delga | fic: hard liquor. [2/14] (spooks)

hard liquor. (Spooks)
Fiona, Adam, Tja; het./fem.
ii. cinderella & the con

They ask her, what did you do in the Cold War?

She answers, what I had to do.

She thinks, I ran.

Asian wives, she thinks, are like Russian whores. They are owned and traded. She thinks this because this is what she has heard and she keeps her ear pretty close to the ground.

It is eight years before Damascus and they call her Charna¹. The name, she thinks, suits her hair, which is longer than it once was; longer than she’s ever had it before. She’s only in Jerusalem for a few months but the charade is necessary. She doesn’t want to be caught.

As with every other place she’s been to, she’s only there for the money but this time the deceit is a little more difficult. This time the con needs money to work and not just to reward.

So she is Charna, the dark one; a little Jewess. A rich Jewess (and she smirks at the disgusting cliché; smirks because she could not possibly weep) who will go to the ball. Of course, she doesn’t understand the story of Cinderella – why wait for a prince when a woman can survive alone?

Danny asks her, “Is Yemen going to be a problem?” and she is surprised. Adam is usually too demure about his capture to tell anyone. She shakes her head, no, in reply.

(As a good wife would).

Russian whores and Asian brides. It was the same world over.

Charna catches people’s attention: men and women both. Men savage her with their eyes, women check for signs of a threat. But Charna knows that she will win them over; she is draped in fine gold silk and her feet are encased in strapless sandals. Her complexion screams east; her clothes proclaim west. Charna is here to break hearts.

(And steal, of course).

Abrahim Sharif sees her and she looks away (waiting for that moment, pausing, seeming unsure, waiting, looking up and—)

Gotcha.

Buy me a drink.

Men are men. Two heads, one brain. The upper half does the talking, the lower half does the walking and he heads towards her, powerful in his position as an eminent man. She cannot help (it is her female weakness) but stop to catch her breath. He takes her hand, presses his lips to her knuckles and peers up to face her.

Men are men. And now Charna is the queen.

When she leaves Jerusalem, the heat is her hunter. She can barely stand, barely breathe and there is sand everywhere. But there is comfort when she leaves Jerusalem.

She does not leave alone.

It’s not everyday that you can meet favour and grace in one foul swoop. This is why she never forgets the moment in which they met.

Years later she will think back and remember this as the beginning of the end. They would ask her how it began and she would point to this second, this single instant in time that made the wheels reverse.

As Charna, she should have been secure for at least six months. But then there was a knock at the door, a flash of red (blood red) silk and the world came undone in the biggest way possible.

Red lights, red liquid and above everything else, red lust. Hard and brutal (she’s never gentle), Charna is against the wall and Hanna² (if that’s even her name, god she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know anything but sweet, sweet cider and hot, flushed skin and her mouth, her tongue) is pushing her, forcing her, biting her lip. This is not love, Charna thinks, it is not love. But she doesn’t care; doesn’t want to care.

There are fingers now, separate from hands and it’s dirty (the way it used to be – Moscow dirty) and sweaty and oh god so, so needy. There is a tongue in her ear, a hand on her breast, a finger circling her clit just so and then there’s gasping and moaning and writhing and holy shit. There has never been anything more real than this, she thinks. Never before and never ever again.

Just Hanna, her sin and those come-fuck-me heels.

It’s funny the images that stay in your mind because in the middle of Damascus (when she should be running for her life or panicking, one of the two at the very least) all Fiona can think of is ‘Hanna’ and the bruises she left behind in her wake.

And as she’s running towards shelter and Adam Carter is reaching for her hand, all she can sense is the smell of oil and flame and sharp, spicy tequila, burning in the air.

Most of all, she remembers bright plum lipstick smeared across her hand and how, as ‘Hanna’ kissed her into submission, all she could think of was that in Moscow, the snow would be six-inches deep already.

Charna has been misplaced. It’s an irritation (a fucking obstacle, if you will) and she’s not sure if the money is worth all this trouble. She’s been playing at subterfuge for the last three months and as always, the need for liberty is beginning to itch at her skin. She doesn’t need the hassle, doesn’t need the waste of time (after all, there are other places and other cons still to perform).

But it seems (and it seems disgustingly typical) that Abrahim Sharif as been tempted away by another mirage.

For the first few days, she keeps her head, smiles when Sharif speaks of this new ‘butterfly’ of his. (Butterfly, read: slut). Then, as the rumours become stronger, she notices subtle changes in the atmosphere: the incense is heavier, the men are coarser and the women barely look at her anymore. Suddenly the world becomes dark again, as though she never left those street corners, and it’s time to meet this temptress.

end. [2/14]

[1] Means ‘dark’ in Slavic
[2] From the Hebrew name Channah meaning "favour" or "grace". Latinate form is Anna.