Chapter seven: something on my mind breaking open doors I'd sealed up before (from 'I'm Looking For Cracks in the Pavement by Duran Duran)

"Walk."

"I can't."

"You can."

Kamil stroked her hair, tumbling round her shoulders, tendrils sticking to her sweat drenched face. She kneeled, panting, at his feet and rested against his thighs. She let his hand comfort her, fingers rubbing her scalp gently.

His fingers tightened suddenly round her locks and he pulled her to her feet with all his might. Swiftly his knee dug into her back and then his heel kicked her forward before she could think. She staggered, refusing to fall.

"See, you're walking."

Though her vision was going black, though her soles were bleeding, though her throat was arid; she took step after step. Either an hour or an eternity later, the mountain path ended and the road began. As soon as they had reached the city limits, she collapsed face first into the tarmac.

. . .

Bell sat up with a start, sheets tangled round her, and threw herself over the side of her bed as vomit poured out of her mouth.

"Bell, you alright?"

A dark haired man with a beard jumped up off a nearby chair, stepped carefully round the pile of sick and pressed a damp cloth to her head.

Bell peered up at him. Her vision was still a little blurry, and her head ached.

"You…"

"It's Lazar, Bell."

As soon as he said his name, a light flashed across her eyes, and her mind began to clear.

"Lazar, thank God," she sighed, flopping back onto the bed.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face, then froze.

"My… my hair—"

She grabbed it frantically, feeling round the back of her neck. There was nothing to feel; her hair had been cut up behind her ears, painfully short.

Lazar sat on the side of the bed, and put a hand on her arm.

"Adler thought it would be too messy, with the sweat and sick. I know it's a shock, but it'll grow back. It suits you Bell, you still look the same."

Tears began to fill her eyes, but she didn't have the strength to cry.

"What happened to me?" she managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Lazar shifted a little, clearly unsure how to proceed.

"Do you remember being in Moscow with us, near the Lubyanka building?"

Yes, she remembered. Her body froze. How badly had she fucked it up for them?

"What did I do? Is Adler…"

She couldn't finish the thought, lungs tightening as the panic flooded her.

"Shh, he's alive Bell, don't worry you did great. You got the intel and got out of there. You're safe now."

Lazar patted the little cloth against her forehead, and lifted her pillow up to support her neck. He poured water down her throat— though Bell could feel a faint sliver of powder lingering on her tongue after. She didn't have the strength to spit it out. Whatever drugs they were giving her, she hoped they worked.

It felt as though a hammer had split her skull in two. When she had touched her hair, she hadn't noticed any cuts or stitches. Still, she could have blunt force trauma. From what, she couldn't remember. That's what bumps on the head tended to do to your memory.

Lazar picked something up from her dresser. A syringe filled with something pale, shimmering liquid. It made Bell's stomach churn again.

"Park said to give you this if you wake up but… maybe we should wait a second see how you feel."

Lazar could see her fear and set it down again. She was lucky he was seemingly trustworthy; it was dangerous being this vulnerable.

"Thank you Lazar. I'm sorry I put your life in danger too."

He put a hand on hers, and shook his head.

"We can't predict everything, Bell. It was a massive risk. A lot of pressure to withstand. You did more than you needed to."

"I agreed to work this team. I knew I was in for a wild ride."

Bell gave him a feeble variation of a smile. Lazar didn't return it. He looked for a moment like he was about to say something.

A knock at the door cut him off— before either of them could say come in, Adler had already walked into the room. Bell went rigid. His eyes were covered, as usual, and Bell was glad of it. She didn't want to know what way he looked at her now.

"Hey. I can take over for a bit. You need a rest, Lazar."

Bell glanced at Lazar. She wondered how long he'd been here for. He did look particularly grey. She had no idea of the time. Or even the day.

Lazar put a hand on her shoulder.

"Take care, Bell. You'll be back on your feet soon."

Adler, as expected, did not possess the same caring aura as Lazar. He took the syringe and injected her in the neck, roughly, barely looking at her. Bell was mute. She didn't want to do anything that would make him explode; she knew that was going to come, regardless.

He turned on a little TV that had been bundled into the room. A grey movie was playing; something Bell vaguely remembered seeing. The Manchurian Candidate. Weird movie. But she didn't doubt that mind control happened. She just hadn't seen it personally.

Adler flicked over to news, then he turned it off. Not even background noise to alleviate the horrible silence. He sat down and tried to read briefly. It was a heavy old German book— he was a real scholar. It was one of the reasons she liked him. Lots of boys could shoot a gun and play the hero, but he had a brain bigger than any brawn. It was rare to find. She could talk about encryption, decryption, deciphering and any thing else in her world with him and he understood it. That's why he was good at languages; it was all an elaborate coding pattern, and once you cracked it it wasn't hard to unlock further. Enamoured, thinking he had perhaps cooled, she was stupid enough to ask:

"What are you reading?"

Adler slammed the book shut and set it down. He got to his feet and walked to the window. Bell swallowed heavily.

He spent a good half hour pacing across the far side of the room, never coming in range of her, as if she was contagious. It was a tiring routine and she didn't have the adrenaline left to deal with it. She didn't care much anymore if he cussed her out or not. She just wanted him to say a single thing to her.

"So are you going to chew me out or not?"

He looked at her briefly— surprised she had the courage?— then continued pacing the other way. He stopped and stared at the wall for a while. Then he spoke, voice low and hard.

"I don't blame you, Bell. It was a lot of pressure. I should've known it would be too much."

He muttered that last part so quietly, as if it were a little aside meant for him alone— but he would hardly have bothered saying it aloud unless he meant her to hear, and feel the sting of it.

"If you think that, then why bother asking me to do it?" Bell retorted. "You picked me."

Adler let out a low hiss and tilted his head round.

"I picked you because I thought you were good at your job, Bell, but it seems a lot has changed since '68. Being a hysterical, cracked mess wasn't on my bingo card for you but here we are. You nearly got me killed."

Bell stared at him, eyes wide. She let him pour that vitriol out on her and light his match. It didn't burn her as expected. She believed him, for a moment— he had fulfilled the terrible prophecy in her head. She knew he would have been angry and disappointed. But somehow, hearing him say it made her feel sorry for him. Had she really gotten under his skin that much? No real leader ever won by trash talking their own troops.

"Never mind the hundred steps along the way where I shielded your ass. If I was such a burden, you could have left me behind.

He walked over to the open window, and pushed up his shades to rest on his hair. She noticed how flat it was; he hadn't styled it. He looked exhausted. He inhaled the evening air deeply, and all that could be heard was the distant hum of traffic, chatter, and pulsing drums from the cafes and bars below.

"Dammit, Bell."

He lit a cigarette. Bell began coughing. He leaned further out of the window.

"Am I bothering you?" He asked.

"No more than usual," she managed to mutter.

Her head was slowly, slowly beginning to feel less disjointed. It was like rising from a deep ocean; she was so close to the surface, she would eventually float up. She saw him smirk a little.

"I take what I said back. All things considered, you're far more put together than any of us."

She smirked at him, trying to hide the sincerity of her smile.

"Ah. You remembered you still want to fuck me?"

Adler threw his cigarette out of the window and sat down where Lazar had been.

"Not really," he muttered. "You need a shower first."

Bell found herself laughing, so hard it began to hurt her chest.

"I'm still mad at you, you know," he said.

Tears had started streaming down her face; of mirth or sorrow, she wasn't even sure anymore. She didn't know how to describe the whirlpool inside without sounding like an idiot. But she had meant what she said, in the dingy corridor before Belikov's signal. She would rather die than let him die. Rather die than live without him. Because how could she? He made her the happiest, and could make her the most miserable, person to have breathed. All the fragmentation was too much for her alone; only Adler could keep her pieces together, in some shape resembling a person.

She reached her hands out, gesturing at Adler to come to her.

"Adler," she whispered. "I'm sorry. Please forget all the bullshit. I'll never suck your dick again, if that's what it takes. I need us to be able to work together or else…"

Adler tilted his head back slightly.

"Who is Kamil?"

Her heart stopped. Her throat seized. She began coughing roughly, feeling a wave of nausea.

"Wh—"

She managed to swallow down her bile. So Adler knew. How he knew, she didn't know. Even what he knew— she had forgotten a lot herself. Was there any point in trying to hide from him?

"Kamil was someone I loved and who helped me, for a time. He shared information with me, he kept me safe, and he —"

She didn't want to sound weak. She would have to smirk and joke, play it down, brush it off. She couldn't tell him how bad she had let it become. He wouldn't ever respect her, let alone love her, if he knew that.

"I don't know how to tell you, because I don't fully know. It was easy to be fooled by him, to be made to believe he understood me and felt the same as me. He probably had me researched fully before he met me, so it was easy to do that. I turned a blind eye to a lot of his badness because I wanted to see him as someone good. I needed to. Too late did I realise all that sadism, all that vindictive hate, would be turned against me."

Bell pointed to her neck; her hand was shaking, and no deep breath or strong will was enough to steady it.

"My scars come from him. It took a lot time for them to heal. But I was lucky. I got away. I hope he did not."

"Did you kill him?"

Adler's voice was blank— no emotion could be detected in its rough timbre.

"I left him for dead. Whether it was enough, I don't know."

Adler didn't move for a long time. Bell's skull felt like it was imploding again; she couldn't see the room for the blurred white light that was obscuring her vision. She kept hearing music in her mind, a lilting melody, and she was taken back that bar in Berlin. It was as though she was living in that memory, the room on pause, every sensation in her body telling her that was real and this room of vomit and failure was a lie. But it was too surreal, and too pleasant, to be a reality. She began to wonder had it ever really happened. Both of them, free and easy. It couldn't possibly have been true.

She didn't hear Adler's steps, or see him, till she felt the mattress dip beneath her, and a hot weight press against her side.

"I saved you because I had to, Bell. I had no choice. Not because of the mission. Not because of 'Nam. You understand?"

Then Adler lifted her into his arms, and kissed her cracked lips so hard she felt them split. It didn't hurt. He sucked the drip of her blood and then he kissed down her cheeks, down her jaw, and buried his face in her neck.

As he stroked her chopped hair, she was glad she had enough sanity left to appreciate the feeling. Nowhere in the world felt as safe as this. A familiar pang twinged in her chest. Yet how new it felt, and how strange. She loved him. It made her stomach swirl. Then she felt a wave of nausea.

She shoved Adler away and hurled over the side of the bed again. Some of her vomit splattered on his shoes.

Adler, to her surprise, laughed.

"Believe it or not Bell I'm capable of cleaning a floor. I might have to send you a bill for the shoes sometime though."

She didn't look at him for a while; she could hear him getting the already stained towels and doing his best to collect her sick into a manageable pile. It had been a long time since she had been this humiliated. Like being twelve and falling in the mud in front of the girls from school she so desperately wanted to impress. They laughed at her stained dress and called her shitty skirt for weeks.

She flinched out of her memories; Adler was patting a cold cloth round her face.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

His rough voice was so gentle for a moment. She nodded.

"I know we don't have time for this. I'll be back on my feet tomorrow."

"Good. We can't turn back now. Too many lives are on the line."

"I know."

"What we've got coming is rougher than Lubyanka. So I need to know; what happened? If you can't remember, it's alright. I want to help— if I can—"

If only she knew. Well, she partly did; but she didn't let her mind entertain the possibility. She feared he was maybe right after all, and she's lost whatever nerve she had back in 'Nam.

"t just… it makes no sense, Russ. It was like watching the world crumble down. Like 'Nam…"

"But you survived 'Nam."

"I know but… I could really feel it this time. There was something personal to it. I felt like the blood was my own. Like walking into your kitchen, finding your family slaughtered. Those boys— those men—I suddenly felt like I knew them. It's so ridiculous now to think about, you don't need to tell me that it is. Maybe I'm going crazy…~"

Adler just stared into her face; his own was imperceptible. He placed a peck on her forehead; affection, or a way to stop her from sussing him out? Something in his expression reminded her of Lazar's before he was interrupted. A hint of panic, like being caught out in a lie. A cold tingle went down her spine. She had the feeling she had to remember something, but she didn't know what; just that something lay below her consciousness and she wasn't sure if she was able to face it.

"We've got a job to do, Bell," he mumbled. "Keep it together as long as you can. Otherwise you'll see a lot more bloodshed. A lot more families will die. And I don't think we'll all make it out again this time."

Then her mind began to clear. Her throbbing lessened. She would be fine; she would be able to do it for him. Why had she ever doubted it? She was his cadet, his comrade, his lover. She was born to do it. Ready-made for this moment.

She went to wash up; Adler brought her a towel from his room, and then went to get her something to eat. As she dried off, she noticed more scrapes on her bare skin; all the rough ground she had skidded across, all the bullets that had grazed her, all the cinders from jumping fire that had barely missed her. She had been lucky, all things considered. A smile began to stretch across her face. Lubyanka. She knew what Lubyanka was. And she had manage to infiltrate it? And live?

Echoes of her own roaring laughter bounced round the bathroom walls and she found her ribs aching as she bent over, unable to stop the wave of euphoria that rushed through her. She had made it. Hardest mission of her life, and she had made it. She had proved herself better than the best, the most prestigious spy headquarters in the world. Even if Russell Adler left her in a ditch after this, she had done something to be proud of.

On the way back to the safehouse, she reached for Adler's hand. He let her hold it for a second, then squeezed it firmly and pulled his hand away. The equivalent of a brother's awkward grimace when you hugged him on Christmas day. Unwilling to let the foreignness of affection into his cold emotionless world.

It didn't bother her. If all she'd had was all she was going to get, it was enough. But she still hoped. Once this was all over… maybe then, maybe then it would be different.

She dozed as she sat, the rattling car rocking her into slumber like a baby. And she began to dream, one of the many she seemed to have repeating in her mind, though she couldn't ever seem to make sense of it.

She was floating, hovering above a dark stretch of tarmac. Where was she? It was somewhere she knew…

Fires were blazing all around. Trucks overturned, lost wheels spinning feet from their axels, faceless bodies and a trail of debris scattered like trash in the wind.

She was dead. Wasn't she?

Then suddenly she began to fall, swooping through a white tunnel into blackness. Something was pulling her arm— she was in her body, her aching body, something burning across her chest. She couldn't see. She could only hear voices, hard to understand. A smell of raw fuel choked her nostrils, and she began to cough, Her ribs nearly cracked as she did. She tasted iron. Blood, so much blood, filling her entire mouth. She tried to spit but her mouth wouldn't open. She began to choke, bile rising, blood beginning to seep across her lips—

Suddenly she was upside down; all the contents of her stomach spilled out, splattering across the runway. A voice in her ear, rough, shouted in English: "stay with us. Goddammit, you're going to stay alive." A voice she knew…

She awoke with a start.

"Come on, Bell. We've got a job to do."