yuletide story the second
slow sky, still water.
for londonsophie, Lucas and Jo; set after episode 7.08 (read: spoilers for pretty much everything ever).
( at yuletide archive )
- - -
He finds Jo smoking on the rooftop, framed by the last of the evening light. The horizon is a long streak of approaching rain. He lets his shoe scuff on the ground to warn her of his presence.
She tenses, but does not turn around. 'Hello.'
Lucas eases his body up against the railing, leaving a space between them. 'Hello. You okay?'
Her arms are folded across her stomach. She presses her thumbs to her elbows. 'I'm meant to ask you that.'
'I'm fine.'
'Yes, you look it.'
Her sarcasm is a welcome contrast to Ros', which is good in an operational capacity but useless at comfort. He inclines his head in vague thanks.
'Ros sent you up here to find out if I'm fit for field work,' she says.
He watches her hands. They are still, the smoke spiralling straight up like a signal. No wind.
'Yes,' he admits.
He won't tell her that he cursed all the way up the stairs, and not just from the pain the climbing awakened. Given the choice right now between dealing with Ros who expects him to be hard as nails, and Jo who needs him to be, he knows which option is easier. No slack in the rope, with Ros. No invitations.
Jo leans back, curving her neck like a ballet dancer. There is something painfully childlike about the elegant movement. 'I forget to look at the sky sometimes.'
Lucas looks, obligingly. The movement bites in his side. The expanse of sky makes him edgy; he suspects it's vertigo which reason won't let him indulge. He tries to smell the distant rain but gets only car exhaust and the brackish stench of the river.
He turns to the spread of the city. The river is flat as slate. Hard to imagine it erupting, a volcano in its belly. Hard to -
His vision blanks. No, he can't think of Harry.
He feels Jo's profile out of the corner of his eye. She takes a long drag of the cigarette. Slow, precise. He's felt faintly guilty for not having a chance to talk with her since Ben's death, but she's asking for nothing, today. She hasn't even looked at him.
'Do you still see faces, Jo?'
The question catches her off-guard and she flicks him a tiny glance, then eyes back to the front as if it might all slide away without her watching.
'You know, Ros told me that it's ten times harder for us than you men could ever understand. I don't think I could carry a gunshot wound halfway across London with barely a limp.'
Lucas stops the impatient sound in his throat, but she must sense it because she waves the smoke in dismissal, making the ash glow suddenly bright. 'I know, I know. Sorry.'
Before he can regain control of the conversation she's speaking again. 'You asked me if I still see faces.'
He hesitates. 'Do you?'
'Yes. But only one I want to see.'
She hasn't asked him about Harry. It's a place neither of them are fit to go and he appreciates that she's drawn that line, not for his sake but for her own. Know your limits. She's learned that from someone. Not Adam Carter.
'Jo, was there...'
He stops, trying to draw her head, but her gaze stays resolutely distant. 'Before Adam,' he finishes. It's a prompt not a question.
Jo flicks ash. It floats upwards.
'You can say his name. I know you've read my file, Lucas. Christ, I've read yours.'
This throws him. Malcolm let her, he thinks. Or Connie. Stupid really, to expect secrets to be kept in a place like this. Her honesty is somehow refreshing.
'Zafar Younis,' he offers, cautiously.
'Did you see the photos?'
He leaves a pause, knowing it is answer enough. He can't get the measure of her. He searches for the distress signals below the surface, which have been all too obvious these past few months. Tell me you see faces too.
'Adam said he didn't want me to see the photos because I'd have nightmares. I think he didn't want me to see because of the ambiguity.'
Lucas feels his way carefully through the extent of this revelation. 'There was no ambiguity, Jo.'
'I know.' She frowns. 'No one treats me like a child any more. I have to do it myself.'
'Denial isn't - '
She turns to him suddenly and puts a hand on his arm. Her eyes are bright and earnest. 'It's okay, Lucas, really. It's not denial if I know it's a lie, is it? It's just something I can't deal with yet. Adam, I can deal with. Ben. Connie. Not Zaf. Not yet. I'm protecting myself, is all.'
He knows the uncertainty is still showing on his face. She removes her hand, smiling gently as she turns back to the river. 'People lie to themselves all the time, Lucas. Everyone does.'
The words alone should ring alarm bells but the woman in front of him is not the fragile girl he's looking for. He shifts his arm from the default position at his wounded side and leans into the railing. There's flecks of his own blood left under a nail. He resists the urge to scrape at it, flexing his fingers. The adrenaline still aches, hours later.
She doesn't look at him, but it's not because she can't. He watches her hands again, then the water. Still. No wind.
Jo is good at her job but she doesn't even know her own tells, not well enough to hide them. She doesn't need him to be another Adam; mentor or protector or friend or whatever he was to her by the end. She doesn't need him to be anything.
He is amused that his first reaction is to be hurt, somewhere deep down in an ego he's forgotten he has. Then he is cautiously relieved.
'Ros needs to know if you're fit for field work,' he says eventually.
'Harry's in trouble, isn't he?'
He nods. 'I think so.'
She curls forward and drops the cigarette butt over the railing. They both watch it fall. A plumbline, a drop of water; straight down. The tiny glow spots out.
'Then I'm ready,' Jo says.
- - -
for londonsophie, Lucas and Jo; set after episode 7.08 (read: spoilers for pretty much everything ever).
( at yuletide archive )
- - -
He finds Jo smoking on the rooftop, framed by the last of the evening light. The horizon is a long streak of approaching rain. He lets his shoe scuff on the ground to warn her of his presence.
She tenses, but does not turn around. 'Hello.'
Lucas eases his body up against the railing, leaving a space between them. 'Hello. You okay?'
Her arms are folded across her stomach. She presses her thumbs to her elbows. 'I'm meant to ask you that.'
'I'm fine.'
'Yes, you look it.'
Her sarcasm is a welcome contrast to Ros', which is good in an operational capacity but useless at comfort. He inclines his head in vague thanks.
'Ros sent you up here to find out if I'm fit for field work,' she says.
He watches her hands. They are still, the smoke spiralling straight up like a signal. No wind.
'Yes,' he admits.
He won't tell her that he cursed all the way up the stairs, and not just from the pain the climbing awakened. Given the choice right now between dealing with Ros who expects him to be hard as nails, and Jo who needs him to be, he knows which option is easier. No slack in the rope, with Ros. No invitations.
Jo leans back, curving her neck like a ballet dancer. There is something painfully childlike about the elegant movement. 'I forget to look at the sky sometimes.'
Lucas looks, obligingly. The movement bites in his side. The expanse of sky makes him edgy; he suspects it's vertigo which reason won't let him indulge. He tries to smell the distant rain but gets only car exhaust and the brackish stench of the river.
He turns to the spread of the city. The river is flat as slate. Hard to imagine it erupting, a volcano in its belly. Hard to -
His vision blanks. No, he can't think of Harry.
He feels Jo's profile out of the corner of his eye. She takes a long drag of the cigarette. Slow, precise. He's felt faintly guilty for not having a chance to talk with her since Ben's death, but she's asking for nothing, today. She hasn't even looked at him.
'Do you still see faces, Jo?'
The question catches her off-guard and she flicks him a tiny glance, then eyes back to the front as if it might all slide away without her watching.
'You know, Ros told me that it's ten times harder for us than you men could ever understand. I don't think I could carry a gunshot wound halfway across London with barely a limp.'
Lucas stops the impatient sound in his throat, but she must sense it because she waves the smoke in dismissal, making the ash glow suddenly bright. 'I know, I know. Sorry.'
Before he can regain control of the conversation she's speaking again. 'You asked me if I still see faces.'
He hesitates. 'Do you?'
'Yes. But only one I want to see.'
She hasn't asked him about Harry. It's a place neither of them are fit to go and he appreciates that she's drawn that line, not for his sake but for her own. Know your limits. She's learned that from someone. Not Adam Carter.
'Jo, was there...'
He stops, trying to draw her head, but her gaze stays resolutely distant. 'Before Adam,' he finishes. It's a prompt not a question.
Jo flicks ash. It floats upwards.
'You can say his name. I know you've read my file, Lucas. Christ, I've read yours.'
This throws him. Malcolm let her, he thinks. Or Connie. Stupid really, to expect secrets to be kept in a place like this. Her honesty is somehow refreshing.
'Zafar Younis,' he offers, cautiously.
'Did you see the photos?'
He leaves a pause, knowing it is answer enough. He can't get the measure of her. He searches for the distress signals below the surface, which have been all too obvious these past few months. Tell me you see faces too.
'Adam said he didn't want me to see the photos because I'd have nightmares. I think he didn't want me to see because of the ambiguity.'
Lucas feels his way carefully through the extent of this revelation. 'There was no ambiguity, Jo.'
'I know.' She frowns. 'No one treats me like a child any more. I have to do it myself.'
'Denial isn't - '
She turns to him suddenly and puts a hand on his arm. Her eyes are bright and earnest. 'It's okay, Lucas, really. It's not denial if I know it's a lie, is it? It's just something I can't deal with yet. Adam, I can deal with. Ben. Connie. Not Zaf. Not yet. I'm protecting myself, is all.'
He knows the uncertainty is still showing on his face. She removes her hand, smiling gently as she turns back to the river. 'People lie to themselves all the time, Lucas. Everyone does.'
The words alone should ring alarm bells but the woman in front of him is not the fragile girl he's looking for. He shifts his arm from the default position at his wounded side and leans into the railing. There's flecks of his own blood left under a nail. He resists the urge to scrape at it, flexing his fingers. The adrenaline still aches, hours later.
She doesn't look at him, but it's not because she can't. He watches her hands again, then the water. Still. No wind.
Jo is good at her job but she doesn't even know her own tells, not well enough to hide them. She doesn't need him to be another Adam; mentor or protector or friend or whatever he was to her by the end. She doesn't need him to be anything.
He is amused that his first reaction is to be hurt, somewhere deep down in an ego he's forgotten he has. Then he is cautiously relieved.
'Ros needs to know if you're fit for field work,' he says eventually.
'Harry's in trouble, isn't he?'
He nods. 'I think so.'
She curls forward and drops the cigarette butt over the railing. They both watch it fall. A plumbline, a drop of water; straight down. The tiny glow spots out.
'Then I'm ready,' Jo says.
- - -