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A whir of colors, the scent of fear, and then a disconsolate scream for help...

She jolted upright, panting and sweating, throat dry. She opened her eyes, staring out for some glimpse of light, something to show her that she'd really woken up from her nightmare.

But there was nothing. Only darkness.


* * *

She'd really done it this time.

Betsy Braddock, famed scholar at the Royal Academy, popular, talented musician, and gorgeous: the kind of girl that anyone would want to be like. She could have been anything she wanted, the more adventurous and exciting the better, if she had set her mind to it. But that same daring spirit which could have propelled her to unknown heights had also thrown her into a head-on collision with a massive cargo truck, and though she had held onto life with all the tenacity of a lion, she would never see such a powerful animal with her own eyes again.

She hadn't said anything when they told her there was no available surgery, no possible cure to restore her vision. They had been cut too deeply by splintered glass and infected too quickly to repair. There was only a matter of cleaning them up enough that she wouldn't need to fear any spread of pathogens, and that was all that could be done. She had only tilted her head toward the doctor's voice, her lips sealed tightly and hands clenched at her sides.

Only when Brian had told her that Alison Double was dead did she make any expression at all, her face twisting in something between remorse and bitterness. Alison had been a friend since childhood, second only to Betsy's brother Brian himself.

"She's in Heaven now," he told her, his hand upon one thickly gauzed arm.

"She didn't have to die. It was my fault. I told her to come along..."

"It's not your fault, Betsy. And you've paid dearly enough, anyway."

"Hardly helps the pain."

"No. Not now, luv. But maybe later..." He left her to sleep, knowing full well she wouldn't for long, and probably wouldn't get any real rest for quite some time. Already nightmares had set in, and she had to be monitored in case she threw herself out of bed or something even more disastrous at night. Usually it was Brian who played the safeguard, crumpled over in a chair by Elisabeth's bed, head buried in his palms until she woke at daybreak. Or at least, when it was obvious she was awake. He knew she often played at being asleep to be left alone with her thoughts, but whether he should take any step to keep her from dwelling on the incident, or on Alison, or on what she had lost, he didn't know.

There was a heavy knock on the door, startling him out of his reverie. Betsy stirred, but made no attempt to sit up. He slipped over to the door quietly and opened it half-way, finding himself staring up at a dark-eyed man who didn't offer any type of greeting as he pushed his way in, a couple of straight-faced uniformed nurses following behind him.

He was slightly more formal with Elisabeth, with a quick how-do she coughed a reply to. Then he turned expectantly to Brian. "If I may have a word alone with the lady?" he asked, sharply.

"Excuse me?"

"I need to speak with Miss Braddock alone, please," the man stated impatiently. One of the nurses held the door open for him. The other stood nearby, smiling all too pleasantly.

"She's my sister..." he trailed off. The man took something from his pocket, and then flashed it at him. A badge of some sort, with ID. It looked official, though not entirely familiar. Certainly not Scotland Yard. He tucked it away again and gestured toward the door impatiently. Brian raised an eyebrow. "Government?"

"Then you can understand the need for privacy. Now, if you'd please leave?"

He looked to Elisabeth, who had by now sat herself up against the pillows. "Bets..."

"I can handle myself, Brian," she said mildly. She hated it when he tried to protect her. And it was usually the other way around, anyhow. He shrugged, defeated, but still wary.

"If you need me, I'll be in the hall..."

"Thank you, sir," said the man, and it was all he said, until Brian had walked through the door and the nurses had disappeared after him, shutting the door with a bang!


* * *

"So then, who are you?" Elisabeth said, sitting herself up.

"My name is Gabriel," he said.

"Don't you have a last name?"

"We don't use last names much, Miss Braddock. Unless we're in the field and they are necessary, and they're not really our own."

She looked puzzled, then suspicious and intrigued all at once. As dead as her eyes may have been, something still stirred in them. She leaned forward slightly. "What are you?"

"Ah! That's the question of the day." She could feel the weight of the bed shift as he sat next to her, and she pulled away intuitively. "Don't worry about me, dear," he said. "I'm your friend, not your enemy."

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"I'm here to give you back your sight," he said.

She nearly laughed. "I'm afraid my hopes for that are gone," she scoffed.

"Oh?"

"The best optometrists in Britain have all been here, Mr... Mr. Gabriel. They've spent days looking at my eyes, every nook and cranny of them, running any test they've ever heard of. If they can't help me..."

"The best of Britain, you say?" he interrupted. "Very impressive. You must have quite a bit of money."

He was being patronizing. Or at least, he sounded like it. "That's none of your business," she growled.

"Actually, it is. Somewhat. As I said, the best doctors in Britain may be impressive and all, but certainly, not all the best come from England, Miss Braddock. And not all might come at a price even your wealthy family could afford."

"I'm certain..."

"However, they wouldn't be out of our own price range. And I can assure you, there are those who can easily fix up those eyes of yours... or something similarly beneficial. They've seen the results to every test those wonderful doctors of yours ran. They've looked over every form anyone's ever filled out, every scribbling anyone's ever written about your eyes. Or the rest of your body, for that matter. And they're all certain they can help."

"How did you get all my records?"

"And now we've come to a full circle, haven't we? You asked what I was. I am an operative for an organization based in London. Little group we call "STRIKE."

"I've never heard of..."

"Hush and listen," he said. "There's plenty of people you've never heard of who are crucial to your- and all of Britain's- security. Working together with others all around the world for a common goal, which would be saving you and everyone else from terrorists and the like. So you need not fear. We're the good guys. And gathering information such as medical records is hardly a challenge for us."

"Why are you telling me this?" He had stood up again, but she wasn't sure where he'd gone. His footsteps were too light to hear.

She nearly jumped when he finally spoke again, on the other side of the room. "I would think that's obvious. Why else would we offer to spend great amounts of money to help you get your sight back?"

She was quiet, half trying to face herself in his direction, half trying to fit together his words. But he answered for her. "Because we want you, of course. At least, for a while. You see, dearest, you're stuck in a wonderful spot any operative of ours would love to be. You're Brian Braddock's sister."

"Excuse me?" Her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, no need to worry for your brother. He's quite innocent, and we know it. It's his beloved fiancee we're worried about."

"Meggan?!"

"Indeed. Miss Darcey, we've come to know, is involved with a particularly violent association of Catholic radicals in Ireland. They've brutally killed several good men and women, some of which happened to be our own operatives. We caught a young man by the name of Thomas Darcey in the act of planting explosives in the home of an influential pro-British leader a month or so ago, ran a background check, and came to find out he's Meggan Darcey's brother. She's also been loaning him great amounts of money which were apparently used to pay for the bombs." He stopped and took a breath. "Surprised?"

Meggan, allied somehow with terrorists? Impossible. The bubbly blonde wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone allow a brother to blow up someone's house. And why had Betsy never heard of this 'Thomas Darcey?' Though, come to think of it, Meggan had never talked much at all about her family.

"Can you be sure he's Meggan's brother? There are a hundred Darcey's in London alone, not to speak of the rest of the Isles. It could be possible you made a mistake."

He laughed uproariously at this. "A mistake? Ha! And on a simple thing like this, too." He moved closer again. "I can show you how we tracked the money. Or at least I can tell you, until you get your sight back. I can prove to you what I'm saying is true. We need your help. If she truly is giving money to this group, the lives of many innocent people are at risk."

"Meggan wouldn't ever do such a thing. And besides, for all intents and purposes, she isn't rich. Where would she get the money?"

"You tell me," he said, darkly.

She frowned. "If you're implying that my brother..."

"I'm not implying anything at all. And as for Miss Darcey, it's more probable she's being used. People like her often are."

She couldn't argue with that. She couldn't argue with any of it, really. There was something about this man which made her believe his every word, and her trust had never been easily won. She heard him walk to the side of her bed again, waiting.

"What would I have to do?"

"Keep an eye on her. Snoop around a bit. Even try to become a confidant of hers, find out where her money comes from an where it goes. It wouldn't be too hard a job, and as I said, you're in the perfect position for it."

Do this, and she would see again. Her sight would be restored, and she might just be able to help Meggan, and perhaps even other innocent people. If she didn't find anything, she didn't find it, and that would be that. She would still be able to see.

It wasn't a bargain anyone sane turned down. And especially not Elisabeth Braddock.

"I'll do it."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "You won't regret it. Now... about your eyes."

* * *

It was a miracle. A handful doctors from all over the globe had suddenly taken an interest in Betsy's condition, and had taken over her care with excitement. "What color eyes would you like?" one of them asked her, with a light German accent.

"Excuse me?"

"Blue? I think you would look stunning with blue."

"I... really don't..."

"Blue it is, then!" And he ran off, without giving further explanation.

She wasn't so sure she knew what was going on after this.

But in less than two weeks, it was announced to Betsy and her brother that, after a simple surgery, she would have perfect vision.

She hugged Brian, crying, and that night it wasn't nightmares or the utter lack of light which kept her from sleep- it was anticipation.

The only part of it which disturbed her was that neither she nor her brother knew exactly what the doctors were about to do in order to repair her eyes. What new surgery or technique would succeed where others did not? But any questions she asked went unheeded, until Gabriel told her it was out of her hands, and not to ask. She didn't disobey.

She got a vague answer the minute before she was taken away. "What are they going to do?" she asked a nurse, one of the two which had come with Gabriel before.

"A replacement surgery. State-of-the art. Nothing to worry about." The woman was too cheery. She almost reminded Betsy of Meggan, a thought which she pushed away.

"Replacement?"

"Oh yes, dearie. A nice new set of cybernetic eyes."

And before Betsy could even voice her surprise, a needle had knocked her out.

* * *

"They're not the same," Brian said, arms crossed. He wasn't the least bit thrilled having not been told about the cybernetics bit of the procedure. Betsy ignored him.

"I think they're lovely," Meggan told her, and she flashed the woman a forced smile, before looking out the window to the lovely greens and grays of a rural English morning. A wonderful sight she had feared she'd never seen again.

"And they gave you these new eyes without cost?" Brian wanted to know. "Any at all?"

"As I've said, no cost. They wanted to experiment with new technology." It wasn't entirely a lie. Gabriel had been honest enough to admit that. But it hurt her not to be able to tell Brian what was on her mind. They were close friends, had always confided in one another. But Gabriel's news had to be kept to herself.

Meggan was saying something about having a nice dinner in town to celebrate, in more words than necessary. She'd come at Betsy's request, somewhat surprised, but pleased to be thought of. She wasn't any different than usual, of course. Sometime, Betsy was going to have to talk to her about the Darcey family. But until then, it would be best to work herself into Meggan's friendship.

Poor dear's probably being used, and just doesn't know it. She hoped so, at least.

Or did she? Was the excitement of covert affairs clouding her mind, now that her eyes were clear? She'd always had a thing for intrigue and breaking from the normal lives of the mundane British gentry which surrounded her. Excitement had always been her calling- and in the form of Gabriel and his people, it had found her.

She shrugged it off. What did it matter? She was working for the good side. And within all hopes, Meggan was innocent of any kind of civil disobedience.

"Shall we?" Meggan ended, after a particularly lengthy sentence. Brian gave his sister a questioning look.

Betsy smiled, and linked her arms through both of theirs. "Let's."






AUTHOR'S NOTES

Possibly some readers may have problems with how the current tragedy in Ireland is portrayed here. It was used to create a story and not to make any political point- please take it only as that, and not even as my own opinion.