Chapter 6

Withdrawal

Harry was sitting in the briefing room with a portion of his fractured team sitting around him. Tariq was sitting with dark circles into his eyes and staring into his umpteenth cup of coffee as though trying to decide if he could drown himself in its body clock altering depths. Ros and Ruth were exhausted as well, it had been a long shift and they all seemed intent on flogging a long since deceased horse. Harry had sent Lucas home, although there was no real authority in a decision that had already been made by someone else. God only knew where Sofia was.

"So, we know of a potential attack on the talks." Ruth began vaguely with a half-hearted attempt at forcing them into being productive.

"Based on the word of someone with borderline psychotic behaviour." Ros put in helpfully.

"Are you talking about Salko or Sofia?" Tariq asked with a knackered stab at humour.

After Lucas and Sofia had left, Harry had made the decision to tell the remainder of his team about the connection between Sofia and Salko along with the motives behind, and the cost of, his services, reasoning that in their sleep-deprived state they would probably have forgotten most of it by morning. Curiously, Ros had seemed to agree with Harry while Ruth came down on Lucas' side, stating that there was a limit to what one human being could ask of another, no matter the reward.

"Sofia thinks that Salko's intel is solid." Harry said quietly, leaving the implications of this, that they may have the fates of seven nations in their hands, unsaid.

"Whatever intel that may be." Ros put in, ever 'realistic' as she put it.

"You've met him Ros, what did you think of him?" Harry asked, hoping that she would somehow contradict Lucas and Sofia though he was not entirely sure to what end.

"In a word? Infectious." She said, choosing her words carefully.

"What do you mean?" Ruth asked, blearily.

"He...Gets under your skin, with frightening ease. Intense, bordering on insane. Perceptive, extremely...I wouldn't be playing poker with him in a hurry...He has the skill to make you feel that he knows everything about you after a five minute conversation, which he probably does...Bottom line for us is that he could be lying or telling me the truth and whichever one he wanted me to think, I would believe whatever he wanted me to. Whatever we do is a risk, something I'm sure he's aware of." She said with characteristic bluntness.

"Alright...Let's forget about Salko for a moment...Assuming the worst-"

"Because we never do that..." Ros muttered,

"After an anonymous tip-off about an attack what's our next move?"

"Stopping it."

"Yes, thank you Miss Myers."

"Finding out the target." Tariq said, a little more helpfully.

"Exactly... Several nations represented and said representatives holed up together in one small space, you want something that will cause maximum international upset, international distrust, and disruption." Ruth began.

"If I was an insane terrorist wondering what to fling through my open window of opportunity, I'd be choosing something that would cause multiple fatalities, piss everyone off, a bomb for example."

"When you begin sentences with 'if I was an insane terrorist' whatever you follow it up with always makes me glad you're on our side..." Tariq mumbled looking mildly alarmed. He was fortunate that he looked as pathetic as he did at that moment in time as it saved his shins from Ros' wrath.

"OK, assuming you're right, that would probably rule out the hotels, most nations are staying separately, not much in the way of international chaos." Ruth pointed out.

"Speaking of hotels, did you get all of the camera footage and the bugs working Tariq?" Harry asked, digressing momentarily.

Tariq groaned and said through his hands, "Yes...It only cost me eight hours and about ten years off my scarred eyeballs...Next time we stick them all in a Travelodge and be done with it."

Ruth patted him sympathetically as Ros said, "Right, so not a Travelodge, most likely one of the locations for the talks themselves is the target then? Has Skippy given us a full list of the buildings they're going to use?" Ros asked.

"No." Harry growled, "Can you meet with him and push him on that in the morning?"

"With pleasure." Ros smirked.

"Gently...We still need him to attend the talks." Harry cautioned, half-heartedly.

"Might be better for all involved if he didn't." Ros said under her breath.

Harry sighed and said, "Maybe..." Taking a deep breath he summarised, "So at the moment we might know about an attack of some sort on the most important political figures in the words occurring somewhere on British soil within the next week."

"In a nutshell." Ros said tactful as ever.

"In a nutshell we know nothing." He snapped.

They discussed the problem for over an hour achieving nothing but a circular argument and a synchronised migraine as little clumps of torn hair began to pile up beside each of them. Harry was about to suggest a large glass of whiskey and some much needed sleep before one of them throttled the other just to give them something new to discuss, when then the phone in the centre of the table began to ring.

Not being able to remember a time when he had been happier to hear a phone ring he put it on speaker saying curtly, "Harry Pearce."

"Harry." The voice was unmistakeably Sofia's, he glanced at the other's and saw his own feelings reflected in his team's faces as she continued tonelessly, "The target's not a place it's a person, the American President, he arrives tonight, unlikely but just in case, double security around him, his plane lands in less than an hour."

"Sofia-"he began, a half a dozen questions battling with one another on the tip of his tongue, none of which she allowed him to ask,

"I expect you'll be sent details tomorrow," before he could say a word she murmured hopelessly, "I'll see you in the morning." As the call disconnected.

She hung up and pressed the phone to her lips as she slowly allowed her head to rest on the chilling tiles behind her, giving her a brief glimpse of the innocent white ceiling before she closed her eyes.

Even in the comfort of her own home there was no escape...

She felt her skin crawl as his fingers once again danced cruelly across her surface. She violently began to tear at her clothes; she felt them rip beneath her frantic, scrabbling fingers as she removed them from her feverish flesh, stripping herself down to nothing. She threw the tainted pieces of fabric across the room in disgust, feeling him all over them, all over her; she shuddered and hugged herself as the thick acidic bile rose from her stomach to greet her contracting throat. Closing her eyes she attempted to regain control of herself.

On impulse, and with difficulty, she dragged herself to the shower and turned it on. Initially the stream of icy water chilled her to the bone and caused her already tense muscles ton contract further causing them to twinge and spasm; however as it heated she allowed the cascade of cool clear water to envelope her within its depths, not knowing or caring what she wanted to wash away but cleansing her of his sins all the same.

The thin silk ties he had used to bind her wrists had re-opened the scars he had first created on her thin wrists; these fresh wounds now dyed the pure, untainted water a murky crimson.

She stood beneath the understanding empathy of the water until her body went numb. She felt nothing as her fingers absently traced the cold tiles behind her, coming to rest on the temperature control. Almost without permission, they began to turn the protesting dial. The room filled with a thick steam as it heated, making it difficult to see or breathe in the small claustrophobic bathroom. The calm, soothing lukewarm river from above had transformed into a raging ocean, burning her. The pain that this provoked from her tortured body the only thing that reminded her that she was still alive.

A slow, maniacal grin spread across her face. She sank to her knees in ecstasy as angry red patches began to appear on her pale, ghostly skin.

A hushed silence had fallen over the table as they digested Sofia's words. Ruth spoke first, hollow and shocked,

"What has she done?"

"I think it's more a question of who she's done." Ros said, cruelly.

"You think she went through with it?" Tariq breathed.

"I don't think she and Salko sat down with a cup of tea and he agreed to help us out of the goodness of his heart." Ros replied, roughly.

In truth, she had more understanding and more empathy with Sofia than the others, considering what had happened with her and Meynell the other year, of course that seemed feeble and barely worth mentioning in comparison with Sofia's ordeal and Ros could not imagine the frame of mind she must have been in to force herself to go through with it. Nevertheless, the similarities were striking enough to cause several horrific memories to surface for her and her defence mechanisms were kicking in as she tried to convince herself that she was fine by harshly convincing herself that Sofia was fine. Both were far from the truth.

"Harry..." Ruth said softly, "Harry, maybe someone should check up on her?"

"You think she might do something stupid?" he asked sharply, the thought jolting him out of his guilt-ridden reverie.

"I think that considering the frame of mind she's in to push herself to...I think it's a distinct possibility..." Ruth murmured softly.

"I'll go." Ros said, quietly, inadvertently revealing her true feelings in her concern for the younger woman.

"No, I'll call Lucas." Harry said firmly.

"You think sending someone in possession of a Y chromosome is a good idea given the circumstances?" Ros asked, pointedly.

"I don't think sending anyone in possession of a head is a good idea under the circumstances..." he said, grimly, "But she's less likely to rip his off than most. He's the only one she really trusts."

Ros agreed silently as Harry dialled Lucas' number, mercifully his pride was not such that it prevented him from answering,

"Harry?" He said, shortly.

"Lucas, have you heard from Sofia?" Harry asked, cagily.

"No, not since she left The Grid, why? What's happened? What's she done?" he asked, agitated.

""Salko." Ros said, helpfully, her sympathy was not required and neither were the skin crawling memories that were threatening to surface.

"What? Harry you-"Lucas began,

"He had nothing to do with it...She just called with information about the attacks." Ruth put in hastily before both Lucas and Harry regretted their words.

He was quiet for a moment before saying softly, "I'm on my way."

Lucas quietly climbed the stairs of the apartment complex that Sofia had been living in since her return to MI-5. She had managed to secure the room on the top floor and as a result her closest neighbours were downstairs.

After finally arriving at the door and finding, without surprise, that the 'spare key' she had given him did not work, he was forced to spend a frustrating few minutes picking the lock before it would yield to him.

He quietly entered the apartment, which in itself felt like an invasion of privacy, and made his way into the first room. The fat ginger cat silently watched him cross the room, its large, concerned green eyes following him from the top of the kitchen cupboards.

Hearing the soft hiss of the shower, and knowing what it meant, he grimly entered the bathroom.

"Shit, Sofia." He whispered, reaching over her and quickly turning it off, snarling as the scalding water burned his skin.

Gently wrapping her in a soft white towel he lifted her easily from the shower cubicle and sunk with her to the cold, tiled floor, cradling her tenderly as she shivered violently in response to the dramatic temperature change.

"Sofia." He murmured again, looking at her, deep eyes filled with concern and sympathy as he shielded her protectively as she shuddered again, though not from cold.

"Don't you dare pity me Lucas North." She hissed weakly.

They lay together, in silence, as the room cleared. Her delicate flesh was red raw and feverish, her touch burning him as she soaked his clothes to the skin. He didn't care. He was eternally grateful that Harry had called him and shudder to think what she would have done if she had been left alone in this state. The angry burn marks on her skin were enough to testify to her less than stable frame of mind.

After a while, neither of them could recall how long, she reluctantly peeled herself from him and shakily stumbled to the bedroom declining his offer of physical and mental support. He retreated to the kitchen and sought the company of the timid cat who seemed to have decided that he was alright.

Just as he was becoming concerned, she emerged from the bedroom in light, loosely fitting clothes, looking as though nothing had happened.

"Would you like tea?" she asked, calmly.

"We might need something stronger..." he muttered, respectfully keeping his distance now.

She considered this for a moment before saying, softly, "...I've spent enough of my life feeling numb...Alcohol makes me feel nothing. Tea makes me feel better."

"Tea it is..."

He watched from a comfortable distance, as she quietly made them both tea, pausing only to return the cat's affections.

She cradled her own mug in her hands while sliding his across the counter towards him, very poignantly avoiding handing it to him directly. He accepted and watched her quietly for a while before murmuring softly,

"What happened Sofia? Why?"

She considered this for some time, taking a deep steadying breath before answering flippantly in an undertone, "Insomnia's a wonderful thing...Most people walk, or read, or drink...I decided to prostitute myself for my country..." she trailed off and he watched her sadly, trying to think of a response. His silence prompted her to whisper, "Doe that disgust you?"

"No..." he said, truthfully, taking a cautious step towards her, instinctively reaching out to her, physically and emotionally.

"It should." She said, harshly, rejecting his advance on both levels, as she flinched, hating herself for it.

He quickly withdrew, knowing that she was not repelled by her touch but the deeper meaning that she saw behind it, in her eyes, he had attempted to initiate contact between them, taking away her control in the process.

"Why?" he breathed again.

"It disgusts me..." she murmured, the cup shaking violently in her trembling hands. "Even though I had to..."

"You didn't have to...We would have found another way, even if I had to personally hunt the bastard to the ends of the Earth..." he growled,

She watched him with empty eyes before saying quietly, "You can't protect me from everything anymore Lucas." She murmured, taking a tentative step towards him.

"You'll forgive me for trying."

"I will..." she was now very close to him now, the mug of tea abandoned on the counter by the cat.

She gently traced one of the tattoos on her wrist, connecting the five dots placed there and ironically connecting to Russia, the quincunx design symbolising imprisonment meaning, "I will not forget prison." Fitting, considering the nights events.

Her eyes slowly travelled up his body until they found his. Deep, full of concern and passion. He held her gaze, refusing to break the connection between. He gently touched her skin in return, knowing that she was inviting him to do so, her muscles tensed but it was instinct over choice, as she held his gaze,

"Come to bed." She whispered softly.

"Sofia-"he began gently, understanding completely and hating himself for what he had to say.

"No, Lucas, please, I need to feel. I need to feel something." Her voice cracked, "I trust you, I'm safe with you, this can't be it, I can't feel just, nothing, I can't, I need you Lucas." The desperation in her voice hurt him more than any physical torture.

"No." He said, gently, taking her arms and pushing her away from him. He understood, a little too well, her body recognised what was happening to it and had caused her to go numb from the inside out, in order to stop her feeling what it had come to learn she would feel. In some ways however, the cure was worse than what it was trying to protect her from, she needed something to remind her that she was still alive, and that she was capable of living, be it sex or boiling water, she was craving feeling like a drug, and the withdrawal was killing her.

In a sense he knew what she was going through, it was psychologically similar to the isolation technique that had been used to startling effect on him in Russia, a beating you hated turned to one you craved after days of empty silence, anything to know that you were not alone. He could feel what she was going through and his heart told her to give her what she thought she needed, his head told him that they would both regret the decision in the morning.

"Come on." He led her quietly to the bedroom for entirely different reasons and allowed her to curl up on his chest, one arm wrapped around her, a little too reminiscent of Russia, but better than the alternative. She finally closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the exhaustion that had been clawing at her, unheard, for hours. He gradually felt himself slipping out of consciousness and joining her in the uncertain world of dreams that extended beyond them.

Eight oppressive, black little churches stood silently side by side on a lonely hill. Each contained a different horror, none of which he could escape. One, electrocution, two, water boarding, three, relentless beatings, they began to blur together as he became surrounded by empty silence before being ruthlessly whipped, the skin on his back reluctantly parting company with him, then the sound of a tap dripping endlessly in the room beside him, preventing him from sleeping. Promises of freedom and lies about his family's deaths at home. Sofia's piercing screams providing a horrific soundtrack to his nightmare.

He woke, panting, and drenched in sweat, Sofia's cries still ringing in his ears as disjointed sounds and images chased one another through his damaged mind. Sofia was not with him, he was alone in the soft bed, miles away from the cold stone floor that he found himself craving. Looking around himself, still breathing hard as he attempted to shake the vivid dreams and control himself, he saw Sofia perched on a chair by the window, staring helplessly out of it, one foot on the floor, the other resting on the seat, leg pressed close to her chest. He watched the slow rise and fall of her delicate frame in time with her breathing,

"What happened?" She asked, softly, without turning around. There was no pressure in it, she knew perfectly well what had happened and was giving him the option to expand and share his feelings, something that, given her delicate state, he decided against,

"The usual. "He muttered casually, sitting on the end of the bed and running his hands over his face as his breathing returned to normal. "You?"

"The usual...With a modern twist..."

"How long have you been awake?"

"A while..."

She looked weak and fragile, silhouetted against the dawn sky, cold and blank, unable to look at him. The vulnerability and desperation that had dictated her actions the night before was gone, replaced by cold, cruel instinct.

"It shouldn't be this difficult..." she whispered hollow, "After the number of times he's...This was just Monday before, now..." she broke off, swallowing hard and sounding frustrated with herself, "Is there such a thing as 'consensual rape'?" she asked, as her voice cracked.

He got up from the bed and walked towards her," Don't." She choked. He paused a foot from her before she crumpled in on herself and reached out, allowing him to approach. He delicately wrapped his arms protectively around her shoulders, making her feel as though she was holding him together, and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. She closed her eyes as angry tears spilled from under them and she wiped them away impatiently.

"How long do we have?" she asked hoarsely.

"A few hours...You should sleep." He told her softly.

She laughed, almost hysterically at his words a bitter edge to her voice as she said, "Sleep?"

"You need it," he pressed, knowing that he would not be able to convince her to stay at home and rest; she would insist on going in to work and all the tea in China would not change her mind. She in turn seemed to sense that he would not let this go. She slowly got up and padded back to the bed.

He held her, softly stroking her hair as she lay listening, as she so often had, to the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest that accompanied his hypnotic, steady breathing. "Thank you." She whispered softly as he gently ran a hand over her eyes, causing her eyelids to cover them, blocking out the cruel world.

A/N: Because of its content I really wanted this chapter to be perfect. As much as it was written on instinct and impulse, it was also very deliberate and I don't know if I've now over thought it...I know that, in order for this to work in the way I intended, that everything must be done right, this chapter as very much character driven so I'm a little out of my comfort zone and I would really appreciate your thoughts on this, if you have a minute, please review and let me know how this chapter struck you :)