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21 April 2014 @ 06:40 pm
"A Voice in the Dark" (Lucas/OC; Thriller/Romance- PG13/R) Chapter XIV  
TITLE: A Voice in the Dark

AUTHOR: Lexie aka

FANDOM: Spooks/MI5

RATING: Mild R for this chapter


SUMMARY: Section D has a traitor in its midst and a mysterious man arrives with what appears to be the key to rid MI5 of the mole. This fic is my own version of Series 7.

Disclaimer: all recognisable characters belong to BBC and Kudos Productions; I'm just playing with them for a little while without making a profit. No infringement's intended.



A/N: Sorry for the long delay in posting this update. RL got in the way and the nature of the chapter demanded some careful planning and editing until I got the result I wanted. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Only the epilogue left to wrap it up, ladies.I'm going to try hard not to keep you hanging for too long.


Standing sheltered by the eaves, Annabelle observed the snow fall steadily and cover the trimmed hedge that separated the guesthouse from the grounds which were occupied by the main property. She breathed in several lungfuls of the cold winter air and struggled to control the shivering that had seized her the moment the adrenaline rush began to wear off.

Seeing her cross her arms in an attempt to fight off the chill, Tom took a step forward and, taking off his coat, placed the oversize garment over her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, getting a shy smile and a gentle squeeze of her arm as a reply.

“He'll be fine, Annabelle. He only needs time," he added, noticing her misty eyes. “Listen, I need a word with CO19. Do you mind if...?”

“It's OK, Tom. Go ahead,” she told him with a reassuring smile.

No sooner had Lucas' best friend joined the leader of the special unit than Sir Harry materialised at her side.

“He was an outstanding officer,” he stated, looking at Quinn conversing and laughing with an old acquaintance from CO19.

“What happened? You could cut the atmosphere with a knife when you two saw each other inside.”

“He shot me five years ago.”


“A long story and one I promise to enlighten you about sometime. Now I suppose you have a lot of questions about another tall and handsome agent.”

“How much of what you told me when you and Ruth dined with me was true?”

"The man I sent to Russia to uncover the network was Lucas North, of course. He was my best officer, my Chief of Section, and surrogate son. That much was true,” he confessed. “Vyeta was Bateman's new handler," Harry went on. "She was recruited after her brother was shot by one of our operatives when we were hunting down members of Tiresias in our secret services. Apparently, before dying, he told her Lucas had sold him out.Then, to trap our traitor, we discreetly put the word out that another player would pay big for the name of the man who'd revealed the secrets of Tiresias. Bateman took our bait."

“What a fool I've been! Last night, it was you on the phone, wasn't it? You called to make arrangements to catch Bateman when he turned up today. You've been working with Lucas all along. They were expecting you.”

“Yes, but if you hadn't shot Bateman, all would have been for nothing.”

“And you knew it was Elizaveta who was after Lucas. You should have told me, Harry.”

“We didn't know who Bateman's handler was, but we needed them to come forward. It was the only way we could discover how much we'd been compromised and what sensitive information Bateman had passed onto the Russians. It wasn't a question of lack of trust, Annabelle. I kept you under protective surveillance for a long time, but when months went by and there was no hint anybody knew your name or Lucas' whereabouts...”

"And my abduction? Whose idea was it? Yours?"

"No," Harry admitted."As it was to be expected, Lucas didn't trust any of us. His allegiance was questioned by the service because of his eight years' imprisonment in Russia and he, in turn, wasn't ready to play by the rules of MI5 when we admitted there was a traitor in our ranks."

"He thought I was the traitor, didn't he?"

"I don't think that's what happened. I believe that when he learnt about the deaths in Section D, he was afraid you'd be next. You'd been closest to the asset and he was aware of what would happen if the FSB discovered that fact. And... I also think he just wanted to see you again. The deal we made gave him the perfect excuse."

"He accused me of selling out our asset."

"The first thing Bateman did was try to convince Lucas you were the traitor. He provided the photoshopped picture and a record of a supposed payoff as proof."

"Why did you keep me in the dark once it was all over? Why didn't you tell me who he was?"

"It was the only thing he asked of me, Annabelle, in return for all he'd done. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was adamant.....The Service owed him so much, and I suppose my own sense of guilt over my inability to get him back sooner left me no choice but to grant him his wish."

"Did you ..." she hesitated."Before I confessed, did you know what had happened between us? Did he tell you?"

"It wasn't hard to figure out how he felt when you were shot. I thought he was going to kill me and Ros for letting you get hurt."

"You could have given me some hint, Harry."

"I tried to give you the crucifix. And I thought a linguist with a keen sense of hearing such as yours would recognise his voice.”

His voice. Could it be her subconscious had known who it belonged to from the very first moment? Was that the reason she'd trusted him when common sense said she shouldn't?

“I'm the least equipped to give advice on affairs of the heart, but you and Lucas are the closest thing to family I've got. I'd hate to see you both let happiness pass you by. I've been there, Annabelle. Don't make the same mistake.”

*~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *

Harry and CO19 had driven away when Annabelle decided it was high time she made her way back into the guesthouse and finish a conversation long overdue.

Hesitantly she stood before the library door, which lay ajar, closed her eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to slow down her palpitating heart. He was just a few feet away, but crossing that distance felt like taking tentative steps on the fragile surface of a frozen lake.

Her rational mind told her to walk across the room and slap him; it was the least he deserved for making her believe she'd been nothing but a one-night stand. And yet her heart thawed on seeing him sitting again on the sofa, his body tense like a bowstring ready to snap; the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn't need her anger; he was doing more than an adequate job berating himself without any extra help.

“I thought you had left.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“ I told you what I wanted you to do.”

“Yes, to go home. But I am home, Lucas. Don't you see? Everything's changed. You led me to think my feelings for you were a betrayal of who I am, and now I know there was nothing to feel ashamed of.”


“You're a good man, an honourable man.”

“I can't give you what you want, Golubushka.”

Could it be she'd been wrong all along? Was her deep love for this wounded soul blinding her and making her see things that weren't really there? If Lucas kept on denying he had feelings for her and insisted on her leaving, was there anything she could do to make him change his mind?

"Are you saying you don't care about me? That you never have... not that way.. and that you never will?"

A pregnant silence ensued until his impossibly long eyelashes raised the veil that had prevented his deeply expressive blue-grey eyes from speaking the truth.

Looking into those bottomless pools and reading the sea of need and despair written in them filled Annabelle with bittersweet hope and a suddenly overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Although she found relief in knowing her feelings were requited, she wondered if she could give him what he wanted of her. Could she live up to the image of the woman she saw reflected in his eyes?

The wordless confession had left both of them feeling vulnerable, particularly Lucas, who seemed to have developed a sudden fascination with his own hands, so intent was his study of those long fingers which had played her like an instrument in the dark and that were now spread against his denim-covered thighs.

“If that's how you feel, then I can't see any real impediment to...” she began, plucking up the courage to fight for this man and, yes, for them. She was scared witless but determined not to let the miracle of love pass them by, not after everything they'd been through to get where they were now.

“You almost died here today, Golubushka,” he interrupted her softly. “And all because of me. Who's to say there won't be others coming after me in the future? I don't want you involved.”

“It's too late for that. I've been involved since that first night, when I stepped into the dark and fell in love with a dying man whose face I thought I'd never get to see. So tell me, Lucas, why are you really trying to get rid of me?"

“What do you want from me, Annabelle?”

“You know what I want. Stop pushing me away.”

“You don't know what you're asking for.”

“Try me.”

“You're one of the strongest people I know, Golubushka, but you've got your whole life ahead of you. You deserve better.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“God, woman, you know what I mean! You deserve someone who's whole!”

“Well, I've got news for you, Lucas. I don't want anyone but you. And if there are ghosts to fight and dragons to slay, I want to be by your side to face them together.”

"Annabelle..." he interjected, swallowing hard, only to be hushed by Annabelle's fingers on his mouth.

“I'm not a martyr and you'd be a fool to condemn yourself to being one out of a foolish sense of chivalry. I'm not a shrinking violet, Lucas. I think I've proven that already. So why don't you just stop being so bloody noble and kiss me, North?”

“Have you always been this stubborn?” he asked in a raspy voice, looking down into her tender eyes.

“The pot calling the kettle black.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he shook his head.

“You're going to have to get used to my stubbornness if you insist on denying I'm the one in the right,” she murmured with a mischievous smile.

With unusually shaky fingers, he tucked a stray tendril of reddish brown hair behind her dainty ear.

колдунья, what kind of spell did you cast upon me?” he added huskily, slowly urging her up to meet his descending mouth.

*~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *

Lucas was sitting on the bed with his back to her, his fingers hovering hesitatingly over the lower buttons of his shirt, which was now half undone.

Something was wrong; Annabelle knew it just by looking at him. He seemed to be in a world of his own, one he appeared to be struggling to come to grips with, judging by the rictus of grief and... shame... etched on his face. An overwhelming sense of dread seized her.

Although a dozen scenarios crossed her mind, all of which ended up with Lucas sending her packing and her nursing a broken heart, none of them came close to what was haunting the man she loved.

Stop it, Annabelle. You dare cry in front of him, and it's over. A soon as he sees your tears, he'll clam up and push you away; this time forever, she chided herself the moment she saw the hand which had caressed her with such a tender touch abuse the skin of his own right wrist rubbing it raw as if his ultimate goal were to draw blood.

Dum Spiro Spero. While I breathe, I hope. The words in ink etched across his shoulders and peeking out from underneath the collar of his blue shirt clutched at her heart, and a fleeting image of a hand discreetly pulling down a cuff at the Home Secretary's residence made all the pieces suddenly fall into place.

Common sense told her to grab her things, run away and protect her heart since the road in front of them would be a bumpy one. Still, the urge to hug him and help him mend was too overwhelming to fight it. Her heart had already made up its mind.

Slowly she took off the bathrobe she'd donned after having a shower and, lying it on the armchair, climbed up onto the bed, trying her best to make her presence known in as subtle a way as she could manage.

любовь моя,” she murmured, kneeling on the deep blue satin sheets and carefully wrapping her arms around his trembling body.

“Anna,” he replied in a quivering voice.

“Shhh...” she hushed him softly, pressing a gossamer kiss on his cheek while covering his hands with hers in an attempt to prevent him from rebuttoning his shirt.

They stayed in silence, locked in a comforting embrace, until Lucas' heartbeat slowed down and the thin sheen of perspiration which had covered his brow faded away.

Annabelle's eyelids fluttered open when the weight of his head, which had rested upon her shoulder, left her and a kiss from his warm lips brushed her right hand.

Turning in the circle of her arms, he cupped her face gently between his long-fingered hands and traced her delicate features with loving and still slightly haunted eyes as if he wanted to commit her face to memory, afraid of the moment when she would be snatched away from his side.

“You're breathtaking,” he murmured, finally lowering his mouth to hers.

Her arms snaked around his neck and he tightened his hold on her body, moving his hands down her spine to bring her closer without relinquishing the sweet intoxicating nectar of her lips.

Eventually, the long-drawn kiss came to a reluctant end, and he raised his head with a boyish smile, which made her heart flutter.

“You look like the proverbial cat that got the cream, Mr North,” she chuckled, brushing away a few tendrils of jet black hair that lay on his forehead before tracing his strong nose with her index finger to draw a straight line, which came to a stop at the base of his throat.“No more hiding,” she added after a pregnant pause, urging him with her eyes to trust her with his heart.

Lowering his gaze, he covered the hand she had placed on his chest, just where Blake's “Ancient of Days” had been etched by the crude tools he´d allowed to desecrate his body in order to survive another day in the hell he once thought would be his final resting place.

Annabelle's heart skipped a beat, afraid she'd pushed too far too soon, and then soared when he threaded his fingers with hers and urged her to help him undo the bottom buttons of his shirt.

Gnothi Seuton read the Delphic maxim tattooed on his lower abdomen. Know thyself.

The iconography on his pale skin spoke of someone who'd clung to faith and God even when Hope was at its lowest and Man appeared to have deserted him.

“Methodist minister.”


“You should have seen your face, Golubushka,” he smirked. “I wasn't talking about me, but my father.”

“Good to know. Although a white collar might look sexy on you.”

“You think so?”

“Are you fishing for compliments, Mr North?” she asked in a husky voice. If playful banter was what was needed to put him at ease, she was more than happy to oblige.

The man was unquestionably good at deflecting attention from himself and in the wink of an eye the tables were turned, making Annabelle the focus when his intense blue-grey eyes spotted the scar left by the bullet she'd taken to save his life- an ugly mar she always took pains to hide.

Lowering his mouth, he pressed a kiss on the scarring and then brushed a few more kisses up the milky column of her throat. Her eyes closed when his warm lips retraced their trail and found the smooth ivory skin of her breasts crowned by pebbled peaks claiming for attention.

How many nights she'd dreamt he'd touch her like this. And now he was, and she felt herself burn, tingle with anticipation as his hands explored the curves and indentations of her young body intent on making her ache for the moment when they would know the joy of becoming one in the light for the first time.

She gasped at the pleasure he gave to her with his lips and musical fingers and felt her breathing deepen when her eyelids drifted open to find his smouldering gaze locked on her face.

"I've missed you so much," he told her in a raspy voice.

"Love me, please,"she whispered.

Ты очень н нужна мне,“ he replied as she opened to welcome him like the petals of the fragrant rose whose perfume enveloped him every time he nuzzled her neck or buried his nose in her hair.

His slow movements belied the passion and urgent need that burnt in his eyes but were unquestionable proof of his love, and Annabelle found herself suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, struggling to keep the tears from welling up.

“Anna...” he moaned eventually, asking with his eyes for her permission to let himself go.

“I love you, Lucas North,” she replied, reaching for his mouth and letting the fire, which he'd quietly stoked, consume them both in a bursting flame.

*~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *

"Annabelle,” he began, his lips lightly touching her brow as she lay against his chest, “there's so much..."

"None of it matters, Lucas,” she hushed him, watching his impossibly long eyelashes lower and veil the mesmerizing blue of his eyes. “Nothing will make what I feel for you go away. I just want to be with you. I'm not asking you for anything in return."

She knew that this was right, that what they had was inevitable. She only had to convince him that all the ghosts and dragons which he imagined might interfere could be crippled or overcome with her at his side.

колдунья (Sorceress)
любовь моя (My love)
Ты очень н нужна мне (I need you so much.)


A/N: A lot might be said about Lucas' tattoos for they certainly are a fascinating topic. Some of you might argue that they define him- I agree with that- and others might go so far as to say he's proud of them because they're testament to his survival. Although it's true that they're a map of his physical & psychological journey as a prisoner, you've got to remember this isn't the Lucas we met in Series 8 or 9, who seems to have grown into his tattoos.

I couldn't help but remember two scenes from Series 7- the bathroom scene with Harry at Thames House and the kitchen scene with Vyeta. Neither of them, in my opinion, showed a man proud of the ink etching his skin. Richard's body language was very telling in both scenes. He was clearly guilt-tripping his mentor when he turned around, opened his arms and had Harry look at the physical evidence of the torment he'd gone through. Still, the best proof of how tainted and embarrassed he actually felt can be found in the uncomfortable scene at Vyeta's kitchen when he basically shrinks and hides his skin in front of the woman he still loves. The opening of the bedroom scene in this fic owes a lot to that kitchen scene for it's my belief he would have probably reacted the same way on the show if it had been Vyeta in the bedroom with him.

Here are a couple of clips to illustrate what I mean. By the way, you'll have to fast-forward:

Series 7 Episode 1 New Allegiances 25:00 Lucas & Harry bathroom scene


Series 7 Episode 2 Split Loyalties 52:46 Lucas & Vyeta kitchen scene

Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
rjforap: RArjforap on April 23rd, 2014 04:31 am (UTC)
Another awesome chapter. Lots of symbolism. Can't wait to read more :)
melusine6619 on April 27th, 2014 12:15 am (UTC)
Beautifully done! The emotions were so easy to see and feel. Annabelle's responses to Lucas' shame and despair were as perfect as the description of his feelings. Will be sorry to see this end, but I'm looking forward to how you finish their story.