Michael Cohen's dream was to protect and serve as a police officer.... That job didn't satisfy him, until one day,
when people without names came to visit. He wanted to make a difference, but he didn't expect it to make a difference to him, too...

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Chapter 20.5
 
 
“Are you alright?” Daniel’s calm voice asked as it came smashing through my distraught mind. I looked up at him, standing above me, by reflex, my fingers gripped the pistol by my side.

“I’m sorry.” I muttered weakly. “I should have told you, I’m so sorry. Please….” I pleaded looking up at Daniel.

Daniel crouched down by my side, and took the pistol from my hand, “You will not need that.” He said realising what I was feeling. “I will not harm you.”

I swallowed the rising fear, “You realise what he said in there?” I asked tentatively, trying to establish what page we were on.

Daniel nodded slowly, “That you are… not a woman.” he said slowly, shifting uncomfortably.

“He’s right, or was.” I sighed closing my eyes to compose my thoughts. “Before this mission, I was… male.” I couldn’t bring myself to say man, because in all honestly, it had never been a title that I had identified with. “This mission required a female agent, for the legend, and I had to replace someone…. I was the only one with the required… skills.” I shrugged weakly. “Before I went on the mission, I began to feel more at home like this. I began to realise that it had been something I was missing my entire life.” I added sincerely, “This is the real me… even if I didn’t begin this way… I know how weird this must sound, but please… I have not deceived you… you are the only friend I have left.”

Daniel was quiet for a moment. “I cannot begin to understand this… but I cannot see a male in you.” He said softly. “Surprised? Yes: You are so… feminine,” he shrugged, I believe I expected someone like you to be more… masculine or awkward….” he trailed off.

“Daniel…” I sighed, “I can’t explain this very well… I don’t really understand this to begin with, but I can tell you with certainty that the girl, no, woman you see before you is a real person, I’m not a fake, or a pretender, or some in-between, I am Sharon Cohen.” I said with a determination that I didn’t know I felt.

Daniel took my hand and pulled me too my feet. We stood looking at one another for a long moment before he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. I hardened at first, but finally relaxed into the embrace that allowed me to cry out the pain and confusion that had been building up in me for the last few weeks. He stood holding me till I had stopped crying, and pulled back to look into my eyes. “In a world of lies and deceit Sharon, you are one of the very few honest people that I know. This does not change that,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. “It is not hard to see you as a woman, you must have made a very bad man.” He chuckled softly.

“I guess you’re right.” I admitted softly. “I’m a more complete person now.”

Daniel smiled and nodded his head in the direction of the car. “Come, let us leave this place, our work is done.” He said softly. “We have much to do now.”

I nodded absentmindedly as we walked back to the car and drove away from the warehouse. I will never know what happened to Hasizi and his family, but I expect he is still holed up in a Syrian Prison cell, awaiting a trial that will never come.

Our journey back into the city, and our hotel room was dominated by an awkward silence. I really didn’t know what to say to Daniel; I felt like a burden, and a bad fake, regardless of his well meant words of acceptance.

He had tried to talk several times, but I could only utter one word responses, and conversation quickly died. I so wanted to talk to him, to make things normal again… We had reached a significant breakthrough in narrowing down the search for the ones that had framed us, and our eventual freedom, but it felt like a minor victory compared to the turmoil that Hasizi’s words had created. It was a strange feeling. This felt right; I was happy with how things were… but was I simply fooling myself? Had this job changed me so much? Had I simply bent with the pressure? I didn’t think so, but it was a constant weight on my mind. The authenticity of my feelings was confusing. Hasizi’s words had been the truth, I reminded myself.

I wasn’t sure why I felt so bad that the truth was exposed. It was of course, simple fact, but there was something about how I had been treated by the Israelis, and Daniel; it made me feel normal. I sighed deeply as I stared out of the window. Why was life so complicated?

“Talk to me.” Daniel said softly, turning towards me as he drove. “You’re still upset by what Hasizi said, are you not?”

I nodded weakly and refused to meet his gaze.

Daniel sighed. “Sharon, look,” he said imploringly. “I’m ok with this… really; I am a tolerant man. Do not treat me as though you expect me to scream and shout about betrayal, I can understand your reluctance to reveal something so personal. We really haven’t known each other that long…. Things have been complicated, I bear no grudge.” He said looking at me imploringly.

“I’m sorry.” I murmured softly, “I still feel guilty.”

Daniel shook his head. “Do not feel guilty for being who god made you.”

I turned to face him, for the first time seeing the softness in his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

He nodded, “I am a religious man, although I do not take the words as literally as some of my kinsmen. I was taught to see the meanings… not the laws. God has a plan for all things, and he would not allow something to happen that he considered a sin, or abhorrent, that someone was unable to help.”

I looked out of the window for a long moment while I thought of my answer. “Thank you.” I said quietly.

“For what?”

“Everything and nothing.” I said without looking at him. “Everything and nothing.”
 
 

Chapter 21
 
 
It felt good to finally have my feet back on English soil. Our flight out of Damascus had been completely uneventful; the documents Anderson had secured were not questioned as we cleared customs and boarded the aircraft. Even the flight itself had been quiet, although I had mixed feelings. One part of me felt relieved with every mile that was placed between myself and that country, but another knew It would always be where so much had changed…. Where I’d lost so much… I’d spent the rest of the flight attempting to engage Daniel in conversation to distract my weary mind.

As the plane bean its decent into Heathrow however, the tension I had been enjoying a welcome break from returned with a small army of followers. I walked quietly next to Daniel as we left the aircraft and made our way along the gantry and into the brightly lit main terminal building: Customs, the first hurdle in what I hoped would prove the final leg of this mission lay ahead of us.

“Do you think it will be ok?” I asked trying to break the nervous silence that had occupied us since we had first landed.

Daniel shook his head, “Of course,” he shrugged casually. “They do not know we have left Syria, and these documents are clean, if we were going to get picked up, it would have been leaving Syria, we have slipped the net.”

I nodded to myself, trying to believe his words. I still felt like a lost little girl next to his years of experience at this game. I knew that I was miles beyond the meagre training I had received, but I was still miles away from safety too, nerves were only human I rationalised.

As we approached the customs lines I had to check myself as I began to walk towards the domestic line, thankfully, I didn’t think it was noticed.

The cue progressed and I found myself for the second time in front of the customs booth with my heart in my mouth.

“Welcome to the United Kingdom, what’s the purpose of your visit?” the bored officer asked barely looking up.

“Visiting friends.” I said casually, flashing a quick friendly smile at the man.

“Enjoy your stay.” He smiled back stamping my passport. It was amazing what a smile and a short skirt did to a man I thought rolling my eyes: He didn’t even ask for my return ticket.
 

*          *          *
 
“It feels good being home does it not?” Daniel observed with a smile as we walked out of the terminal building and hailed a cab. “That expression on your face is one I know well.”

I sighed as I looked around the taxi bay at Heathrow Airport. It wasn’t anything spectacular… It was a concrete overpass, four lanes of tarmac and a small copse of trees climbing the embankment on the far side… But it was England.

“It does.” I agreed without really looking back at him. “Miserable, but home.”

The weather was typically British as we drove out of Heathrow and towards central London. The sky was grey and overcast, with the occasional hint of drizzle; I found it difficult to believe it was actually July.

Our plan was not as complicated as I’d believed it would be… I was going to turn myself in; or at least that was how it would appear to the outside observer. Just a naive young agent believing that her coming back in would clear her name.
We were going to take the head off this organisation or die trying, but first, there was groundwork to be laid.

I surveyed the small hotel room before me, a double this time thankfully, but still relatively lacking in privacy. It was mildly annoying that I wasn’t able to return to my own flat, a mere handful of miles from the hotel we were staying in, but I wasn’t naive enough to believe they wouldn’t be watching my place. Eventually they would clock on to the fact that we were no longer in Syria, and it wouldn’t make the search a hard one if I was in the first place they would look.

I’d changed clothes on arrival, and felt more comfortable in the jeans, vest top and hooded sweatshirt I’d bought on the drive over; they were considerably warmer than the clothes I’d brought back with me from Syria.

I picked up the mobile phone I’d bought in the airport and dialled the one phone number I knew I could trust. As much as I had disliked some of our previous interactions, we had been partners… and we had worked well together, and it was time for one last job.

“Sergeant Thompson.” Harry answered when he picked up the phone.

“Harry,” I said neutrally, aiming for more of Mike’s voice than Sharon’s. “It’s Mike, how are things?”

“Mike?” He asked curiously. “This line sounds a bit odd… How are you mate?”

“I guess I’m ok.” I said biting my lip nervously before continuing “Look Harry, I’m back in England for a bit, could I meet up with you for a drink?” I asked, hoping he bought it.

“Yeah no problems mate, would be good to catch up… Though it’s not like you to want to go out for a pint is it?” he chuckled. “Foreign air must be doing you some good man.”

“Yeah, so uh, when’s good for you?” I pressed, hoping to actually get a time and place out of him. I was aware of Harry’s legendary reputation for never getting to the point and an extended conversation wasn’t really possible without getting drawn into detail I couldn’t reveal over the phone.

Harry sighed as though he was stretching. He was probably still at that same desk in the ops room. “I get out at six mate. ‘Bout seven in the Mare?”

“That works, I’ll see you then. Bye.” I offered closing the connection. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do or how I’d even do it… But I needed Harry on side for what I had planned, although his reaction to me would be unpredictable. I was sure I could spin some tale about it being a role… like it had been, but any thought of going back to being mike was out of the question now. I mentally shrugged. It was out of my hands.
 

*          *          *
 
It was quarter to seven, and I stood outside the Mare’s head, a quiet pub that was frequented by off duty officers. It was the favoured haunt of the firearms teams.

I’d wanted to dress down for the meeting; I had wanted to present as neutral an image as I could while reminding Harry that this was a role, in the end I realised that I had to go all out to achieve that… The brown boots and short skirt would probably draw more attention than I wanted, and the tight long sleeve white tee-shirt was left little to the imagination but it would also most likely stop Harry exploding and outing me to the whole pub if he thought people were paying attention… Small mercies I suppose.

I pushed the door open and entered the warm interior. I was right. It might only have been seven pm, but the place was busy, white shirts and open collars of the recently off duty mingled with other patrons that were quite obviously on the force too.

I couldn’t see Harry at first, but the place was crowded; it wasn’t that unusual. I approached the bar and ordered a bottled beer.

“There you are love.” The bar tender said cheerily as he handed over my drink. I nodded my thanks without really paying attention; my mind was elsewhere, currently watching the room around me. I wasn’t sure if it was my recent experiences, but the less than subtle glances I was receiving were pinging my radar. I wasn’t naive enough to believe they were sent to grab me, but after what I’d gone through, the attention was unsettling.

Harry walked into the pub shortly after seven and walked straight up to the bar after a quick look around; for me I presumed. He chatted aimlessly with the Landlord for a moment before taking his pint over to the darts board in the corner of the room, and began to pass the time throwing darts while he waited for my arrival.

I slipped off the stool I was on and walked over to him. He hadn’t changed much, still the same short receding hair, the same mix of Jeans and gym tee-shirt he always wore when off duty. I realised that while I hadn’t got on with him, it had been something wrong with me, not him.

“You’re still an aweful shot.” I purred softly causing his final dart to plough unceremoniously into the wall next to the board.

“Huh, oh hello.” He said turning around to face me. “Sorry, thought you were someone else for a moment darling.” He smiled. “Do I know you?” He asked furrowing his brow.

I swallowed and smiled. “It’s me Harry… Mike.”

Harry’s eyes widened for a moment. “Erm, what?” He asked slowly, confusion registering on his face. “Mike?”

“Um, yeah.” I offered looking down at my feet. I raised my eyes to meet his. “Look Harry, I can explain… can we go somewhere quiet to talk? It’s sort of important.”

Harry stood staring at me for a moment. He reached over and picked up his pint glass and took a long gulp before blinking and muttering “Uh, sure.”

We walked over to a quiet corner of the pub and took a seat in the booth.

“So this is what you’ve been doing since you left…” Harry said bluntly looking me over. “Not the diplomatic service huh?”

I couldn’t look him in the eye for a moment, he looked almost hurt… deceived. “It’s not like that Harry.” I offered trying to meet his gaze. “I can explain.” I offered weakly.

Harry’s expression willed me to continue, and over the next half an hour, I proceeded to give him the slightly edited version of the truth. I told him about the mission, Syria, Harriet, the Traitors… nearly everything. I left out my feelings about the whole subject, and thankfully he bought the duty line: Though not without a little ribbing.

“I still can’t believe how you look man.” He said shaking his head with disbelief. “I mean, you really do look like a bird.”

“That was sort of the point.” I offered rolling my eyes and sipping my beer. “It wouldn’t have worked very well if I didn’t.”

His expression turned serious for a moment. “You’re serious about these bent guys in Mi6? Jesus…” he breathed running his hands through his short hair. “I can’t believe you’re working for them.” He said incredulously. “This is dangerous Mike… uh, that feels weird.” He said shaking his head.

“Probably best if you call me Sharon.” I said blushing. “I guess it fits better for now.”

“Are you alright in there?” He asked softly after a moment. “I mean, this is pretty deep right? I’m not sure if I’d be in one piece up top if I was in your shoes… though I doubt they’d suit me.” He laughed attempting to cover his concern with humour.

“I… Yeah, I’ll just be glad when this is all over.” I said dismissively avoiding his question: It was true though.

“So what are you planning to do? I mean, can’t you take this higher up? To your bosses?”

I shook my head. “No, that won’t work, As far as they know… I don’t exist… well, sure I’m on some records, I have a pass… but I can be painted in as a traitor myself… I have been.” I offered with a sigh. “Only way we can really solve this is by drawing them out… by getting evidence… boots on the beat.” I smiled remembering the old phrase from when I’d been in uniform.

Harry finished off the remainder of his beer and placed the glass down on the table decisively. “Fuck it, I’m in.” He said with determination. “Beats going on shouts to some kid with a water pistol at Tescos.”

I smiled. It almost felt like the old days again.
 
 
From the Author:
Hey folks, Again, one thousand appologies for the length of time this took, but I've been doing that 'get an education' thing, and the bastards keep trying to get a girl down with all the work.. *sigh* Still. I'm back for now, and expect more Focal point and a Christmas NCIS special for your pressie :)
Thanks for reading, and please comment,

Alyssa