need the distractions, and yet he had deliberately ignored that.
It was unfair to be so angry with Dan, Ashleigh knew that, but common sense had returned with a vengeance. She couldn't use one man to forget another. For once, she wished her life were less complicated.
She slipped the headphones on once more, and listened as the two Russian voices blended harshly into each other. There was absolutely nothing going on in this conversation, except perhaps some very shady deals involving oil, but nothing to warrant MI6's investigation.
The pile of files towered over her. Each disc filled with conversations, each more monotonous than the last. Where was the excitement in this? Where was the job satisfaction? She should be in the field, doing something, not sitting at a desk. She looked at her watch, discovering it was still only midmorning. She could go and find something to eat, something to drink, anything to break up the boring task in front of her.
Sliding her chair back, she opened the door to the office. And turned left.
Which surprised her. She had intended to turn right.
No one paid any attention to the dark haired woman who stared intently at the heavily sectioned wall. Everyone was far too busy, and it wasn't unusual that people would simply come to this room to think. To remember. After all, that was what the memorial wall was for.
Hundreds of plaques covered the wall, endless names, dates, and the sense that those that stood there should never forget. They had died in the line of duty, and they would be remembered.
Alec had sneered at the triviality of these plaques, the stars that decorated them, but agents who fell received one. It was the final honour. Their names would live on forever. They would be remembered for their sacrifice.
On the far right, the newest plaques were placed. Three up from the bottom stood one remembering Gregory Fraser, a man killed as an afterthought. Ashleigh nodded at it, as if that action could somehow say more than words ever could.
She knew where all the important ones were. Or rather, the ones that were important to her. Nancy Simmons. The third woman to achieve 00 status. Killed in Afghanistan four years ago. The three letters that told her status, how important she had been to MI6 – 004. Three women had made 00 status, one had retired, Simmons murdered, and Melissa Cassidy, 008, executed in some extreme region of South America. Her body had never been recovered. She had been the first woman to reach that pinnacle of ambition, and among the female agents, those three names were held in esteem. They inspired, they encouraged the women to achieve all they wanted. They too could prove themselves as members of the elite 00 agents.
It wasn't feminism that drove this ambition. It was feminine pride. That they too could do the job as well as their male counterparts.
It was what Ashleigh had always worked towards.
If it meant that one day the name Ashleigh Kain was engraved onto a plaque and fixed to this wall, then so be it. As long as those three important numbers were on there as well. Perhaps future agents would come, and stare at her name, and feel their own passion for their work flare, inspired by her sacrifice, driven to succeed by her death. Perhaps some would even look to the past, glancing back over black marble rectangles, and make the connection between her name, and another, years earlier.
As she stared at her father's name, at the 009, she felt the same burst of pride as she always did, immediately followed by the familiar stab of grief that always came too. Idly she wondered if he would have approved of her relationship, or rather her 'fling' with Alec.
At the merest flicker of his name, her eyes jerked to the next column on the left, and immediately fell upon his name.
There had been so many protests over Alec's memorial being left on the wall. They called him a traitor, called him evil, a betrayer to Crown and Country. More importantly, they called him a traitor to MI6. And that crime was unforgivable. The plaque still bore a scar where a furious agent had taken a hacksaw to it, disfiguring it easily as the explosion at Arkangel had scarred Alec. Lightly Ashleigh ran her finger down that groove as she had so many times before.
The black marble was covered in smudged fingerprints that suggested Ashleigh was not the only person to stand in front of that name and stare in fascination. A mythology had sprung up around Alec and his story, a strange epic tale of betrayal, and danger. There were elements of truth in there, but like a game of Chinese whispers, the truth had been distorted with each telling of the story. Rumours were everywhere. Some believed that Alec's Cossack heritage had been discovered and he had been forced out (ignoring the fact that of course, everyone had already known about it), or that he had been set up by a another agent (more often than not Ashleigh had heard James's name connected with that.) Some even said that he was an undercover agent, and that the events of Goldeneye had been a cover up.
Ashleigh had laughed grimly at that. She had always ignored the rumours, and if anyone had brought them up in her presence, her temper had always caused her to snap, turning on the gossiping agent, and demanding to know why the dead could not be left in peace?
She couldn't deny the fact that he was a traitor. But she had known him, even if only for the briefest moment in her childhood, she had touched him, spoken to him, and seen his relationship with her father and with James. She had known Alec Trevelyan, 006, not these simpering smirking agents, and she would not let those memories be sullied by their gossip mongering.
It was M who had come to Alec's defence, and in a round about way had agreed with Ashleigh's point of view. After several attacks on the memorial wall, M had ordered severe punishment for any agent who dared deface such an honour. There had been protests of course, but M had been adamant. The wall commemorated those that had died. Alec Trevelyan, the 00 agent had died, and had been lost to them. The plaque would remain and remember the man, the agent that had been, and not the man he had returned as.
Janus had been a separate man to Alec.
Gradually though, since her return, and as her anger abated, Ashleigh had stopped thinking of him as Janus. Once more he was Alec in her mind.
She missed him.
A few nights together. A few illicit kisses.
And she missed him.
She missed how easy it had been around him, how she didn't have to pretend to be someone she wasn't.
She missed the danger.
She missed his touch.
Yes. She missed that the most. His kiss, his touch, his caress. The anger had faded, her fury at his refusal to help her further had gradually slipped away to be replaced by this helpless longing.
Things were certainly complicated.
Except, at the same time, things weren't. How could things be complicated, when she knew, knew without a doubt that she would never see him again?
No, things were disturbingly simple. She would get over him, eventually, but throwing herself into a relationship was not the way to do it. M had been right to force her to take a break, to give her time to let herself adjust.
To remember how to survive by being alone.
She sighed, not with dismay, but with realisation. The Americans called it closure, the psychobabble that passed for common sense these days.
Fight for no one but yourself, Kain, she told herself firmly, not for the first time either. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on the cool marble surface.
'Kain?' A hesitant pause as the speaker took in the strange position of the other woman. It was a situation that didn't require the usual formalities. 'Ashleigh?'
Reluctantly Ashleigh pulled away from the wall. 'Moneypenny.'
Moneypenny's arms were filled with more files. Ashleigh glared at them darkly.
'I thought you might find you here.'
'I'm that predictable am I?'
'No. I asked if anyone had seen you.' Moneypenny smiled kindly. 'It tends to be easier.'
'Sorry,' Ashleigh coloured. She found herself snapping at people more and more often recently.
Moneypenny hesitated again, unsure whether to say what she wanted to say. 'I know what happened out in Russia, I know who you got involved with, and I know that things didn't work out well between you and him.'
'Oh.' Ashleigh bit her lip. 'Its not, I mean, what happened between Alec and I, its not common knowledge is it?'
'Of course not, believe me, MI6 are reluctant to announce the fact that Janus is alive and well.' Moneypenny was quick to reassure. 'But I do get to hear things, and I know from experience just how charming Alec can be when he wants to.'
'You and Alec?'
The thought of Alec and this attractive elegant woman together made her head swim with a sudden burst of jealousy. It made sense of course, the handsome young playboy agent, and the younger, beautiful Moneypenny, the short moments of flirtation in the office, perhaps the suggestion of dinner, his lips touching hers, his hands roaming that soft pale skin, tangled in the thick red hair. The beginnings of an office romance, secret glances, stolen moments, frantic hasty kisses before anyone could spot them together.
The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
She hated the thought of Alec touching anyone but her.
But what could she do about it now?
Move on, that little voice repeated somewhere in the depths of her skull.
She took a deep breath, and composed herself. Forced herself to listen to what Moneypenny was saying.
'Almost,' Moneypenny sensed the flicker of unhappiness from the younger woman, and smiled sadly. 'Perhaps if we'd been less busy, less involved with work something more might have happened, but I do remember that when Alec sets his mind on something he usually gets it.'
'I'm not what he wants anymore.' Ashleigh forced a stoical smile onto her face.
'Perhaps not, but you should be flattered. Alec isn't James. A pretty face isn't enough for him, he likes to be challenged, admires intelligence. Or at least the Alec I knew did. Maybe he's changed, I just don't know.'
Was there a trace of regret in Moneypenny's voice?
'I don't mean to bring up the past, Ashleigh, or stir up bad memories, but if you ever have any questions about ... him... ' Moneypenny refused to meet Ashleigh's eyes, 'Then you know you can always ask me. I knew him.'
For a moment Ashleigh was lost for words, and then she felt gratitude threaten to overwhelm her. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? If anyone would have known Alec, it would have been Moneypenny. Ashleigh knew that she would never be able to take Moneypenny up on her offer, would never be able to face the humiliation that would swamp her if she ever plucked up the courage to actually ask.
'Thanks,' she murmured awkwardly. 'But would you mind awfully if I put all this as far behind me as possible? I'm clinging onto the last shreds of my dignity by my fingernails...' her voice tailed off.
'Of course.' Moneypenny seemed to remember why she had sought the younger agent out. 'These are for you, I'm afraid.'
'I had guessed,' Ashleigh flipped through the top file. 'More translating?'
'More translating. However, these are to take priority, new orders from the woman herself.'
'Any particular reason?'
'Not that I know of. You might want to brush up your Italian though.'
'Not Italian, please.' The language was a beautiful fluid language, filled with passion and enthusiasm, but it was a nightmare to keep up with, particularly when, as in Ashleigh's case, the listener was rather rusty.
'Italian.' Moneypenny confirmed. 'Just remember that while M tends to work in mysterious ways, she usually has an ulterior motive.'
A genuine smile crossed Ashleigh's lips, the spy on her wondered if the other woman was trying to hint at something. 'I'll make sure I remember that then.'
Moneypenny smiled herself, and leant forward in a confiding gesture. 'You did not hear this from me, and if M ever finds out I told you, then I hate to think what terrible punishment she would think up, but this isn't what you were originally assigned to do. M had specific duties for you, you were to be informed of them this morning, but at the last moment, she pulled you from them. Right now, you're supposed to be preparing yourself to fly out with three other agents to Kyoto. However, at the last minute M changed her mind, and you're not on your way to Japan, you are about to work your way through a pile of Italian conversations for reasons known only to the woman in charge. Who, in her usual mysterious manner has vanished off the face of the earth. There is no point in asking me where she is, because even I don't know. But I do know that this is not what you were supposed to be doing.'
Ashleigh listened carefully. It always struck her as being ironic that at MI6 there was very little that could ever be kept a secret. 'So what do you think I should do?' she asked as casually as she could.
'What you have been told to do of course. If M has something up her sleeve, then all you can do is wait for her to return.'
She shot Ashleigh a conspiratorial glance, turned on her heel, and walked away. The sound of her shoes on the floor was suddenly very loud. Ashleigh held the files close to her chest, gnawing on her lower lip thoughtfully.
Moneypenny was right. For now there was nothing that she could do, but obey, like the good dutiful agent she was. Slowly she worked her way back through the maze of bland corridors back towards the small lifeless room that would be her office for the next few days.
If M was planning something...
The question was what...
She would find out soon enough. Suddenly she was fired up with a sudden enthusiasm.
There was something to work for again.