Metallic, imposing, and barely distinguishable from the iron grey water that surrounded it, Deronda's warship was anchored in the lonely ocean. No land was visible, not even from this height, nothing but the grey ocean, its crashing waves tipped with foam, stretching out for miles, as far as the eye could see.
The tension finally began to leave Ashleigh; she unclenched her fists, her short nails leaving little half moon indents in the tender flesh of her palm. In the headphones that had been forced onto her as she had fought with her harness, she could hear the pilots making the preparations for landing.
The anger had finally subsided. But in its place there was nothing. She felt emotionally drained. Her knuckles hurt where they had caught Alec's cheekbone, she couldn't believe she had hit him. However, she felt no remorse for her actions, as he had goaded her, she thought she had lost control, but she hadn't. She had known exactly what she was doing, and the satisfaction of the first blow had been immense. The look on his face had been priceless. She gave a tiny smile, her first since Alec's tirade.
His bluntness about her father had shocked her. To be honest, Ashleigh had few memories about her parents, but she knew that she had adored her father. But since his death, she had refused to talk about it, to take the counselling on offer to her; even the counselling forced upon her at MI6 could not make her talk about him, or her mother. The psychiatrist had given up. There was nothing that could be done; Ashleigh was a perfectly normal, balanced agent apart from that one single factor. And there appeared to be no psychological damage done by her parent's deaths. Then Alec had decided to throw a few 'home truths' at her.
And they had hit her exactly where it hurt.
For years she had questioned her father. Why had he died? Why had he let himself get into a situation where he could be killed? Was it weakness? Had he failed because of the weakness inside him? Would she fail, because she had the same weakness inside her? Would she face her final moments with a gun against her head, and nothing but a bitter emptiness inside her?
She no longer knew. If that was to be her fate, as Alec so vehemently believed, then so be it. There would only be a brief moment of pain, and then nothing, who would care if she died? She would be dead, and have no say in the matter.
Pulling away from such morbid thoughts, she finally felt able to focus on the mission. The situation they were placing themselves smack bang in the middle of, was so unbelievably stupid it could only involve James. She glanced at his dark head, knowing that he had done far riskier things than this, but this would be the first time she had placed herself alone, miles away from any back up or support, and she knew the growing feeling beneath her anger was fear. It was threatening to choke her again. Running a hand over her face she fought down the urge to frantically order the pilots to return to shore, to leave her there and let her...
What? Run back to Alec? The man that seemed determined to confuse her. She hated the way her thoughts kept sneaking back to him, but she couldn't help them. One minute he was asking her to kill his enemies, the next he was offering her an escape route - with him. How easy would it have been? To just step forward, and to take his hand, accept his offer, and then what?
She groaned, burying her head in her hands. What could she and Alec ever have? The man was a cold blooded killer, she was a spy for England. Nothing could ever happen between them that hadn't already occurred. Behind her anger she knew that, she had always known that she could never abandon her work, there were choices, so many choices to make, and Ashleigh had chosen the mission. She had rejected him for a second time. She breathed deeply, refusing to dwell on the traitorous bastard for a moment longer. Janus was history to her.
Ashleigh realised they were losing height, starting the final descent towards Deronda's ship. Staring out of the window she felt a prickle in her spine, aware on a base level that something wasn't right. She turned to James, and saw that he too was staring fixedly outside, he was also aware of what she felt.
