A Voice in the Dark

Chapter VI

TITLE: A Voice in the Dark

AUTHOR: Lexie aka lillianschild

FANDOM: Spooks/MI5

RATING: PG13

PAIRING: Lucas/OC

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.

A/N: this fic is my own version of Series 7. I will probably update it once a month, considering my busy work schedule, and try to pen a one-shot in between to continue my Guy & Marian Acrostic Series.

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.

CHAPTER 6

When Annabelle woke up the following day, the sun was high up in the sky and her head was throbbing with a dull ache.

Closing her eyes, she remembered the events of the previous night, the way his gentle and soothing touch had affected her and what it'd felt like to be held in his arms. She should stop daydreaming about her captor, but deep down she was aware it was a lot easier said than done.

Last night had been a real turning point, an experience which had left her vulnerable and emotionally stripped. She wished she could wash away the imprint of his hands and lips on her skin because, as welcome and comforting as they'd been, they only reminded her of what would never be hers.

Stepping out of the shower, she studied her face in the mirror and saw the strain of the past few days reflected in the depth of her eyes. Carefully applied make-up helped her disguise the evidence of last night's tears and gave her back the appearance of normalcy she craved. She was once again calm and collected, outwardly unaffected by his interference in her life.

Annabelle couldn't help but go over the events of the previous day. Someone had provided her kidnappers with that photo to convince them she was the one who'd betrayed the dying man. Clearly, whoever had furnished her captor with this allegedly incontestable proof of her guilt wanted to detract attention from his own involvement.

Soon after she'd finished with her ablutions a knock was heard.

“Come in,” she called, surprised when the door opened and a tall, slim and very attractive man in his early thirties stepped in carrying a tray.

Tom. She recognised his gait and perfume.

“He'd like to see you once you've finished your lunch,” he told her, his voice as deep and musical as that of his partner. “I hope you're feeling better this morning.”

“Is that an apology?” she cocked a thin and shapely eyebrow.

“If there's anyone to answer for what happened yesterday, that would be me. He didn't want you harmed in any way, and I went against his wishes. It was my call, my decision, and I was wrong. I'm sorry.”

“Had our roles been reversed and several lives been at stake, I'd probably have done the same. As to your apology, the fact that I'm not wearing a blindfold and you're showing your face for the first time is enough proof of your contrition and your actual trust in me. So let's bygones be bygones, shall we?”

“Will you come then? To meet him I mean.”

“Yes,” she agreed after a pause.

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