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The unnatural orange glow of street-lights filtered their way through the curtains, which Lucas had only just managed to pull prior to collapsing on the bed. Not that it would have made much difference if he hadn't pulled them anyway, as they were so pathetically transparent that they may as well have not even been there in the first place. That was the problem with MI5 safe-houses: they pretended to be comfortable and as homely as possible, but there was just that particular something missing.

He lay on his side, his right arm extended slightly out behind him and his head on the edge of his pillow. The sheets lay crumpled around him from the countless times he had tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. As he lay there with his eyes scrunched shut in an attempt to shut out the light, he was all too aware of the ticking of a clock, the blades of an overhead helicopter whirring, a car horn blaring… He shifted his position again, resting his head on his arm, the muscles of his back rippling as he moved. His fingers lightly brushed his shoulder, and he flexed them in frustration as the sound of a dog outside barking reached his acutely trained ears. Lucas turned onto his back, opening his eyes and pushing himself back up the bed so that he could actually rest his head on the pillow. He rested his arm on his forehead, then changed his mind and quickly rolled onto his other side, his face buried in the pillow and one arm draped round his neck.

Time passed and his mind quickly became as restless as his body. A thousand and one thoughts chased one another in circles inside his head. How was he going to play up to supposedly being a double-agent for Kachimov? What would Harry to do him if he found out? Would he believe him? His reflections turned to Adam Carter. There was a man who Lucas would have loved to get to know better. They could have learnt so much from each other; could have made a virtually unbreakable team. Sadly, their friendship had been short-lived.

A motorcycle roared and a siren wailed, and Lucas snapped, grabbing the pillow and hitting it violently as the vexation at being unable to sleep overwhelmed him. He threw the pillow to one side, sitting up as he did so and hitting his head with his hands in exasperation. He rubbed his eyes tiredly; why was he so unable to sleep? Was it that he found it impossible to get comfortable in a bed, after eight years of sleeping on what may as well have been a wooden mattress?

Lucas glanced at the clock: it was 4:07am. He cursed under his breath before eventually deciding to attempt sleeping on the floor. He stood up, pulling the sheets up with him, and then lying down. He sighed deeply as the coolness of the lino floor pressed against his back, digging into his bones in the familiar way of which he was used to. He closed his eyes, already beginning to feel drowsy as the persistent buzzing in his brain slowed and then finally stopped. He felt his body relax as he finally drifted off into the blissful darkness of sleep.