Joanna Foster's Clinic, London - Earlier
"So, you and Paul were close, Freen?"
"We were inseparable Joanna, he was like the brother I never had."
"Interesting, were you an only child by any chance?"
"Yeah," I told her, "it was just me and my mum after my father died."
"So, after she died you joined the army and it was there you met Paul and became friends?"
"Yeah, sort of anyway. I wasn't looking for a friend. I went all through my basic training without getting really close to anyone. I can do friendly, but I don't need to have friends, I've never needed them in my life; but when Paul and I met we sort of clicked, did everything together after that. We even called ourselves the Musketeers. "I added with a wry smile at the memory. "We looked after each other, inside and out, you know?"
Joanna nodded, her face thoughtful and sat back into her chair, staring at the ceiling. I relaxed into the comfortable place she had helped me create and allowed my mind to relax.
"Do you want to have friends now?" Joanna asked me out of the blue.
"I don't know," I replied thinking of JJ and Lauren, James, Richie and Jenna, and the guys at Armstrong manor that I seemed to be getting along with as well.
"I have people I can be friendly with, I think that might be enough."
"Do you want to be friends with Rebecca?" she pressed, once again relentlessly honing in on my feelings for my charge.
"I don't know," I told her, extending the courtesy of the truth to her once more when it would have been far simpler to lie. "I'm not sure what I want from Rebecca, but I guess friendship would be good."
"Do you think that she's your friend now?
"I don't know that either," I said. "I'm not sure what she is, or what she's trying to be. I think we could be friends, though."
"Have you asked her?"
"Don't be silly, there's no way I can ask her that. I barely even know her, besides she's my employer. It's my job to keep her safe."
"You keep returning to that tired old line Freen, yet I think we've just established that it's just an excuse."
I sat in the chair and stared at the ceiling. There really wasn't anything that I could say to that.
"I think you need to learn to trust your instincts better, Freen, you might find that people will surprise you, like Paul surprised you."
"Yeah, whatever..."
----
Becky's Flat, St John's Wood - Present Day
I stared across at the stoney-faced Rebecca Armstrong who was looking at me with something that looked close to contempt and waited; waited for the fury that I knew was coming my way. To my surprise, it didn't arrive. She just sat there, calmly sipping her drink and looking at me; her poker face in full effect.
"Say something," I said to her, wanting the silence that had fallen between us to be ended.
"I really don't know what to say, Freenky," she replied, with just a hint of coldness in her voice; cold but not angry, not yet anyway.
"I knew this was a mistake," I said, snapping out the words and getting up out of the chair, "Fucking Joanna and her stupid therapy, I knew it wouldn't do any good."
I was held back by an outstretched foot as I went to walk around the coffee table, the bare toes scrunching into my thigh as she stopped me.
"Sit down, Freen. I said 'I don't know what to say', not 'get the fuck out of my house'."
"No, I think I should go. I think I've said enough for one night."
The foot changed position on my thigh and shoved me backwards towards the chair I'd just vacated, her brown eyes fixed on me as I stepped back.
"Sit, Freen!" she said, making me feel for a second like a disobedient puppy, I could feel my hackles raise at the tone in her voice.
"Please, just sit down and let me think about this for a second, all right?" she continued in a much softer tone, her lips twisting into the barest hint of a smile. Appeased, my pulse slowing, I complied with the request and not the order.
We sat in silence for a while, Becky steepling her fingers as she stared at me. Looking for anything to do that would help me avoid her gaze, I picked up my rapidly cooling drink and sipped at it, our eyes locking briefly every time I chanced a look in her direction.
"I don't understand you, Freen Sarocha," she said finally, breaking the silence with her soft, low voice. "I thought I had a good handle on you and how you felt, but I didn't expect this."
"I'm sorry," I told her honestly, "I should never have opened my mouth. I think I got caught up in all this 'safe place' and 'therapy' bullshit. I forgot about who I am and what I do. I shouldn't have said what I did, it's not fair on you and it's not professional. I'll get JJ to swap me with Simon in the morning. You've met him, he'll be an excellent CPO for you."
She stared at me appraisingly, her fingers steepling once more. I'd seen her do this once before, I remembered, the image burned bright into my mind; it had been at the conference table at Armstrong Industries as she weighed up the counter-offer that had been proposed by her opponents.
She had sat in her chair exactly as she is now, performing the same gestures and looking at the other party in exactly the same way as she's looking at me now. It's no wonder that she's a demon negotiator; even I'm intimidated by the body language she's displaying, and I've been trained not to be concerned by such tricks from people on the other side of the table to me in an investigation.
I chanced another glance at her and watched as her brown eyes narrowed again reminding me of our first meeting; except this time they didn't harden into granite, they remained cool - yes, calculating - definitely, but not hard. It actually surprised me, I was expecting a lot worse.
"I think you should tell me why you just told me all that, Freen, before we make any decisions on the future."
I leaned back into my chair and sighed, spinning the empty mug uncomfortably in my fingers.
"I thought I'd explained that," I started, looking up and holding her glare. "Joanna told me it was something I needed to do in order to move on."
"I got that, I just don't understand why she asked you to do that?"
"I have no idea, Becky. It all came up in our conversations about my past and she just latched onto it and wouldn't let it go. I don't know why she felt it was important."
"I know you don't know," she said slowly, "but if you did know, what would you say?"
"I'd say it's because she knew about how I felt about you before I ever mentioned it, she brought it up; snuck it into the conversation we were having about you being a package."
"A package!" Becky said a hint of probably justified, indignation in her voice. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It's what people like you were referred to in the CPU, Becky. Don't get angry, let me explain," I added seeing the flash in her eyes.
"I think you better. Fast!"
"I'm sure you already know this," I started quickly before she exploded. "I'm sure I've explained it to you in the past, but when I was in the Close Protection Units in the army, we neverreferred to the people we were assigned to in any other way. It's the way everyone does it, and it's the same now, or at least I think it is."
"So why did you do that, why are you trying to do it now? Why do you want to see me as a 'package'?"
"Because you can't get close to people in my business, Becky. The people you protect are just that; people you protect. They aren't your friends, they can't be your friends, they're just things that you have to keep safe. As soon as you stop thinking about them like that, then you make mistakes, then people get hurt. Fuck's sake I've lost enough of my friends to know that, that's what fucking started this in the first place; all the friends I've lost along the way."
"So it's easier not to think about people than be hurt by them; is that what you're saying?"
"I guess so,"
"So I'm just a package to you?"
"Yes, no... I don't know," I replied, flailing around for an answer that made sense to me. "You should be, but I can't think of you like that, that's the problem; that's what Joanna picked up on in a heartbeat. I have no idea how she knew but she just did."
"Knew what Freen? I'm still not getting this."
"Knew that I actually find myself caring about you, Becky, that I'm finding it harder and harder to stay aloof and professional around you; and every time you play your little games with me it makes it harder and harder still, and I don't know how to deal with it."
"Games?" she asked, her face scrunching up in what looked like genuine confusion. "What do you mean games?"
"All the little things you're doing, insisting I call you by your first name, taking the piss in the hospital making out we're an item, holding my hand at dinner, calling me fucking Freenky all the time. I'm not here for your fun and games, Becky and I'm no one's fucking experiment."
"Is that what you think?" she said standing up and allowing her empty cup to fall to the floor, her fists clenching at her sides. "A fucking experiment, is that what you really fucking think?" she raged, practically spitting at me.
"Well, all that bullshit only started after you found out about Amanda" I said standing up myself to face the fury of the pocket atom bomb that was glowing, red for danger, before me.
"What the fuck else am I supposed to think?" I continued, getting my shots in while I could. "When a straight girl starts playing games like that, I tend to think that I'm being messed around."
"Straight girl! That's a pretty fucking arrogant thing to assume, isn't it, Freen," she practically shouted at me. "Did it ever occur to you at any point in the last few days that I might just actually like you?"
"Like me?" I shouted back, "You've spent most of the last few days being a bitch or playing games with me."
"I acted like a bitch because I fucking like you, Freen, and it's not a fucking game, it's never been a fucking game. You say you like me, you say you've come to care about me; well, I fucking like you too, I care about you, and I don't know what to do about that either!"
She stood there practically panting at me, her chest heaving as she regained her composure after her little rant. We faced off, stuck in our own little Mexican standoff, our eyes locked together trying to communicate through the familiar fog of rage. Then, all of a sudden, Becky visibly relaxed and blew out a long breath before speaking again.
"I liked you from the moment you burst into my dad's study waving that toy gun around; I remember thinking how fucking hot you looked doing that, like some kind of female, blonde James Bond. I thought you were fucking gorgeous and dangerous and everything in between. and all I knew is that I wanted you, then it all came crashing down on me. How utterly futile my desires were."
She smiled sadly, her shoulder sagging slightly before she brightened again. "You looked positively primal when you took on Pieter, I felt positively sick when you put him down as easily as you did. I knew there and then that there was no way you'd even look at someone like me and I hated you for it, hated that I felt so much so quickly."
She reached out a hand towards me, stepping closer and gently running the back of her knuckles down my cheek.
"I was a bitch to you because I couldn't handle the fact that you were there. I couldn't handle the fact that I was that attracted to you and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't handle the fact that Dad decided to throw me and you together and that I'd probably have to see you every day feeling like that, feeling so fucking frustrated because I liked you and there'd be no way you liked me back in the same way."
As I stared into those dark brown eyes, I saw the truth of her words, this wasn't a game for her, I saw the glimmerings of affection in her eyes, the development of feelings that I'd tried so hard to ignore before. Like a dam had opened in my mind, my brain replayed every look, every touch, every joke we had shared and the truth came rushing out; the truth that I had unconsciously squashed and forced into that little box with my own feelings.
Becky hadn't just been being friendly recently, she'd been flirting with me, and albeit unconsciously, or consciously but in denial about it, I'd been flirting back It hit me like a round from a Kalashnikov, hard and fast and heavy; I liked Rebecca Patricia Armstrong, I cared for her, and apparently she liked and cared about me too.
Defeated, I let my arms fall to my sides and I slumped into the chair, putting my head into my hands and sighing before looking up at the red-headed beauty who was stood right in front of me.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I said, resignation in my voice. "Becky, what the fuck do we do now?"
She squatted in front of me and grabbed hold of my hands, twisting her fingers through mine and squeezing gently.
"I have no idea, Freen," she said, not inspiring an iota of confidence in me, "I really have no idea at all."