CHAPTER VI

CLOS MAGGIORE- COVENT GARDEN

Friday November 14h, 2008

Later that evening Vyeta sits across the table from the man who's been nudged into her life by her father, trying to concentrate on Nicholas and failing miserably to drag her mind away from her pleasant afternoon with Lucas.

Having collected Ioann from Tom's, Lucas drove them back to her flat and spent a few hours talking about inane things, topics meant to make her feel safe. And it worked, until she felt suddenly too comfortable in his company and it didn't feel safe anymore. He made her feel too much, rendered her vulnerable to his unassuming charm, made her want to smile back at him, rake her fingers through his unusually long black hair and experience the magic of his kisses once again.

Despite the cosy nook and the intimate dinner à deux in one of the most romantic French restaurants in London, she can't stop thinking about Lucas's imprisonment or forget both his determination to protect her and their son and his resolve to give their marriage a second chance.

She sips her wine and manufactures a quick smile nodding in agreement to whatever it is Nick has ordered as a starter for them both, hoping the carefully constructed façade doesn't crumble and betray her innermost thoughts; she isn't sure of anything anymore.

"You're unusually quiet tonight. Is anything the matter?"

"I'm sorry, I've got a lot on my mind," she smiles apologetically. "I'm not very good company, I'm afraid."

"This isn't about the new exhibition, is it? North's return has unsettled you," Nick says bluntly.

That was putting it mildly. Lucas' return and the rollercoaster of emotions she's been on since seeing him in the flesh once again have turned her world upside down.

"You are not alone, Vyeta. There's your father and me. If North's making you feel uncomfortable in any way... "

"Nicholas," she interrupts him kindly, "Lucas might have been declared dead by our legal system, but he's very much alive. He's been through a lot, and I just..." she swallows the lump in her throat, reaching for the glass of expensive white wine the sommelier's just poured. "He's my son's father," she adds quietly.

"You still have feelings for him," Nick concludes at the end of a pregnant pause.

"Pretending I don't wouldn't be fair to either of you."

"Does that mean you still love him?"

"I... we have a history together, Nick. That can't be erased overnight."

Nicholas watches her face in the dimly lit restaurant, doing an admirable job to keep his emotions tightly concealed. Vyeta may not be in love with the man, but she's aware that her reticence to give him a straight answer has hurt him.

"Where does that leave us then, Vyeta?"

She looks down at the engagement ring on her hand before raising her teary eyes to meet his.

"You're going back to him."

"No," she denies quickly, as much for her benefit as for his. "No. I'm… I'm not going back to Lucas. I'm moving on."

"Then why this indecision where you and I are concerned?"

Vyeta isn't sure of many things, including the reason why she's come to this decision, but what she does understand is that to continue dating Nicholas would be a mistake for everybody involved.

She's thought about everything Lucas said, about giving him and their marriage a chance. She's filled with doubts, afraid of replaying what happened to them, but still wondering if his job had really been the sole culprit of what went wrong with their marriage. Maybe she had unrealistic expectations back then. Although she'll never know now, she's certain of what has to be done as far as Nicholas is concerned.

"Seeing Lucas again has complicated things in many ways. And yet, it's also clarified some

things for me... The relationship that you and I have, Nick, is very special to me. You were there for me when I needed a friend. Never doubt my love for you."

"But you're not in love with me the way I am with you. Not the way you're with your ex-husband."

Vyeta curves her urge to correct him and say Lucas isn't her ex-husband, or late husband, but her husband. He's alive and they're still married in the eyes of God. However, she feels she's already inflicted enough pain for one night.

"I'm sorry, Nick. You deserve to have that love returned. I'm so sorry I can't be the one to do that," she tells him, holding his left hand gently and placing the diamond engagement ring on his palm before wrapping his fingers around it with a soft squeeze.

Slowly withdrawing his hand from hers, he lifts his glass to his lips and takes a moment to collect himself.

"So, shall we order the main course?" he asks after a moment.

Noble and impassive, seemingly unaffected by what's just transpired between them, she's letting her go without a fuss.

She knows it's utterly unfair to compare both men. Lucas is as noble as Nicholas, she's seen ample proof of that; and she knows the man she's been married to for twelve years can be just as impassive- it's a necessary tool in his trade. Yes, she doesn't doubt he would take a step aside if he thought she'd be happy with Nick, if he were convinced she was in love with the other man, but she isn't and Lucas knows it. Still, Lucas has always been passionate when it comes to matters of the heart.

Despite the way things had been between them before Lucas left on his ill-fated mission in Russia, the strength of her feelings for him had never been in question. Theirs wasn't a cold marriage and whatever foolish doubts she had once harboured of his seeking attention elsewhere when he spent more and more time away from home were put definitely to rest when she learnt the truth about his job. Nicholas deserves to have the kind of love she's known with Lucas and offering him less would be a betrayal on so many levels.

"The crab mousse was wonderful. As are you. Friends?" she asks, her voice laced with compassion and concern.

"Always," he replies with warm eyes and a sad smile.

Vyeta tells herself she's done the right thing, and yet she can't help but feel anxious and ill-equipped to handle what lies ahead.

Saturday November 15th, 2008

Lucas is looking forward to moving into his luminous and airy new flat with its bank of windows overlooking The Thames. Eight years of living in a windowless cell have prompted in him a desperate yearning for open spaces; he finds his rooms in the terraced house MI-5 has given him stifling, and the prickling sense of being constantly watched is irrefutable evidence that he's back in England but still not back home. No matter how officious and charming the old lady just across the corridor appears to be, she's an ever-present reminder that the Service doesn't trust him yet.

Making sure his mobile is charged, he slips it into the pocket of his long overcoat, snags the keys to his transitory accommodation and opens the front door when his phone rings.

Harry.

After a quick, to-the-point discussion with the head of Section D, whose ramifications he hopes won't jeopardise the headway he's made with Vyeta, he buys a disposable phone on the way and ambles to Battersea Park to enjoy the open space and make the call he's been putting off since his arrival in London.

"Da. "

"Harry Pierce has called me onto the Grid. He wants to talk about you."

"Well, pleased as I am to hear from you, Lucas, your standing orders are never to make direct contact with is what handlers are for."

"Well, I've yet to meet my handler, Arkady, and this is a one-use phone."

"What will you tell him?"

"That you're a pussy cat. You need to watch your back. Harry's developed a particular animus for you."

"He's jealous. He worries for your loyalty. He has to be, he's a spy. But still this need to worry, it wounds him. He wants to trust you, he yearns to trust you. And therefore in his heart, he has decided to trust you, whether he is aware of that fact, or not."

"You've got to feel sorry for the poor bastard."

"I promise I will try."

"You know given the chance, he's gonna eat you alive."

"No. Let us hope, if he ever gets the chance, he has a hearty can be no more direct contact, Lucas. We don't see each other, we don't speak to each other again. This is the nature of your life now. You must live as though your friends are your enemies, your enemies are friends. I must ask you to do this for me. My operation will make contact very shortly."

"Over and out, then."

"Over and out."

VYETA'S FLAT

It's been eight years since he stood at the front door of this flat – their flat- one that holds so many bittersweet memories. He fidgets with the bunch of roses for Vyeta and the special gift he got Ioann from an antiquarian a couple of days ago and wishes the two phone calls hadn't marred the plans he had made for them to spend Saturday evening together.

Raising his arm to press the buzzer, he lets his hand hover and then knocks tentatively on the door. An old neighbour who had recognised him let him in and, although Lucas tells himself that it's his family and … his home... and that he still holds the deed of the flat, he's now second-guessing his barging on them unannounced.

The few seconds that elapse from the moment he knocks till the sound of the chain and the lock is heard stretch like endless minutes.

"Good afternoon," he says, standing in the doorway with a sheepish smile.

"Hi," answers Vyeta blushing, accepting a kiss on her cheek and taking the delicate bouquet he offers her.

She looks domestic and lovely, and he feels his heart start to melt when she lets him in while nervously touching the ribbon she haphazardly tied back her hair with to check it's still in place.

"You look beautiful," he tells her softly, trying to hide how fast his heart has started to gallop on noticing she's no longer wearing the engagement ring on her left hand.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Lucas. Maybe she's just removed it to do the dishes after lunch.

"Hi," he adds with a smile, seeing their son standing a few feet away.

"Hi," the tall boy answers. looking curiously at the wood carved box Lucas is still holding.

"Oh!" he exclaims, suddenly realising his mooning over Vyeta has made him forget the present for his son. "This is for you."

"What is it?" asks the boy shyly, darting a questioning look at his mother.

Vyeta shrugs and clears an end of the dining table, which they've been using to work on a school project, so that he can set the box down. "Go on. Open it and we'll find out."

"Oh, wait! There's something you'll need to unlock it," adds Lucas, slipping his hand into the watch pocket of his jeans and extracting a small key that he profers to his son.

Ioann's face breaks into a luminous smile on seeing the Russian handcarved chess set that is revealed as he lifts up the lid.

"Spasibo. Eto krasivo," the usually quiet boy tells him visibly touched by the gift as he rushes to Lucas and wraps his young arms tightly around his father's waist.

"Pozhaluysta," he murmurs hoarsely, holding his son close and meeting Vyeta's suspiciously bright eyes with his own veiled by tears.

"Can we play a match, Dad?"

"Sure," laughs Lucas, surreptitiously drying his eyes. "I'll play black. Why don't you get everything ready? I need to have a word with your Mum first."

"OK. Mum says you're as good a player as granddad, so it should be good practice for the tournament," replies Ioann excitedly.

Vyeta steps into the kitchen and goes to the sink, where she proceeds to fill the kettle with cold water from the tap in an attempt to collect herself before facing Lucas again. The deeply emotional scene in the dining-room has left her rattled and torn; Ioann needs his father, whom he takes after so much in looks and character it used to be a source of comfort and bittersweet pain when she believed her husband dead.

She's told Nicholas she's ready to move on, but how is she supposed to go about it without making everyone involved miserable? Seeing the usually reserved and shy boy feeling so comfortable and trusting around Lucas, with whom he's managed to develop a strong and loving bond in such a short time, makes Vyeta question the wisdom of making a clean break and starting anew. Although she's promised Lucas he'll have unrestricted access to his son, deep in her heart she knows he wants and needs more; he needs her too. How can she hurt the two people who mean the most to her in the world? She hates these crippling and tangled emotions, the fear of the past repeating itself, of not being able to protect their son from heartbreak and, above all, of not being capable of helping Lucas put his nightmares behind and heal.

Lucas watches Vyeta plug in the electric kettle, fetch her favourite Twinnings blend and arrange the tea set on a tray. He knows the scene in the other room has unsettled her and that she clearly needs time to regroup, so he patiently waits for her to finish putting everything together to broach the subject he's been mulling over since early in the afternoon.

"That was a beautiful gift, Lucas. It must have cost you a good penny."

"It was more than worth it to see him smile."

"He'd love you even without expensive gifts, but it was very thoughtful of you. He'll treasure it just because it came from your hands."

"I wish I'd been the one to teach him how to play."

"I know," she says softly.

Although he wants to reach for her, hold her and have her hold him, make him forget he still stands to lose everything that is precious to him, her posture communicates uncertainty on her part, so he shoves his shaky hands in his pockets.

"Is everything all right?" she asks anxiously, noticing there's something weighing heavily on his mind.

"Define everything," he chuckles.

"I'm... Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. What I meant was..."

"It's OK, love. I know what you meant. Have your heard from Arkady since we spoke of him last?"

"No. Why?"

"He's probably going to contact you today. I want you to do what we agreed; tell him you've decided to accept being my handler."

"There has to be another way."

"We've already discussed this, Vyeta. It's the best way. And I don't have a choice; I'm still on leave but..."

How many times has he said the words 'I have to go.' to her? He can see in her eyes that she's thinking the same thing.

He swears under his breath, rubbing his hand over his jaw before covering his mouth with it in a clear gesture of impotence."I hate this. Something's come up... I..."

She keeps her distance, yet her eyes are full of concern and he can see in them that whatever there is between them is a long way from being resolved—and that gives him hope.

"You don't need to explain."

"Yes, I do. I need to make you understand, Vyeta. They need me. They're depending on me."

"When is it going to stop? Haven't you already given them enough, Lucas? When is it ever going to be about what you need... what our family... needs?"

"Sladkij..."

"Dad? Are you coming?"

"Give us one more minute, Ioann! Vyeta..."

"Go," she says, cutting into her husband's regrets, meeting his expressive blue-grey gaze with a look that tells him she may understand more than he's given her credit for.

Submitting to the yearning he's been holding back since he set foot in the flat, he crosses the distance between them and folds her fiercely into his arms.

"Sorry, love. This isn't the way I wish things were right now. Don't give up on us yet, please," he appeals against the silk of her hair, holding the back of her head. "I'll find the of the time we've lost and what we have to gain by seeing this through."

Even though she wants to believe that he's changed, that his priorities have changed, the indisputable fact is that he's leaving again the way he used to before his ill-fated trip to Russia.

"Your father taught him well. He almost wiped the floor with me," he tells Vyeta with a lopsided grin as he puts on his blue wool trench coat.

"If he plays as well as he does, it has nothing to do with my father."

"What do you mean? I thought he said his grandfather had taught him."

"Yes, that's true. It wasn't my father but yours who introduced him to the game."

"My father?" he croaks.

"Yes. He loved you, Lucas. You should stop torturing yourself. We talked a lot in his final days. He was so proud of you. Getting to know his grandson and bonding with him was of great comfort to both your parents. Have you seen your Mum yet?"

"No," he shakes his head, "she doesn't know I'm back yet."

"What?! Why? Whose idea was it to keep her in the dark? Sir Harry bloody Pearce's?!" she explodes. "If I had known, I would have made the call myself."

"It wasn't Harry's decision. He wanted to phone her or send someone to bring her to London. I asked him not to," he explains in an even voice, his head bowed and his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

"But why, Lucas? She's your mother. You're all she's got left apart from her grandson now."

"After everything that happened to my brother... I felt... I still feel ashamed of having put her through hell again."

"She understands a lot more than you think," she tells him soothingly, squeezing his left upper arm gently.

"I need more time," he confesses hoarsely, locking his haunted eyes with hers.

"All right," she concedes grudgingly. "I still think she should know, but if that's what you need... I only hope that Harry lives up to his word."

"Thanks. He will."

"I hope you're right because I don't trust him. I still can't understand what you need to prove to that man. He knew all the time where you were and let you rot in that hell hole for eight long years."

"It wasn't like that. I knew what I was risking when I took up that mission. I was MI5 when we married, MI5 all those years in prison, and... "

"You're MI5 now," she completes.

"Yes, I am," he agrees, meeting her eyes with a fleeting look of desolation that tells her MI5 might end up being all he has left in the world if she doesn't give him and their marriage a second chance.

"There's more to you... and to life... than your job, Lucas. And if what you were looking for when you joined was some kind of atonement, you've more than paid for it."

"I need to do this one thing, Vyeta," he adds after a brief, pregnant silence."And then... I promise everything will be different this time," he swears earnestly, cupping her cheek before lowering his mouth to kiss her with tempered urgency.

With tenderness he lingers lovingly over her mouth, asking tentatively for admittance until she opens to him and he melts into her kiss.

Vyeta can't find it in her to push him away and is suddenly drowning in sensations. She's missed the feel of his hands, both gentle and possessive. She's missed the feel of his body pressed against hers, making her aware of how long it's been since either of them experienced the touch of a lover. She's missed his taste and the way he smells, that comforting and alluring fragrance of herbal soap and aftershave and that indefinable something that is only his. She's dizzy and aching, consumed by the need to feel his skin against hers with no barriers between them.

Lucas drags his mouth from hers reluctantly and tucks her head under his chin, stroking her silky long black hair, which has finally come loose.

"God, I've missed you. There's nothing I'd rather do than stay and kiss you all over again," he murmurs achingly,"but they're waiting for me, and I'm already running late, sladkij."

Embarrassed and shaky, she lets him set her away.

"Here. Take it," he tells her, pressing a key into her palm. "It's to the flat in the Docklands. Could you work on it... make it feel like home?"

Stunned by the request, she only manages to stare from the key to his gaunt face in an attempt to process the implications.

Taking her silence for concession, he bids her goodbye and, with one last lingering look, turns to leave.

"Lucas."

He stops, tightening his grip on the doorknob. Vyeta notices the tension coiled in his shoulders and back and has the unsettling feeling he's bracing himself for a blow.

When he turns back, he's wearing a self-assured smile, but those beautifully intense blue-grey eyes, which are capable of reflecting a world of emotions in their depths, are telling a completely different story. It's the naked vulnerability she perceives in his defensive stance and those sad eyes that stop her from listing all the reasons why she can't work on his flat and telling him he shouldn't read too much in that kiss.

"About Nicholas…"

A dead silence hangs in the air between them.

"I want you to know that it's over."

More silence ensues, but this time there's hope in his eyes and the slow smile that flickers across his face.

"It doesn't change things between us," she adds gently. "I..."

"Don't think about what scares you, sladkij. Think about what we have and what we can continue to build. All that time. Eight years. I thought of nothing but you. And I know, despite everything, it's been the same for you. I may have lied about what I do for a living, but you know this much is true; I love you, Vyetachka."

He kisses her again swiftly, this time on the cheek, bids her goodbye and walks out the door to put the wheels to their deliverance in motion.

A/N: the dialogue between Lucas & Arkady Kachimov was taken verbatim from S07E02-"Split Loyalties."