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liroa15 who's been having a bad day and who I hope is still awake and around to read this. *snuggles*
Unedited. I need to stop finished fic this time of the morning. It's ridiculous. *sighs*
Title: Under The Shadow (Halcyon 7)
Rating: R
Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish, Haas/Safin, Roddick/Federer
Summary: … The world ended. People didn’t. Not quite.
Notes: AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future (I do love my apocalypses and jumping on the current AU bandwagon seemed like a good idea.) But this is one plot bunny that hasn’t had enough caffeine to sort itself out yet and I’m still sorting the threads out, so bear with me. Centred mainly around Roger’s POV with side trips into... well that would be telling. ;)
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Dedications: Forliroa15, who may (again) refuse to speak to me after this. For scoobydumblonde who let us convert her. For everyone who encouraged me with this. It may have been a bad idea. :)
Warnings: Abuse, violence, deaths of various RL people you may be fond of, mentions of terrorism, voluntary/involuntary drug use, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more I've missed. It’s all fun and games here.
Part One - The Wasteland
Part Two - Living on Promises
Part Three - If Only
Part Four - Words and...
Part Five - ... Actions
Part Six - Running
(H7) Under the Shadow
18th August 2011, Paris holding cells, France
Mirka’s decided she’s fairly resigned about dying. She’s known it’s been a distinct possibility ever since she first sauntered through the doors of a corporate party all those months ago and started to flirt with the bastard she married only a few weeks later. Every time someone has looked at her oddly, every time she’s almost slipped and barely caught herself, she’s felt one step closer to her last breath. It had become a game, seeing how close she could push it without crossing the line and that’s something she’s sincerely regretting right now because, chained to a damp stone wall wearing only a thin shirt and ripped jeans, the whole thing doesn’t seem so funny anymore.
At least they were satisfied now that she wasn’t carrying any hidden listening or tracking devices. She’d give anything not to have to go through an examination like that one again.
He’s been watching the entire time, leaning against the wall or standing to one side, expressionless black eyes watching everything. She’s kept to her promise not to scream and she knows it’s irritating him, her continued, almost desperate silence an act of defiance but it’s the only thing she’s got left. Besides, what would she say? They know about Roger, they know about Halcyon. They know Andy’s with him and she knows nothing more about where the two of them might have gone than the corporate bastards do, so she isn’t much use to them there. There isn’t really anything she can think of that would be worth telling them.
She just hopes they don’t work that out or she’s as good as dead already. At least when she’s useful, she’s worth keeping alive.
“So love, how do you like your new room?” He’s standing by the door now, that tiny smile she hates lurking around his mouth. “I know it’s not as pretty as you’re used to but you won’t be here long, one way or the other. Enjoy it while you can.”
Mirka doesn’t say anything. He’s just trying to goad her into breaking her silence, effectively losing their private war. It won’t work. If she’s dead anyway, she may as well die victorious in something.
“What? Nothing to say?” He walks across the room, corporation from the tips of his shiny black shoes to the last, neatly combed hair on his head and she hates him, hates him fiercely enough to kill him if her hands were free. He stops inches away and leans in with a smile, waiting for her to flinch. She just shuts her eyes and presses her lips together, refusing to let the kiss get to her even though he makes her skin crawl. When he steps back, there’s a suggestion of anger in his impassive expression.
“I am still your husband. Is that the best you can do?”
She tilts her chin up and glares directly at him; a moment later he turns away and she lets herself smirk, a minor victory. While he isn’t looking she turns her head enough to scrub her mouth against her arm, trying to rid herself of the taste of his lips on hers. Sleeping with him was the worst part of the whole charade, hot tears burning behind her eyes the entire time and the only thought that kept her going was that she was helping the resistance, helping Roger. Now a tiny, selfish part of her wishes she’d never left Halcyon, never been so furious with Roger that anything, even being a spy, seemed preferable. She knows it’s a futile wish; Roger’ network of resistance would have collapsed by now without the information she’d provided and she probably would’ve been dead in the ruins of Halcyon. Dead then, dead now, she can’t decide which she’d have preferred. At least if she hadn’t been a spy, this filth would never have touched her. She turns her head from her arm and watches him talk quietly with one of the guards, accepting something from the man then gesturing towards the door. The two guards nod and shut the door behind them on their way out, leaving her alone with him and her blood runs cold. He wouldn’t dare…
There’s a brief moment of pure panic when she’s as close to screaming as she’s been since yesterday – only yesterday? There’s no windows, so she can only estimate how much time has passed but it feels as if a day has gone since she was dragged away from the hidden Roger and Andy – and she knows if he touched her, she’d scream even if a defenceless Roger was next door and she was surrounded by armed guards. The fear makes her eyes go blurry for a moment and by the time she’s blinked them clear, he’s standing right in front of her. She flinches, thinking for a moment that the black thing he’s holding in his hand is a gun when actually…
… it’s a tape recorder.
“I’m going to ask you this once,” he says pleasantly, honey sweet persuasion in his tone. “Have you ever heard of a Mardy Fish?”
Of all the questions for him to ask, she’d say that was one she was least expecting and surprise almost has her answering before she bites her tongue. He sighs.
“Since you have kept me amused for the last few months – it became a challenge you know, seeing how long I could fuck you for without you realising I knew – I’ll ask you again and I want an answer. Have you ever met or heard of a Mardy Fish?”
Well of course she’s heard of Mardy. He was always polite to her when they bumped into each other on tour, though that wasn’t often, mostly when he was playing against Roger. He’d bought her coffee once when she was upset over something, she can’t remember what now, and from the reports Roger was getting, he’d been happy with Andy in Texas…
…happy with Andy who was now in Switzerland, apparently enamoured with Roger from what she’d seen yesterday. And if Andy was in Switzerland, Mardyless and chasing after Roger, then that could only mean…
Oh god. She’d liked Mardy. He’d been too sweet and innocent to get caught up in a war like this. She only manages to hold back the tears because she’s had months of practise but something must show on her face because her ‘husband’ smiles, nasty and filled with teeth like a shark about to strike. She starts to flinch but he only presses the play button on the tape recorder. Mardy’s voice echoes around the tiny room, bouncing back from dank walls until she has to concentrate to make the words out.
“Roger?” A long pause and she thinks she may have made a small sound of shock. “Roger’s alive?”
A snap as he hits the off-button. “Strange don’t you think? Mardy Fish, Andy Roddick’s fuck toy, knows the man who’s been pulling your strings. Two seemingly unconnected resistance groups on opposite sides of the world… and they know each other. Would you care to explain how?”
Mirka stares at him incredulously for almost a minute. They don’t know? She’s always assumed someone, somewhere within the corporation, would know that a lifetime ago Miroslava Vavrinec was the girlfriend of a number one tennis player. She’d thought she’d been lucky, not coming across anyone who recognised her. She’d thought it was the one thing that, in the end, would get her found out.
And they didn’t even know. A helpless giggle starts to bubble up and she can hardly swallow it. Obviously there’s no former tennis fans high up in the corporation, or at least not in Paris. Her ‘husband’s’ face darkens as she can’t hold back a grin.
“So it’s something funny? I’d love to be let in on the joke, especially since Fish also seems to know another old friend of ours, and of yours come to think of it…” He rewinds the tape for a few seconds and hits play again.
“hurt me?... Marat? Why would he hurt me?”
Complete shock. Marat had been dead, was dead and yet there was Mardy talking to him, clear as anything. Vow of silence or not, she has to know. “When did you tape this?”
“So it speaks after all.” A smirk and she’d regret losing, if she wasn’t so desperate to know about Marat. “About three months ago if you must know. Not that it makes much difference, since they’re both dead now anyway.”
Fuck. Mirka closes her eyes against the certainty in his tone, her hope fading. Just for a moment she’d thought maybe, just maybe… but Marat had apparently cheated death once. There was no reason why he couldn’t do it again. She lets herself cling to the tiny spark of hope like a lifeline. Maybe they’re both still alive. Maybe they’re with Roger right now.
If Marat got out, maybe I can too.
Her thoughts are jerked back to reality when he speaks again. “So, since I’ve answered your question, why don’t you answer mine? Where’s the connection between Roger Federer and Andy Roddick? If Fish knows him that well, there must be one.”
They don’t know anything. He doesn’t even know Mardy and Marat are dead, no matter how certain he sounds. The thought is enough to buoy her up in the midst of despair. They don’t know anything. And she’s not going to tell them one damn thing to help. She looks at her former husband, a tiny smile creeping across her lips.
“Fuck you.”
“You already did,” he snaps back but he’s rattled and she can see it in the way he stalks towards the door, fury in every step. “You may regret that sweetheart.” The endearment is almost spat out like something filthy. “I’ll take great pleasure in killing Federer slowly, just for that insult.”
Ohshitohshit. “You’re lying. You haven’t caught him.” She knows her voice is shaky and hates it but they can’t have caught Roger, they can’t. It wouldn’t be fair.
“Oh not yet, but we will, along with Roddick. And would you like to know the best part?” He pauses in the doorway, glancing back with his usual smirk and her blood runs cold again. She knows she won’t like what she’s about to hear.
“The best part is it will be entirely your fault.”
18th August 2011, underground resistance camp, somewhere in South-west England
The guitar is battered and a little out of tune but Mardy’s working on that. He’s sitting cross-legged and bent intently over the guitar beside one of the numerous campfires in the massive cave network, the smoke drifting up to overhead vents and disappearing. It leaves a lingering smell of burnt wood behind and he’s really starting to hate it, because it’s all he’s smelt for the last three months apart from when he’s outside, where all he can smell is freezing air and snow. He wants to go home to Texas, where everything smells like dust and sun-warmed asphalt and Andy, wrapped hot and sweat-damp around him.
But since he’s apparently a valued hostage, he’s willing to make himself as annoying as possible to Tommy and Marat in the meantime. Maybe they’ll eventually get sick of him and send him home to look for Andy himself, rather than keep up their own, fruitless search. He’s not much good as a hostage if they can’t find anyone who wants him.
“Hey gorgeous.” Maria appears out the shadows with her usual smile and he glances up, smiling back. “From the sound of Marat’s screams, you are in a whole heap of trouble again. Do I need to ask why or would it have something to do with the crowd of rescuees setting up camp in the main hall?”
“Now why would they have anything to do with me?” Mardy puts on his best innocent voice but Maria just narrows her eyes and he laughs. “Well maybe I went and rescued a few people. We’ve just opened up more space, we can handle them.”
“Not from the way Marat’s yelling we can’t.” Maria sighs, dropping down to sit on the rock beside him. “Mardy, it’s sweet what you’re doing for all these people, it really is but if you’re just doing it to wind up Marat then I think you should stop. He’s going to be breaking things for days about this and you know he does stupid things when he’s this upset. I’m amazed he hasn’t buried you alive under a snowdrift yet.”
“Me too. I’ll have to work harder.” Mardy frowns. “I was hoping he’d have sent me home by now.”
Maria’s voice softens and she rests a hand on his arm, watching him absently adjust one of the guitar strings. “Have they still not found him?”
“Nope. I’m starting to think I made him up.” Mardy grins weakly. “Being crazy, that’s a good excuse. I’ll try it on Marat next time.” Even to himself the lighthearted tone sounds forced and stiff. Maria slides her hand down to rest on the back of his, squeezing it comfortingly.
“They’ll find him Mardy. He can’t have disappeared off the planet.”
“Oh I wouldn’t underestimate Andy. If he wanted to go to the moon, he’d find a way.” Mardy sighs. “I just… when I was in Paris, all I could think about was Andy. I’d have given both arms to see him walk through the door, or even only to see him, just a second. Now it’s as if I dreamed him, almost.” He looks sideways at Maria. “Does that make any sense?”
She bites her lip thoughtfully. “Sort of. I think. But you still love him right?”
“Oh fuck yeah. Oh um, sorry.” Mardy blushes as Maria giggles. “I mean of course I do. I’d give anything to go back to the way things were but I’m not sure I can, even if I did go home and find him. Everything’s different. I guess we’d make it work though, somehow.” He sighs again. “If Andy wants it then nothing will stop him.
“They’ll find him,” she repeats softly, squeezing his hand again. He returns the grip, staring blankly down at the guitar strings.
“I hope so. If he’s…”
She knows what he’s about to say, what he can’t say, and gives him a half hug which he returns gratefully. He does appreciate being surrounded by familiar faces; it’s eased the sting of losing Andy over the last few months. Maria had been in Europe for a few years, looking for Marat while Coria and Nalbandian, Mardy’s accomplices in his latest unauthorised rescue mission, came over to Britain when Marat recruited them. There're a few other familiar faces but they’ve been disappearing gradually over the last few months and Mardy knows Marat is planning something big, something which needs lots of people distributed to all corners of the world. He hasn’t been able to find out what yet, but he’s working on it. He has nothing much better to do with his time after all.
Maria tilts her head to one side, listening. She’s still pressed warm against him and this is one of the few times Mardy regrets being gay, it really is. He knows half a dozen guys who would kill to be in his place and all he can summon is a weary gratitude for her sympathy.
“Marat’s stopped yelling. Something must’ve distracted him – it might be your lucky day.”
“I’ll believe that when it happens.” Mardy slides the guitar carefully to one side, listening too. “He is very quiet though. Do you think he didn’t pause for air often enough and he’s passed out?”
Maria giggles again and opens her mouth to say something just as Tommy almost falls out the shadows, flushed with excitement. He grabs Mardy’s arm and hauls him to his feet.
“C’mon! We found him!”
“What?” Mardy’s heart leaps painfully. “Andy?”
“He’s on the phone. Come on!” Tommy drags him away towards Marat’s makeshift ‘office’ which includes the only two phones in the entire network of caves. Mardy glances back just long enough to see Maria mouth ‘good luck’ before Tommy breaks into a run and he has to sprint to keep up.
He’s going to talk to Andy for the first time in three months. Oh god. What’s he supposed to say? Mardy starts to panic but it’s too late, they’re rounding the corner into the smaller cave Mardy’s jokingly nicknamed Marat’s ‘Lair’ and the Russian is holding the phone out, smiling.
“Mardy. Someone wants to talk to you.”
18th August 2011, Halcyon estate, Switzerland
Roger’s watching Andy sleep.
The American is curled against him, tear-stained face half-hidden in Roger’s shoulder. It’s the deep, dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted and there’s something tiring about watching him, a vague sympathy that makes Roger feel he should be sleeping too. He’d like to; he’s equally exhausted and they’d been up until four in the morning, debating over what to do about Marat and Mardy. Andy had emphatically stated he’d do anything for Mardy’s sake and Roger had shortly told him he was being an idiot if he didn’t wait to find out the details. It had all been downhill from there and Andrew had retreated hastily, citing pressing appointments in Basel as an excuse to leave. Andy had finally crawled apologetically into Roger’s arms at about 5am but Roger knows the debate is far from over. He can’t help thinking that if they fought so easily over this, then maybe a relationship would’ve been a bad idea anyway. Not that it matters now, with Mardy back in the picture.
Roger knows he was just a comfort fuck, has known it since Andy first tried to talk him into it and he tells himself that he should’ve expected it to end badly. In his experience, those types of relationships always do and he knows he was stupid to want anything else. He was never going to replace Mardy. He was never even going to get close.
He just didn’t expect it all to have to end this soon.
Andy shifts against him with a sleepy murmur and Roger rearranges his arms slightly, letting the American settle. There’s a strange urge to protect Andy that he can’t explain; it’s not quite love or sympathy or friendship, but more a weird mixture of the three that he doesn’t understand and isn’t sure he wants to, because he knows Andy will be going back to Texas with Mardy as soon as whatever Marat’s planning is done. Roger will be a memory, perhaps a fond memory that Andy will think about occasionally but nothing more, while left back in Switzerland Roger will do what he does best, pick up the pieces and rebuild. He’s starting to lose count of the times he’s had to do it, after Gaston, after Marat – though he’s got some choice things to say to the Russian for his long silence – and after Mirka. After all the times before Halcyon when he thought he was getting somewhere and wasn’t. He’s tired of picking up the pieces. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask for something to go right for him, just for a little while. He really would’ve liked that something to be Andy.
But, it’s not to be. He sighs and detangles himself gently from the American, tucking the blanket carefully around Andy before standing. He has a phone call to make and it’ll be easier to do without Andy hovering over his shoulder.
The phone is at the far end of the small bunker, tucked almost out of sight on a small shelf. He’d traded three times his weight in the finest whiskey to get the line installed without the corporation knowing, searching for someone who knew exactly how to keep the line well hidden. He’s never been more thankful for his foresight than now as he picks up the phone, dialing the number with hands that tremble. He steadies himself on the edge of the shelf and takes a deep breath as someone picks up on the other end.
“Hello?”
Roger expels the breath he’s been holding in a long, slow sigh. “Hello Marat.”
“Roger?! Roger!” Marat abruptly sounds more awake. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”
“I wish I could say the same.” Roger can’t keep the anger out his tone. “A hostage Marat? What happened to just asking politely?”
“Roger.” Marat assumes the tone of a weary parent with a petulant child. “I never expected you to understand but it was a golden opportunity. Mardy is fine, making an unholy nuisance of himself, but fine. We need Andy’s help and Mardy is just insurance to make sure we get it, that’s all.”
“You didn’t need insurance Marat. Give Mardy back, then maybe we’ll consider helping you.”
“”We now is it?” A note of amusement enters Marat’s tone. “So attached to Roddick already Roger? You do work fast. Tommy wants to say hello by the way.”
Roger feels briefly dizzy. “Marat, if this is revenge for what happened between me and Tommy then-“
“Hush. I’ve never been that petty and you know it.” Marat’s voice purrs down the phone and Roger shivers, remembering that voice flirting with him every day for months. It had been torture. “But where are the pleasantries Rog? No ‘Marat, you’re alive?!’ Or ‘How was the trip to death and back Marat?’ Or maybe even ‘How are you Marat’, is that such a big thing to ask?”
Roger gritted his teeth. If they were face to face and not talking through wires then he’d be strangling the big Russian right about now. “Hello Marat. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. Planning something big at the moment but if it all goes well, and your American-“
“He’s not my American.”
“- your American cooperates, then you may even be proud of me. I’m proud of me on this one. Tommy can’t get enough of me being in charge.”
Oh yes, this wasn’t about what had happened with Tommy and him at all Roger thinks sarcastically. The urge for revenge might only be subconscious but it was there. He stifled a groan, because the Russian had always been notoriously possessive. “Marat, what are you talking about? If you put Mardy in any danger-“
“Oh relax, he’ll be safe here the entire time.” Roger can practically ‘hear’ the Russian rolling his eyes. “I’m not stupid enough to risk Roddick’s wrath by damaging the pretty little Fish in any way. Would you like to speak to him, just to check I’m feeding him properly you know, giving him a vast choice of gorgeous men to warm his bed every night? Not that I need to give him anyone when he has the entire camp wrapped around his little finger.”
“Yes.” Roger says coldly. “I’d like to speak to him, please.”
“Fine.” He hears muffled grumbling then a request in Russian of which he only catches ‘Tommy’ and ‘please’. He’s just guessed Tommy’s gone to fetch Mardy when Marat comes back on the phone saying “Tommy’s gone to look for him. He shouldn’t be long.”
“Good.” Roger glances over at the makeshift bed and is surprised to find it empty. Before he can panic a hand touches his shoulder and he turns, finds Andy watching him with red-rimmed eyes. “Hang on Marat. You haven’t heard the last of this.” Taking the phone from his ear, he covers the mouth piece with his hand and offers it to the American. “They’ve just gone to fetch Mardy. Do you want to talk to him?”
There’s a long moment when Andy just stares at him. Roger had expected him to snatch the phone in excitement and is a little unnerved by the American’s sleepily blank expression. Then finally, with a trembling hand, Andy takes the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello Andy.” Roger can hear Marat’s smooth greeting, even though he isn’t right next to the phone. Andy’s pale and shaking, leaning against the wall to stay upright. “Tommy’s just gone to fetch- oh, he’s here.” A pause and Roger feels his heart sink a few inches lower. This is it. He knows Andy is looking at him but refuses to meet the American’s eyes, turning away. From the other end of the phone he hears Marat say “Mardy. Someone wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Roger mumbles and snags his jacket from the hook by the ladder, starting to climb up top. He can’t stay to listen to what will no doubt be a highly personal conversation. He doesn’t look back and is too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice Andy’s eyes follow him until he disappears out the trapdoor.
“Hey love,” Andy says softly, still looking after Roger. “I’ve missed you.”
~~~
Roger climbs the charred, creaking staircase of the main house with utmost care. It looks like they’d tried to burn the house when they didn’t find him there but the fire-retardant material he’s used everywhere, along with extra precautions over the years, meant it had proved fairly futile. The staircase, constructed mainly of polished wood, had fared the worst and with each step he expects to go crashing through to the floor below.
It’s heartbreaking. Halcyon, as much as he’d hated it for all it stood for, had been home. He’d spent the last two years turning it into a fortress and now it’s been reduced to broken windows and burnt furniture. He hadn’t even dared to look at the library, not when he saw the fire damage to the doors. It’s bad enough just walking towards what used to be his bedroom, char marks up the walls on either side and the beautiful stained glass window at the end of the hallway now just an empty lattice, some of the metal bent out of shape.
Roger hesitates outside his own door. It’s stupid to do this. If the corporation have left traps, this is the most likely place for them. He’s amazed he’s made it this far without setting anything off. Though maybe somewhere, something is just counting down and everything is going to disappear in a blaze of glory, any moment now.
He still turns the handle and goes into his bedroom. He’s tired of being cautious.
Everything in here looks pretty much as he left it, except for the shards of glass from the broken window scattered across the tiles and the shreds of sheets and mattress everywhere. Nothing is burnt in here and he frowns, stepping warily closer to the bed. He can’t see anything unusual, apart from the mess. The drawers of the dresser have been pulled out and the boxes of collected medicine tossed carelessly over the floor, the same with his clothes. Roger’s still trying to work out exactly what they did except make a mess when he sees the note on the bed.
It’s almost invisible amongst the torn scraps of white sheets which was he’d missed it on his first look around. His name is written across the front in neat, rounded cursive. He finds one of his leather gloves out on the balcony and spends a few minutes uselessly searching for the other one before he decides one will do. He approaches the bed even more carefully, leaning down to flip the note over with his gloved hand, ready to jump back at the slightest hint of a trap.
Nothing jumps at him, no alarms start to ring and the back of the paper has a few, tidy sentences swirled across it. Roger reads them, then has to read them again, putting a hand out to support himself against a corner of the bed.
Oh god. That is the last thing he needs.
“Hey,” a soft voice says from the door and Roger crumples the note hastily, tucking it discreetly into his pocket as he turns around. Andy doesn’t notice as he steps hesitantly into the room.
“Wow. They really made a mess.”
“Yes,” Roger agrees, his heart beating fast and every part of him aware of the note in his pocket. “I’m not sure what they were looking for – you clearly weren’t here, so maybe they thought they’d take what they could find.”
“We’re sure it was me they were looking for?” Andy bends to pick up a black shirt, poking his fingers curiously through the holes. Roger nods.
“I talked to Andrew last night. He said it was the cook who turned traitor – he saw her being led out of the house just before the attack. She heard you the day you arrived so she knew who you were and she had access to the food and water.”
Andy frowns, tossing the shirt aside. “But why? She could’ve poisoned you long before now.” He wanders out to the balcony and Roger flinches but when he goes after him, Andy is staying well away from the edge.
“Money. A place in one of the cities.” Roger shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re were probably worth a lot to the corporation and the temptation was too much. Andrew thinks she was given something to use that would react to the amphetamine in your blood, so when I was called away to Paris you’d be too ill to move,” He looks down, playing with a frayed seam on his glove. “They didn’t count on me having the drugs to counter the effects.”
“Always one step ahead aren’t you?” Andy murmurs, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Roger risks a step closer, wanting to touch the American but not sure if he’s allowed, not with Mardy reappearing. Speaking of which… “How did it go? The phone call?”
“Okay.” Andy swallows. “He sounds okay. He cried. I cried.” His voice cracks a little and Roger decides ‘allowed’ is bullshit and slides his arms around the American, pulling him close and Andy comes willingly, resting his head on Roger’s shoulder. “Marat said they’ll let him go once I’ve worked with them on this big plan.”
“Did he say what it is?” Roger strokes Andy’s hair - nearly blond again, now the black dye had finally almost washed out - soothingly as the American sniffles a little before nodding.
“Yeah. He wants me to organise an American offensive, to take all the major corporate officials simultaneously. He said they have contingency plans for the occasional loss, which is why we haven’t been making a difference, but take enough of them out at once and…”
“And the whole system comes crashing down,” Roger murmurs. Damn, he was a little proud of the sneaky Russian for this. Just not his methods. “Why does he need you?”
“He had no American connections. He needs me to be the go-between, to get it all set up over there.” Andy shifts, looking up at Roger. “I’ll need to go home to do it Rog.”
“I know.” Roger was already working through it. “Yves can fly you. Those jets may look useless but they’re good for long distance and we’ve got enough to refuel it with. When are you leaving?”
“As soon as possible. Everyone else is in place according to Marat, Moya is just waiting for the signal to start.” Andy staggers as Roger flinches unexpectedly. “What?! What’s wrong?”
“Carlos?” Roger demands. “Did Marat say where he was?”
“No, just that he was in charge of starting the chain. What?” Andy frowns. “Is Carlos supposed to be dead too?”
“No, no. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” Roger shakes his head and changes the topic. “If you leave today, would you be coming back?”
“Yes.” Andy straightens, letting his arms loosen around Roger’s waist as he meets the Swiss’ dark eyes. “We have to sort this out Roger. Us and Mardy and… everything. I won’t be more than a week.”
“You’re right.” Roger’s tone is flat, emotionless. “But look Andy, don’t hurry. You should talk to Mardy, see what you’ve both missed of each other. I don’t want-“
He’s cut off by Andy’s lips pressed to his, warm and soft with a hint of trembling behind it. When Andy breaks it, leaning back, his eyes are wet and Roger has to hang on to him to stay upright.
He really doesn’t want to lose this but he has a feeling there’s nothing he can do about it. Mardy and Andy, by all accounts, were perfect together. He was just an afterthought,
“I will be back in a week or less,” Andy says fiercely. “And we will work this out somehow. Alright?”
“Alright.” Roger lets himself be dragged back into the bedroom but frees his hand from Andy’s at the door. “Could I just have a minute?” He glances around the ruined room. “I’ll catch up with you.”
“Of course.” Andy tries to smile but it comes out too crooked and Roger looks down. “I’ll see you in a sec.”
Roger waits until Andy’s footsteps on the stairs have faded before crossing the room back to the bed and sitting down, pulling the note out his pocket. Smoothing it across his thigh, he reads the neat letters again, feeling faintly sick as he makes sure he’s read it exactly right.
He has and he knows it, just doesn’t want to believe it. Written in neat, corporate pen, he reads the message a final time.
‘Federer – Bring Roddick to the Basel airfield at 7pm on August 25th. Come alone and unarmed, or your spy Miroslava dies.’
~~~
Part Six|Part Eight
Bed now. I'll either be killed byliroa15 or die of sleep deprivation. It's gone 5am. Hello five am, nice to see you again. *sighs* I need to stop doing this.
Night!
Clo
liroa15 who's been having a bad day and who I hope is still awake and around to read this. *snuggles*Unedited. I need to stop finished fic this time of the morning. It's ridiculous. *sighs*
Title: Under The Shadow (Halcyon 7)
Rating: R
Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish, Haas/Safin, Roddick/Federer
Summary: … The world ended. People didn’t. Not quite.
Notes: AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future (I do love my apocalypses and jumping on the current AU bandwagon seemed like a good idea.) But this is one plot bunny that hasn’t had enough caffeine to sort itself out yet and I’m still sorting the threads out, so bear with me. Centred mainly around Roger’s POV with side trips into... well that would be telling. ;)
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Dedications: For
liroa15, who may (again) refuse to speak to me after this. For scoobydumblonde who let us convert her. For everyone who encouraged me with this. It may have been a bad idea. :) Warnings: Abuse, violence, deaths of various RL people you may be fond of, mentions of terrorism, voluntary/involuntary drug use, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more I've missed. It’s all fun and games here.
Part One - The Wasteland
Part Two - Living on Promises
Part Three - If Only
Part Four - Words and...
Part Five - ... Actions
Part Six - Running
(H7) Under the Shadow
18th August 2011, Paris holding cells, France
Mirka’s decided she’s fairly resigned about dying. She’s known it’s been a distinct possibility ever since she first sauntered through the doors of a corporate party all those months ago and started to flirt with the bastard she married only a few weeks later. Every time someone has looked at her oddly, every time she’s almost slipped and barely caught herself, she’s felt one step closer to her last breath. It had become a game, seeing how close she could push it without crossing the line and that’s something she’s sincerely regretting right now because, chained to a damp stone wall wearing only a thin shirt and ripped jeans, the whole thing doesn’t seem so funny anymore.
At least they were satisfied now that she wasn’t carrying any hidden listening or tracking devices. She’d give anything not to have to go through an examination like that one again.
He’s been watching the entire time, leaning against the wall or standing to one side, expressionless black eyes watching everything. She’s kept to her promise not to scream and she knows it’s irritating him, her continued, almost desperate silence an act of defiance but it’s the only thing she’s got left. Besides, what would she say? They know about Roger, they know about Halcyon. They know Andy’s with him and she knows nothing more about where the two of them might have gone than the corporate bastards do, so she isn’t much use to them there. There isn’t really anything she can think of that would be worth telling them.
She just hopes they don’t work that out or she’s as good as dead already. At least when she’s useful, she’s worth keeping alive.
“So love, how do you like your new room?” He’s standing by the door now, that tiny smile she hates lurking around his mouth. “I know it’s not as pretty as you’re used to but you won’t be here long, one way or the other. Enjoy it while you can.”
Mirka doesn’t say anything. He’s just trying to goad her into breaking her silence, effectively losing their private war. It won’t work. If she’s dead anyway, she may as well die victorious in something.
“What? Nothing to say?” He walks across the room, corporation from the tips of his shiny black shoes to the last, neatly combed hair on his head and she hates him, hates him fiercely enough to kill him if her hands were free. He stops inches away and leans in with a smile, waiting for her to flinch. She just shuts her eyes and presses her lips together, refusing to let the kiss get to her even though he makes her skin crawl. When he steps back, there’s a suggestion of anger in his impassive expression.
“I am still your husband. Is that the best you can do?”
She tilts her chin up and glares directly at him; a moment later he turns away and she lets herself smirk, a minor victory. While he isn’t looking she turns her head enough to scrub her mouth against her arm, trying to rid herself of the taste of his lips on hers. Sleeping with him was the worst part of the whole charade, hot tears burning behind her eyes the entire time and the only thought that kept her going was that she was helping the resistance, helping Roger. Now a tiny, selfish part of her wishes she’d never left Halcyon, never been so furious with Roger that anything, even being a spy, seemed preferable. She knows it’s a futile wish; Roger’ network of resistance would have collapsed by now without the information she’d provided and she probably would’ve been dead in the ruins of Halcyon. Dead then, dead now, she can’t decide which she’d have preferred. At least if she hadn’t been a spy, this filth would never have touched her. She turns her head from her arm and watches him talk quietly with one of the guards, accepting something from the man then gesturing towards the door. The two guards nod and shut the door behind them on their way out, leaving her alone with him and her blood runs cold. He wouldn’t dare…
There’s a brief moment of pure panic when she’s as close to screaming as she’s been since yesterday – only yesterday? There’s no windows, so she can only estimate how much time has passed but it feels as if a day has gone since she was dragged away from the hidden Roger and Andy – and she knows if he touched her, she’d scream even if a defenceless Roger was next door and she was surrounded by armed guards. The fear makes her eyes go blurry for a moment and by the time she’s blinked them clear, he’s standing right in front of her. She flinches, thinking for a moment that the black thing he’s holding in his hand is a gun when actually…
… it’s a tape recorder.
“I’m going to ask you this once,” he says pleasantly, honey sweet persuasion in his tone. “Have you ever heard of a Mardy Fish?”
Of all the questions for him to ask, she’d say that was one she was least expecting and surprise almost has her answering before she bites her tongue. He sighs.
“Since you have kept me amused for the last few months – it became a challenge you know, seeing how long I could fuck you for without you realising I knew – I’ll ask you again and I want an answer. Have you ever met or heard of a Mardy Fish?”
Well of course she’s heard of Mardy. He was always polite to her when they bumped into each other on tour, though that wasn’t often, mostly when he was playing against Roger. He’d bought her coffee once when she was upset over something, she can’t remember what now, and from the reports Roger was getting, he’d been happy with Andy in Texas…
…happy with Andy who was now in Switzerland, apparently enamoured with Roger from what she’d seen yesterday. And if Andy was in Switzerland, Mardyless and chasing after Roger, then that could only mean…
Oh god. She’d liked Mardy. He’d been too sweet and innocent to get caught up in a war like this. She only manages to hold back the tears because she’s had months of practise but something must show on her face because her ‘husband’ smiles, nasty and filled with teeth like a shark about to strike. She starts to flinch but he only presses the play button on the tape recorder. Mardy’s voice echoes around the tiny room, bouncing back from dank walls until she has to concentrate to make the words out.
“Roger?” A long pause and she thinks she may have made a small sound of shock. “Roger’s alive?”
A snap as he hits the off-button. “Strange don’t you think? Mardy Fish, Andy Roddick’s fuck toy, knows the man who’s been pulling your strings. Two seemingly unconnected resistance groups on opposite sides of the world… and they know each other. Would you care to explain how?”
Mirka stares at him incredulously for almost a minute. They don’t know? She’s always assumed someone, somewhere within the corporation, would know that a lifetime ago Miroslava Vavrinec was the girlfriend of a number one tennis player. She’d thought she’d been lucky, not coming across anyone who recognised her. She’d thought it was the one thing that, in the end, would get her found out.
And they didn’t even know. A helpless giggle starts to bubble up and she can hardly swallow it. Obviously there’s no former tennis fans high up in the corporation, or at least not in Paris. Her ‘husband’s’ face darkens as she can’t hold back a grin.
“So it’s something funny? I’d love to be let in on the joke, especially since Fish also seems to know another old friend of ours, and of yours come to think of it…” He rewinds the tape for a few seconds and hits play again.
“hurt me?... Marat? Why would he hurt me?”
Complete shock. Marat had been dead, was dead and yet there was Mardy talking to him, clear as anything. Vow of silence or not, she has to know. “When did you tape this?”
“So it speaks after all.” A smirk and she’d regret losing, if she wasn’t so desperate to know about Marat. “About three months ago if you must know. Not that it makes much difference, since they’re both dead now anyway.”
Fuck. Mirka closes her eyes against the certainty in his tone, her hope fading. Just for a moment she’d thought maybe, just maybe… but Marat had apparently cheated death once. There was no reason why he couldn’t do it again. She lets herself cling to the tiny spark of hope like a lifeline. Maybe they’re both still alive. Maybe they’re with Roger right now.
If Marat got out, maybe I can too.
Her thoughts are jerked back to reality when he speaks again. “So, since I’ve answered your question, why don’t you answer mine? Where’s the connection between Roger Federer and Andy Roddick? If Fish knows him that well, there must be one.”
They don’t know anything. He doesn’t even know Mardy and Marat are dead, no matter how certain he sounds. The thought is enough to buoy her up in the midst of despair. They don’t know anything. And she’s not going to tell them one damn thing to help. She looks at her former husband, a tiny smile creeping across her lips.
“Fuck you.”
“You already did,” he snaps back but he’s rattled and she can see it in the way he stalks towards the door, fury in every step. “You may regret that sweetheart.” The endearment is almost spat out like something filthy. “I’ll take great pleasure in killing Federer slowly, just for that insult.”
Ohshitohshit. “You’re lying. You haven’t caught him.” She knows her voice is shaky and hates it but they can’t have caught Roger, they can’t. It wouldn’t be fair.
“Oh not yet, but we will, along with Roddick. And would you like to know the best part?” He pauses in the doorway, glancing back with his usual smirk and her blood runs cold again. She knows she won’t like what she’s about to hear.
“The best part is it will be entirely your fault.”
The guitar is battered and a little out of tune but Mardy’s working on that. He’s sitting cross-legged and bent intently over the guitar beside one of the numerous campfires in the massive cave network, the smoke drifting up to overhead vents and disappearing. It leaves a lingering smell of burnt wood behind and he’s really starting to hate it, because it’s all he’s smelt for the last three months apart from when he’s outside, where all he can smell is freezing air and snow. He wants to go home to Texas, where everything smells like dust and sun-warmed asphalt and Andy, wrapped hot and sweat-damp around him.
But since he’s apparently a valued hostage, he’s willing to make himself as annoying as possible to Tommy and Marat in the meantime. Maybe they’ll eventually get sick of him and send him home to look for Andy himself, rather than keep up their own, fruitless search. He’s not much good as a hostage if they can’t find anyone who wants him.
“Hey gorgeous.” Maria appears out the shadows with her usual smile and he glances up, smiling back. “From the sound of Marat’s screams, you are in a whole heap of trouble again. Do I need to ask why or would it have something to do with the crowd of rescuees setting up camp in the main hall?”
“Now why would they have anything to do with me?” Mardy puts on his best innocent voice but Maria just narrows her eyes and he laughs. “Well maybe I went and rescued a few people. We’ve just opened up more space, we can handle them.”
“Not from the way Marat’s yelling we can’t.” Maria sighs, dropping down to sit on the rock beside him. “Mardy, it’s sweet what you’re doing for all these people, it really is but if you’re just doing it to wind up Marat then I think you should stop. He’s going to be breaking things for days about this and you know he does stupid things when he’s this upset. I’m amazed he hasn’t buried you alive under a snowdrift yet.”
“Me too. I’ll have to work harder.” Mardy frowns. “I was hoping he’d have sent me home by now.”
Maria’s voice softens and she rests a hand on his arm, watching him absently adjust one of the guitar strings. “Have they still not found him?”
“Nope. I’m starting to think I made him up.” Mardy grins weakly. “Being crazy, that’s a good excuse. I’ll try it on Marat next time.” Even to himself the lighthearted tone sounds forced and stiff. Maria slides her hand down to rest on the back of his, squeezing it comfortingly.
“They’ll find him Mardy. He can’t have disappeared off the planet.”
“Oh I wouldn’t underestimate Andy. If he wanted to go to the moon, he’d find a way.” Mardy sighs. “I just… when I was in Paris, all I could think about was Andy. I’d have given both arms to see him walk through the door, or even only to see him, just a second. Now it’s as if I dreamed him, almost.” He looks sideways at Maria. “Does that make any sense?”
She bites her lip thoughtfully. “Sort of. I think. But you still love him right?”
“Oh fuck yeah. Oh um, sorry.” Mardy blushes as Maria giggles. “I mean of course I do. I’d give anything to go back to the way things were but I’m not sure I can, even if I did go home and find him. Everything’s different. I guess we’d make it work though, somehow.” He sighs again. “If Andy wants it then nothing will stop him.
“They’ll find him,” she repeats softly, squeezing his hand again. He returns the grip, staring blankly down at the guitar strings.
“I hope so. If he’s…”
She knows what he’s about to say, what he can’t say, and gives him a half hug which he returns gratefully. He does appreciate being surrounded by familiar faces; it’s eased the sting of losing Andy over the last few months. Maria had been in Europe for a few years, looking for Marat while Coria and Nalbandian, Mardy’s accomplices in his latest unauthorised rescue mission, came over to Britain when Marat recruited them. There're a few other familiar faces but they’ve been disappearing gradually over the last few months and Mardy knows Marat is planning something big, something which needs lots of people distributed to all corners of the world. He hasn’t been able to find out what yet, but he’s working on it. He has nothing much better to do with his time after all.
Maria tilts her head to one side, listening. She’s still pressed warm against him and this is one of the few times Mardy regrets being gay, it really is. He knows half a dozen guys who would kill to be in his place and all he can summon is a weary gratitude for her sympathy.
“Marat’s stopped yelling. Something must’ve distracted him – it might be your lucky day.”
“I’ll believe that when it happens.” Mardy slides the guitar carefully to one side, listening too. “He is very quiet though. Do you think he didn’t pause for air often enough and he’s passed out?”
Maria giggles again and opens her mouth to say something just as Tommy almost falls out the shadows, flushed with excitement. He grabs Mardy’s arm and hauls him to his feet.
“C’mon! We found him!”
“What?” Mardy’s heart leaps painfully. “Andy?”
“He’s on the phone. Come on!” Tommy drags him away towards Marat’s makeshift ‘office’ which includes the only two phones in the entire network of caves. Mardy glances back just long enough to see Maria mouth ‘good luck’ before Tommy breaks into a run and he has to sprint to keep up.
He’s going to talk to Andy for the first time in three months. Oh god. What’s he supposed to say? Mardy starts to panic but it’s too late, they’re rounding the corner into the smaller cave Mardy’s jokingly nicknamed Marat’s ‘Lair’ and the Russian is holding the phone out, smiling.
“Mardy. Someone wants to talk to you.”
Roger’s watching Andy sleep.
The American is curled against him, tear-stained face half-hidden in Roger’s shoulder. It’s the deep, dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted and there’s something tiring about watching him, a vague sympathy that makes Roger feel he should be sleeping too. He’d like to; he’s equally exhausted and they’d been up until four in the morning, debating over what to do about Marat and Mardy. Andy had emphatically stated he’d do anything for Mardy’s sake and Roger had shortly told him he was being an idiot if he didn’t wait to find out the details. It had all been downhill from there and Andrew had retreated hastily, citing pressing appointments in Basel as an excuse to leave. Andy had finally crawled apologetically into Roger’s arms at about 5am but Roger knows the debate is far from over. He can’t help thinking that if they fought so easily over this, then maybe a relationship would’ve been a bad idea anyway. Not that it matters now, with Mardy back in the picture.
Roger knows he was just a comfort fuck, has known it since Andy first tried to talk him into it and he tells himself that he should’ve expected it to end badly. In his experience, those types of relationships always do and he knows he was stupid to want anything else. He was never going to replace Mardy. He was never even going to get close.
He just didn’t expect it all to have to end this soon.
Andy shifts against him with a sleepy murmur and Roger rearranges his arms slightly, letting the American settle. There’s a strange urge to protect Andy that he can’t explain; it’s not quite love or sympathy or friendship, but more a weird mixture of the three that he doesn’t understand and isn’t sure he wants to, because he knows Andy will be going back to Texas with Mardy as soon as whatever Marat’s planning is done. Roger will be a memory, perhaps a fond memory that Andy will think about occasionally but nothing more, while left back in Switzerland Roger will do what he does best, pick up the pieces and rebuild. He’s starting to lose count of the times he’s had to do it, after Gaston, after Marat – though he’s got some choice things to say to the Russian for his long silence – and after Mirka. After all the times before Halcyon when he thought he was getting somewhere and wasn’t. He’s tired of picking up the pieces. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask for something to go right for him, just for a little while. He really would’ve liked that something to be Andy.
But, it’s not to be. He sighs and detangles himself gently from the American, tucking the blanket carefully around Andy before standing. He has a phone call to make and it’ll be easier to do without Andy hovering over his shoulder.
The phone is at the far end of the small bunker, tucked almost out of sight on a small shelf. He’d traded three times his weight in the finest whiskey to get the line installed without the corporation knowing, searching for someone who knew exactly how to keep the line well hidden. He’s never been more thankful for his foresight than now as he picks up the phone, dialing the number with hands that tremble. He steadies himself on the edge of the shelf and takes a deep breath as someone picks up on the other end.
“Hello?”
Roger expels the breath he’s been holding in a long, slow sigh. “Hello Marat.”
“Roger?! Roger!” Marat abruptly sounds more awake. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”
“I wish I could say the same.” Roger can’t keep the anger out his tone. “A hostage Marat? What happened to just asking politely?”
“Roger.” Marat assumes the tone of a weary parent with a petulant child. “I never expected you to understand but it was a golden opportunity. Mardy is fine, making an unholy nuisance of himself, but fine. We need Andy’s help and Mardy is just insurance to make sure we get it, that’s all.”
“You didn’t need insurance Marat. Give Mardy back, then maybe we’ll consider helping you.”
“”We now is it?” A note of amusement enters Marat’s tone. “So attached to Roddick already Roger? You do work fast. Tommy wants to say hello by the way.”
Roger feels briefly dizzy. “Marat, if this is revenge for what happened between me and Tommy then-“
“Hush. I’ve never been that petty and you know it.” Marat’s voice purrs down the phone and Roger shivers, remembering that voice flirting with him every day for months. It had been torture. “But where are the pleasantries Rog? No ‘Marat, you’re alive?!’ Or ‘How was the trip to death and back Marat?’ Or maybe even ‘How are you Marat’, is that such a big thing to ask?”
Roger gritted his teeth. If they were face to face and not talking through wires then he’d be strangling the big Russian right about now. “Hello Marat. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. Planning something big at the moment but if it all goes well, and your American-“
“He’s not my American.”
“- your American cooperates, then you may even be proud of me. I’m proud of me on this one. Tommy can’t get enough of me being in charge.”
Oh yes, this wasn’t about what had happened with Tommy and him at all Roger thinks sarcastically. The urge for revenge might only be subconscious but it was there. He stifled a groan, because the Russian had always been notoriously possessive. “Marat, what are you talking about? If you put Mardy in any danger-“
“Oh relax, he’ll be safe here the entire time.” Roger can practically ‘hear’ the Russian rolling his eyes. “I’m not stupid enough to risk Roddick’s wrath by damaging the pretty little Fish in any way. Would you like to speak to him, just to check I’m feeding him properly you know, giving him a vast choice of gorgeous men to warm his bed every night? Not that I need to give him anyone when he has the entire camp wrapped around his little finger.”
“Yes.” Roger says coldly. “I’d like to speak to him, please.”
“Fine.” He hears muffled grumbling then a request in Russian of which he only catches ‘Tommy’ and ‘please’. He’s just guessed Tommy’s gone to fetch Mardy when Marat comes back on the phone saying “Tommy’s gone to look for him. He shouldn’t be long.”
“Good.” Roger glances over at the makeshift bed and is surprised to find it empty. Before he can panic a hand touches his shoulder and he turns, finds Andy watching him with red-rimmed eyes. “Hang on Marat. You haven’t heard the last of this.” Taking the phone from his ear, he covers the mouth piece with his hand and offers it to the American. “They’ve just gone to fetch Mardy. Do you want to talk to him?”
There’s a long moment when Andy just stares at him. Roger had expected him to snatch the phone in excitement and is a little unnerved by the American’s sleepily blank expression. Then finally, with a trembling hand, Andy takes the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello Andy.” Roger can hear Marat’s smooth greeting, even though he isn’t right next to the phone. Andy’s pale and shaking, leaning against the wall to stay upright. “Tommy’s just gone to fetch- oh, he’s here.” A pause and Roger feels his heart sink a few inches lower. This is it. He knows Andy is looking at him but refuses to meet the American’s eyes, turning away. From the other end of the phone he hears Marat say “Mardy. Someone wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Roger mumbles and snags his jacket from the hook by the ladder, starting to climb up top. He can’t stay to listen to what will no doubt be a highly personal conversation. He doesn’t look back and is too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice Andy’s eyes follow him until he disappears out the trapdoor.
“Hey love,” Andy says softly, still looking after Roger. “I’ve missed you.”
Roger climbs the charred, creaking staircase of the main house with utmost care. It looks like they’d tried to burn the house when they didn’t find him there but the fire-retardant material he’s used everywhere, along with extra precautions over the years, meant it had proved fairly futile. The staircase, constructed mainly of polished wood, had fared the worst and with each step he expects to go crashing through to the floor below.
It’s heartbreaking. Halcyon, as much as he’d hated it for all it stood for, had been home. He’d spent the last two years turning it into a fortress and now it’s been reduced to broken windows and burnt furniture. He hadn’t even dared to look at the library, not when he saw the fire damage to the doors. It’s bad enough just walking towards what used to be his bedroom, char marks up the walls on either side and the beautiful stained glass window at the end of the hallway now just an empty lattice, some of the metal bent out of shape.
Roger hesitates outside his own door. It’s stupid to do this. If the corporation have left traps, this is the most likely place for them. He’s amazed he’s made it this far without setting anything off. Though maybe somewhere, something is just counting down and everything is going to disappear in a blaze of glory, any moment now.
He still turns the handle and goes into his bedroom. He’s tired of being cautious.
Everything in here looks pretty much as he left it, except for the shards of glass from the broken window scattered across the tiles and the shreds of sheets and mattress everywhere. Nothing is burnt in here and he frowns, stepping warily closer to the bed. He can’t see anything unusual, apart from the mess. The drawers of the dresser have been pulled out and the boxes of collected medicine tossed carelessly over the floor, the same with his clothes. Roger’s still trying to work out exactly what they did except make a mess when he sees the note on the bed.
It’s almost invisible amongst the torn scraps of white sheets which was he’d missed it on his first look around. His name is written across the front in neat, rounded cursive. He finds one of his leather gloves out on the balcony and spends a few minutes uselessly searching for the other one before he decides one will do. He approaches the bed even more carefully, leaning down to flip the note over with his gloved hand, ready to jump back at the slightest hint of a trap.
Nothing jumps at him, no alarms start to ring and the back of the paper has a few, tidy sentences swirled across it. Roger reads them, then has to read them again, putting a hand out to support himself against a corner of the bed.
Oh god. That is the last thing he needs.
“Hey,” a soft voice says from the door and Roger crumples the note hastily, tucking it discreetly into his pocket as he turns around. Andy doesn’t notice as he steps hesitantly into the room.
“Wow. They really made a mess.”
“Yes,” Roger agrees, his heart beating fast and every part of him aware of the note in his pocket. “I’m not sure what they were looking for – you clearly weren’t here, so maybe they thought they’d take what they could find.”
“We’re sure it was me they were looking for?” Andy bends to pick up a black shirt, poking his fingers curiously through the holes. Roger nods.
“I talked to Andrew last night. He said it was the cook who turned traitor – he saw her being led out of the house just before the attack. She heard you the day you arrived so she knew who you were and she had access to the food and water.”
Andy frowns, tossing the shirt aside. “But why? She could’ve poisoned you long before now.” He wanders out to the balcony and Roger flinches but when he goes after him, Andy is staying well away from the edge.
“Money. A place in one of the cities.” Roger shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re were probably worth a lot to the corporation and the temptation was too much. Andrew thinks she was given something to use that would react to the amphetamine in your blood, so when I was called away to Paris you’d be too ill to move,” He looks down, playing with a frayed seam on his glove. “They didn’t count on me having the drugs to counter the effects.”
“Always one step ahead aren’t you?” Andy murmurs, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Roger risks a step closer, wanting to touch the American but not sure if he’s allowed, not with Mardy reappearing. Speaking of which… “How did it go? The phone call?”
“Okay.” Andy swallows. “He sounds okay. He cried. I cried.” His voice cracks a little and Roger decides ‘allowed’ is bullshit and slides his arms around the American, pulling him close and Andy comes willingly, resting his head on Roger’s shoulder. “Marat said they’ll let him go once I’ve worked with them on this big plan.”
“Did he say what it is?” Roger strokes Andy’s hair - nearly blond again, now the black dye had finally almost washed out - soothingly as the American sniffles a little before nodding.
“Yeah. He wants me to organise an American offensive, to take all the major corporate officials simultaneously. He said they have contingency plans for the occasional loss, which is why we haven’t been making a difference, but take enough of them out at once and…”
“And the whole system comes crashing down,” Roger murmurs. Damn, he was a little proud of the sneaky Russian for this. Just not his methods. “Why does he need you?”
“He had no American connections. He needs me to be the go-between, to get it all set up over there.” Andy shifts, looking up at Roger. “I’ll need to go home to do it Rog.”
“I know.” Roger was already working through it. “Yves can fly you. Those jets may look useless but they’re good for long distance and we’ve got enough to refuel it with. When are you leaving?”
“As soon as possible. Everyone else is in place according to Marat, Moya is just waiting for the signal to start.” Andy staggers as Roger flinches unexpectedly. “What?! What’s wrong?”
“Carlos?” Roger demands. “Did Marat say where he was?”
“No, just that he was in charge of starting the chain. What?” Andy frowns. “Is Carlos supposed to be dead too?”
“No, no. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” Roger shakes his head and changes the topic. “If you leave today, would you be coming back?”
“Yes.” Andy straightens, letting his arms loosen around Roger’s waist as he meets the Swiss’ dark eyes. “We have to sort this out Roger. Us and Mardy and… everything. I won’t be more than a week.”
“You’re right.” Roger’s tone is flat, emotionless. “But look Andy, don’t hurry. You should talk to Mardy, see what you’ve both missed of each other. I don’t want-“
He’s cut off by Andy’s lips pressed to his, warm and soft with a hint of trembling behind it. When Andy breaks it, leaning back, his eyes are wet and Roger has to hang on to him to stay upright.
He really doesn’t want to lose this but he has a feeling there’s nothing he can do about it. Mardy and Andy, by all accounts, were perfect together. He was just an afterthought,
“I will be back in a week or less,” Andy says fiercely. “And we will work this out somehow. Alright?”
“Alright.” Roger lets himself be dragged back into the bedroom but frees his hand from Andy’s at the door. “Could I just have a minute?” He glances around the ruined room. “I’ll catch up with you.”
“Of course.” Andy tries to smile but it comes out too crooked and Roger looks down. “I’ll see you in a sec.”
Roger waits until Andy’s footsteps on the stairs have faded before crossing the room back to the bed and sitting down, pulling the note out his pocket. Smoothing it across his thigh, he reads the neat letters again, feeling faintly sick as he makes sure he’s read it exactly right.
He has and he knows it, just doesn’t want to believe it. Written in neat, corporate pen, he reads the message a final time.
‘Federer – Bring Roddick to the Basel airfield at 7pm on August 25th. Come alone and unarmed, or your spy Miroslava dies.’
Part Six|Part Eight
Bed now. I'll either be killed by
liroa15 or die of sleep deprivation. It's gone 5am. Hello five am, nice to see you again. *sighs* I need to stop doing this.Night!
Clo
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 05:24 am (UTC)And Eeeeeeeeeeeep. they talked... but Andy has a thing for Rog and...
Heee, Mardy's a pain in the butt. *snuggles him* At least Marat & Tommy aren't going to do anything dire to Mardy. *pets them all*
Poor Mirka... *sighs* Why do I have a bad feeling about this??
No more 5ams for you!!! though it was totally worth it to have more of this fic... and what would I have to do to get even more very soon??
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 11:31 am (UTC)Marat and Tommy would have to deal with Andy's wrath if they so much as touched Mardy, and they really don't want that. *pets them too* Marat's not impressed by Mady's pain-the-buttness though. ^__^
Now I think I've worked out what's happening about Mirka. If it all works that is. If the plan doesn't change before the next chapter, I'd say everyone except Mirka should be worried, really. *bites her tongue* And that's all I'm saying. ;)
I'll believe that when it happens. ;) Well smut is always a delicious bribe... *snuggles it* I could get the next part up say about Sunday with good smut to inspire me... ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 04:31 pm (UTC)I can't blame 'em... but maybe a little touching.... Oh wait, you're not heading in that direction are you?? Well, yeah, Marat wouldn't be impressed by Mardy's being such a pain, but I am. *snuggles him*
OOoooooooh... intriguing... *pokes you* More!!!
Smut is good. Smut is very good. I can totally do smut. :-D
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 04:44 pm (UTC)*giggles* Well I wasn't but... *grins* Sadly I think Halcyon!Mardy is too innocent and in love with Andy to deal with Halcyon!Marat and Halcyon!Tommy. *sighs* Oh well. At least he gets to be annoying to make up for it. ^__^
*grins* My lips are sealed until the next part. ;)
YAY!!! *dances around the room* Smut is indeed very good. :D
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 04:48 pm (UTC)*pets innocent Mardy* Somehow, I think his innocence is going to end up hurting him. :-( His annoyingness is, however, extremely cute. Too bad Marat probably doesn't see it the same way.
No sealing of lips. I wanna know... I have to know... :-D
I am in the process of trying to finish a smut fic that was originally intended to make Andy feel better after his wrist injury, but can just as easily be used to bribe you
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 05:01 pm (UTC)*pets innocent Mardy too* He's getting better. Being kidnapped was good for him in lots of ways, though Marat probably doesn't agree... ;)
Nope. Part eight will probably show up Sunday, so I'm saying nothing until then. ;) Not to mention I'm still working on some of the finer details.
YAYYAYAY! *loves being bribed with smut*
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 05:05 pm (UTC)I'd like to have an innocent Mardy of my very own. *nods* Even if he is an annoying pain the butt! ;-) Marat should enjoy him while he can...
Sunday? But... but... *sniffles* Okay. *pokes the finer details* Work out already so I can get more fic!!
*giggles* Yeah well... one of my muses is scared of the smut. Well, scared of this smut at least. He's actually very shy and apparently not as adventurous as his lover wants him to be....
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 05:09 pm (UTC)Everyone should have their own innocent!Mardy. *giggles as she wonders if that would make a good icon* And don't give Marat ideas! *wails* He's already kidnapped the poor guy, threesome sex might be a bit too much to spring on him so soon. *snuggles Mardy* Then again, he may like the idea. *ponders*
Since part 7 was technically posted today, that's only three days. ;) Not to mention I think this may be another horrendously long part - this fic is already over 30,000 words. *sighs* At least most of the finer details are coming together now though. :D
*grins* Aawwww, bless him. *snuggles* Anyone I know? ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 05:29 pm (UTC)I think threesome sex would make Mardy feel better. ;-D and it would make an excellent icon!!
Was not!!! Was posted yesterday for me!!! ;-( YAY for long fic though. *bounce* I like the long fics. *nods*
I think you might know him... ;-)
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 10:17 pm (UTC)Quite possibly threesome sex makes everyone feel better. *contemplates* I think it's too late now though - I should've realised that about part five. Oh well. Next time. *plots the icon instead*
... Damn timezones! Though *technically* you'll still have to wait the same length of time. ;) Does that count? And I love long fics, when I'm reading them - I think my problem is that I find it nearly imossible to write anything under 2,000 words. *sighs* I should work on that.
Oh really... *ponders* Is he blonde or brunette?
no subject
Date: 2005-04-01 12:07 am (UTC)maybe you're right about the same amount of time... *thinks* Okay, my brain can't work the math right now.... :-D I can barely write over 2000 words, so I think between the two of us, we've got long and short covered ;-)
He is a brunette. :-D
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Date: 2005-04-01 10:57 am (UTC)*giggles* Well that's okay then! ;)
Aww. *snuggles him* Poor baby. Don't let those kinky Americans scare you. You'll enjoy it! ^__^
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Date: 2005-04-01 06:19 pm (UTC)*G*
He ended up enjoying himself. ;-D
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Date: 2005-04-01 07:15 pm (UTC)Yay! *snuggles Tommy*
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Date: 2005-04-01 07:30 pm (UTC)*pets Tommy* He's quite adorable. *thinks* Okay, he's quite sexy. *nods*
no subject
Date: 2005-04-01 09:45 pm (UTC)Tommy is indeed adorable, and indeed quite sexy. *snuggles him* Tennis has so much lovely eye-candy. :D
no subject
Date: 2005-04-01 09:47 pm (UTC)*nods* It really does... I can remember back in early nineties/late eighties thinking how ugly all the guys were, and now they're all lovely and pretty and I wanna lick 'em.
How well...
Date: 2005-03-31 05:48 am (UTC)*huggles Roger* It's all going to work out somehow, sweetie. Don't be trading Andy to the evil men.
Re: How well...
Date: 2005-03-31 11:43 am (UTC)*looks innocent* I'm saying nothing. It's Roger's choice.
Re: How well...
Date: 2005-03-31 04:15 pm (UTC)Re: How well...
Date: 2005-03-31 04:46 pm (UTC)Re: How well...
Date: 2005-03-31 09:38 pm (UTC)Re: How well...
Date: 2005-03-31 10:14 pm (UTC)Re: How well...
Date: 2005-04-01 03:59 am (UTC)Re: How well...
Date: 2005-04-01 10:58 am (UTC)Still not saying I won't surprise you a little bit. ;) Though I doubt you'll like that either.
Re: How well...
Date: 2005-04-01 03:46 pm (UTC)And so far, what have I liked when you decdie to surprise me?
Re: How well...
Date: 2005-04-01 05:17 pm (UTC)Um.... um.... *tries to think of something*
Re: How well...
Date: 2005-04-01 07:46 pm (UTC)Re: How well...
Date: 2005-04-01 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 07:39 am (UTC)*cuddles into Maria* She's so sweet!
Oh dear.....how on earth is Roger going to get out of this one with everyone alive? And Carlos! What about Carlos made Roger react so?
*shivers with anticipation*
*giggles*
I can not believe the corp pplz don't know the connection between all the pretty tennis players.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 11:47 am (UTC)*looks innocent* Again, I'm saying nothing. Though I actually know, sort of, thanks to last night's flash of inspiration. Yay!
I know, I had to stretch belief a little there but if they knew it'd all go pear-shaped. *sighs* Though the only reason I ever heard of Andy Roddick or Roger Federer is because I adore Wimbledon, and I'd still never heard of them until last year. So maybe the corporation is entirely British or something. ;) What, it sort of works as an excuse! ^__~
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Date: 2005-03-31 11:58 am (UTC)Innocent? Pffffffftt!!!!
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Date: 2005-03-31 12:05 pm (UTC)I am! Honestly! ;)
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Date: 2005-03-31 12:50 pm (UTC)Riiiiiiiiiight *looks sceptical*
no subject
Date: 2005-03-31 02:59 pm (UTC)Okay, maybe not *completely* but at least a little bit innocent... ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-04-01 11:03 am (UTC)