𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 | charlize theron

lorraine; corruption

"All that blood looks good on you, really brings out your eyes." The tape rewinds again, as if I haven't heard this line seven times already today, as if I wasn't the one who spoke the very words. The short russian inspector fingers a few buttons - incoordination and a stench of vodka emitting from him as he looks me in the eyes.

"We gave you very specific instructions Agent L/N." He says, bad breath hitting me in the face. It's all I can do to focus on not being sick as it pulsates in waves, "Do not initiate with the target."

"Let me ask you a question Corporal Gusev, do you really think, for one minute, that I believe your little facade?" I lean back in my chair, propping my feet up on the table and lighting a cigarette with my mother's antique lighter. His body remains relaxed, evidence of a man well practiced in his trade. However, his eyes give him away. "Russian intelligence is higher than English, I assure you. And you are free to tell them we believe so if you survive."

His eyes widen and his fat fingers fly to the holster at his hip. The group watching us in the interrogation room barged in through the doorway, dragging the man to his knees and cuffing him. "пошел на хуй!"

"Oh, you even learnt some of the native language. How sweet!" I laugh, standing and walking over to the other side of the table. I stick the cigarette onto his skin and watch him wiggle, "But yelling fuck you is not very nice, is it?" I remove the butt and look at the ash sticking to the bloodied mark on his cheek.

I leave the white room and throw the thing in the bin, heading straight to my room. The head stops me, "Good work today Agent, keep removing the corruption from its root. Now then, I have a new job for you."

"I thought I had a week off?" I snide, already pissed at the interference to my previous plans that pulling off under the hounds of Russian Intelligence are not easy or enjoyable to do.

"How do you feel about a trip to Britain?" I shoot him a look of curiosity, what on earth this man could want me to go England for is beyond me. Other than one thing, infiltration. "Your target...Lorraine Broughton." I shift my stance to and unbothered and loose one to not draw his attention and take the file from his hands.

I look at the blonde haired woman, with her pretty eyes and the face that was not long ago covered in blood. "I understand that Gustav was supposed to inform me about your scuffle with Miss Broughton, as recorded on tape, but I suppose other things got in the way."

I nod and meet his eyes, slamming the file shit and concealing the blue eyes I complimented not long ago. "Consider it done."

"You're my best agent for a reason L/N. Don't mess this up and get some rest. It's late." I nod and make my way to my room, packing some clothes into a bag and collapsing onto the grey sheets.  The night guard does his check and as soon as his footsteps fade away roll on the wooden floor and under my bed.

The irregular shaped floorboards are familiar under my fingertips and I click them into place, pulling out the small rectangular device. The screen lights up and I scroll to the contacts. The burner phone I managed to maintain the only contact outside of the agency.

I press on her contact and listen to the soft rings. She picks up almost immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." I whisper, shuffling uncomfortably onto my back. The wooden flooring proves to be a terrible pillow.

"You have new intel?" She questions, strictly professional. I imagine her lying on her bed in a baggy white t-shirt and knee high black socks, a cigarette hanging from her mouth and a fresh cup of tea steaming on her bedside table. A luxury the British have in their agencies.

"Yes and no." I pinch the bridge of my nose, how on earth am I mean to break this news to her? I head her moving around, presumably finding a more comfortable position. "Gustav is probably dead. I mean he was giving our intel out so I had to set him up-"

"Spit it out love. Whatever it is worrying you." She interrupts. I take a deep breath.

"I've been assigned you as my target." She's silent on the other end. "I'm not killing you. I'll hand myself in to the Russians. I'd rather blow my cover-"

"Love." She intervines a second time. "No one's getting killed or injured. I've been talking with the boss and they say you have permission to pull a deserter." Relief fills my chest, the tightness I was unaware of released.

"Give them my thanks."

"I can't wait to see you again."

"Me too."

"Be safe." She murmurs and I smile at the base of my prison bed, grey, dull and uncomfortable. The complete opposite of the complex feelings Broughton supplies me with.

"I'll try." The line cuts off and I place the boarding back, rolling out from under the bed and placing the phone in the pocket of a pair of trousers in my duffel. I collapse on my bed. Nothing bad is going to happen.