{ Ghosts With Just Voices }
Ghosts With Just Voices
post S7; Ros Myers, Harry Pearce
Harry and Ros play the waiting game.
... no peace that I've found so far...
...words mostly noises,
Ghosts with just voices
- 'Set the Fire to the Third Bar' by Snow Patrol.
Outside it was black - pitch black - and Harry could see nothing as he peered out the window. That didn't stop him from scanning the street, his keen eyes searching through the dark lest there be - yet another - enemy hiding in the shadows. Ros sighed in her sleep, almost too soft to hear, and he turned from the window and leant against the chest of drawers. She bore evidence of a fight, one she nearly didn't win, and her jaw was grazed, the result of a heavy punch, whilst other bruises were blooming over her body, all a deep and angry claret. She shivered where she lay- not surprising really - the heater had spluttered and finally died over an hour ago and the blanket she had covered herself with was thin and did little to keep out the cold. Harry took off his jacket and draped it over her, tucking it neatly under her chin. They had been in the hotel for six hours or so while Lucas and Jo went to meet a Sugarhorse asset who could lay their hands on high quality, false passports though how long that would take was uncertain. Harry had elected to stay back with Ros who had protested only briefly before allowing herself to be pushed into the passenger seat of their stolen car. Harry had driven to the nearest hotel - which offered cheap rates - grateful that the man behind the counter asked no questions when he set eyes on Ros. Harry had all-but-carried her into the room and placed her gently on the bed where she had fallen asleep immediately.
Ros sighed again, the sound almost inaudible, and curled into herself. He leant against the wall, periodically glancing out the window, then back to Ros who had nestled further into the bed, the lumpy pillow obscuring part of her cheek. She breathed deeply, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Ros buried her face still further into the pillow and a wilful strand of hair fell across her cheek. Harry folded his arms across his chest, trying to instil some warmth into his hands. Without his jacket the chill was passing easily through his shirt and he crossed the room as quietly as he could and opened the cupboard, hoping to find a spare blanket. The shelves were bare and Harry turned back, resigning himself to being cold.
Ros stirred and rolled onto her back. She shivered as the jacket slid and hurried to pull it up again, her fingers tightening around the cashmere. She raised herself a few inches from the mattress, tilting her head back briefly to stretch her neck, before fully opening her eyes.
He gave her a soft smile.
"Go back to sleep, Rosalind."
"No," she said hoarsely, "I'm awake now."
To her puzzlement Harry left her briefly, going into the bathroom. He returned bearing a glass of water which she sipped from gratefully. The liquid ran down her dry throat, a welcome relief, and she drank until the glass was empty before placing it on the bedside table. She sat upright properly and struggled with Harry's jacket, which was a number of sizes too big, until she was able to slide it over her shoulders.
"How are you feeling?" Harry asked.
"I've been better," Ros admitted.
It was astounding really, Harry thought as he looked at his Section Chief, how different she seemed. Sitting there, now, on the bed with his over-large jacket around her, she seemed almost vulnerable, though he knew this to be untrue.
"What time is it?" she asked, rolling her shoulders.
"One o'clock."
She tightened the jacket around her as she fought back a yawn.
"Go back to sleep," Harry repeated, "You look like a wreck."
A small, almost imperceptible smile.
"You say all the right things."
--
The Grid was dim, most of the lights having been switched off, and Malcolm sat alone at his computer. The blue square on the screen that was Ros hadn't moved for the past few hours, which he prayed was a good sign. He had no doubts that she would find Harry; Ros was - if anything - tenacious, but he was worried as her tactics often held little concern for her own safety.
It echoed eerily of the previous year where she had gone back for him, knowing that she would die. And she had, albeit in an unusual sense. It was odd, he would admit, how much his opinion of Ros had changed since she had first glided through the pods. He had thought her arrogant and cold then and, to some degree, this thought remained. However, over the past two years since she had begun work at Section D, the enigma that was Ros Myers had both twisted and unravelled. The moment he thought that he had finally grasped what drove her, something changed. When he first met her, it was her father; last year it was Adam, and now it was Harry.
For Ros was not loyal to an ideology or the 'greater good', she was loyal to people.
So when she had arrived back on the Grid to find that Harry had disappeared, last known position with Viktor Sarkisiian, she had wasted no time pulling up data, helping him to hack through databases and siphon through files. The data they collected was vast, and Sarkisiian was found to have his hands in all sorts of activities, from drug-running to smuggling in terrorists. Ros had sent this to various authorities then left for Russia almost immediately, with Lucas and Jo two steps behind. They were also eager to find Harry, as Ros had told Richard Dalby Section D was 'utterly loyal' to their leader, but it had been Ros who had only stopped talking to him - giving him instructions - when Lucas forcibly pulled her into the plane.
In front of him the screen flickered.
The blue square didn't move.
--
Ros woke to sunlight streaming through the window and she shielded her eyes as she sat up. She was still shrouded in Harry's coat and the cashmere was soft against her skin as she hunched her shoulders forward. She looked around the room but the owner of the jacket was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, she rose to her feet, ignoring the protests from her stiff limbs. The bathroom door was open, with no Harry inside, and Ros felt unease surge through her veins as she scanned the room again. It was bare except for her phone which rested on the bedside table; Malcolm had given it to her before they left, with assurances that it was encrypted and that calls could not be heard. She reached for it and was preparing to dial Lucas's phone, praying that he knew where Harry was, when the door opened to reveal the man himself.
She leant against the wall, unimpressed, as he placed several bags on the bed.
"Food and clothes," he explained, seeing her raised eyebrows. "I didn't know what size you were so they're probably too big..."
Ros couldn't stop the smile tugging at her lips.
"You went shopping?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, unless you wanted to stay in those, I thought it was a good idea," he retorted, pushing one of the bags towards her.
She peeked inside; the clothes he had chosen would be too big and they were colours she wouldn't normally wear but as a whole...
"Thank you," she said gratefully, meaning every word.
A smile and nod towards the bathroom.
"You're welcome; now go and shower."
--
Ros emerged from the bathroom - silhouetted against the steam - looking far more like her usual self. The jeans and shirt she wore were oversize but the look suited her well enough. She took possession of the bed once more as Harry - ever the gentleman - had opted for the wooden chair in the corner. The smudges under his eyes looked like bruises, she thought, as she reached for the sandwich that rested next to a bottle of water on the bedside table.
"No word from Lucas then?" she said, taking a small bite.
"None," said Harry, "but fake passports aren't as easy to come by as they were before and with Sarkisiian after our blood..."
"I see your point," said Ros, taking another bite. The sandwich, whilst not of overly high quality, was nevertheless more-than-edible, especially to someone who hadn't eaten for the past three days.
"Still, my Sugarhorse asset is - shall we say - more than competent and I have no doubts that it won't take much time."
A smile from Ros.
"You choose your assets well, it seems."
"My agents too."
Ros pulled at the fabric of her shirt, embarrassed, and said nothing.
--
Malcolm had finally opted to leave the Grid - for a few hours at least - though he had taken his laptop to which he had (quite illegally) transferred the tracking program. He walked through the hallway, to his bedroom, where he placed the laptop on the bedside table where he could see it easily. He was forced to move the framed photo that normally resided on the table and he held it in his hands and looked at the familiar faces, some still with them, whilst others had gone through means both fair and foul. The photo had been taken at the annual Christmas party two years ago and a smile tugged at his lips as they travelled from face-to-face. Jo and Zaf were on one end, Zaf with his arm draped around Jo's shoulders. They were both holding bottles of beer and toasting the camera, both well on their way to being intoxicated. Harry and Ruth were in the centre, neither touching, though they stood closer than was strictly necessary. Ros and Adam were on the far end; Adam's hand lightly brushed her elbow, the most physical contact that she would allow in public, and she smiled enigmatically at the camera, though her eyes were the softest he could recall.
Malcolm slipped beneath the covers of his bed, stifling a yawn.
He hadn't been surprised when Adam had called a meeting the day after Ros's funeral. Adam had waited until they were all seated and all eyes on him before her spoke. When he did, his words were simple.
"Ros is alive."
The reactions around the room were mixed. Jo had merely nodded, Connie looked only mildly surprised, and Harry's expression was unreadable whilst he himself barely batted an eyelid. Adam had asked him for TTX2 and it didn't take a rocket scientist to know where - or rather on whom - it would be used.
"Well," Harry had said, resting his palms flat against the table. "If that's all..."
Malcolm's eyes closed.
The blue square didn't move.
--
Ros's legs were stretched out before her, ankles crossed and she glanced out the window. Night was falling once more and she rubbed her arms as the temperature fell. She had - reluctantly - given Harry back his jacket and the man in question was now sleeping bolt upright in the chair. She rolled her eyes as she swung her legs around. In three strides she was at his side and she touched his shoulder softly.
He woke with a start.
"It's your turn to rest."
He didn't bother arguing and crossed to the bed and lay down. The sheets were still warm and he felt himself relax as he sunk into the mattress. Ros took his place, wishing she had some sort of weapon. She hated waiting, always had. The chill was worsening and she curled her knees to her chest, looking to all intents and purposes, like a contortionist. She looked at Harry who had fallen asleep almost immediately. It was odd, the protectiveness and loyalty she felt towards him. It was the sole reason she had searched for him with the tenacity she had. If it were anyone else but Harry she still would have searched, but she would admit that it would not be with the same thoroughness.
She arched her back.
The sun disappeared completely.
Harry slept.
--
Even at the best of times Harry didn't sleep for long stretches and he opened his eyes. They fell on Ros who was perched on the chair, her eyes fixed on the window. Every muscle on her body looked poised to spring and he knew that she would be able to leap forward in an instant. After all, he'd seen her do just that. The speed and athleticism that she showed when she, Lucas and Jo had stormed into the room was almost surreal. Adam had been like that as well, able to duck and land punches with ferocious speed and strength.
He thought back to last year.
"You, lay and finger on me, I'll kill you."
Adam had hurled a chair over the table and lunged towards Ros in three long strides, forced back by her hand to his chest. Who would have won that particular fight was anyone's guess.
"Try and sleep a bit more," Ros said, her gaze not leaving the window.
Harry shook his head as he sat up; if Ros had seen him waken without turning her head, then she had certainly seen his brief slip into the past.
"No," he said, straightening his back. "I won't go back now."
"Mm."
Ros stretched, her muscles lengthening to their full extent briefly, before she swivelled the chair around.
"You should have bought a deck of cards," she said dryly.
"Are you good at poker, then?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Silly question," Harry muttered; if anyone could pull a 'poker face' it would be Ros.
"I should have left some identification here," Ros said, looking about the hotel room. "We could have been on a flight..."
"No," interrupted Harry sharply. "I didn't want you to come back."
Ros leant back in her chair, intrigued by his vehement response.
"A contract is out on your life, Ros," Harry continued. "That won't have gone simply because Katchimov is dead."
She made a noise in her throat that could mean anything or nothing.
"You haven't told me what happened with Connie in the tunnels," Harry said in an abrupt change of subject.
Ros's eyes darkened at the mention of Connie's name but when she spoke her voice was calm. "To cut a long story short; Connie's dead, the nuclear part of the bomb was disabled, the rest of the bomb exploded taking Connie with it."
"Ah."
"She wasn't afraid," said Ros, a touch of admiration in her voice.
"I didn't think she would be," said Harry. "Bombs were her speciality."
"Well, we all need one."
They fell silent and Ros fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt, her fingers tugging lightly at the small buttons. The shirt was a deep burgundy, not at all like the pale shades she normally wore, but as Harry watched her mouth twist into a scowl he thought she should wear more colour.
"Though I'm not sure what mine is."
Harry was drawn back to the present and he quirked an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue.
"Can you really tell me I have a 'speciality'?"
He pondered for a moment.
"No, I can't," he finally admitted. "Though I stand by my statement that you are an outstanding officer."
Ros's lips quirked briefly into a smile.
"Pity it took someone injecting poison into my neck for you to tell me."
Her words were abrupt but any harshness was negated by the spark of amusement in her eyes. Silence settled in the room as Ros turned back to her shirt sleeve. Harry's eyes were fixed on the window above her, though his gaze occasionally flicked back to Ros. She had shown vulnerability last year when Juliet had walked towards her, syringe in hand. Juliet had pulled Ros's hair roughly to the side and injected the poison quickly with the detached efficiency of a highly-trained spook. Then came the screams; Harry could still hear them sometimes if he was in a particularly maudlin state-of-mind. They had seemed to echo until there were ten Ros's screaming, then she had slumped to the side, finally quiet.
Harry thought back to when Ros had first been recruited by Adam when he had read her file. It had been interesting to say the least; with most operations successful though there was one small fact which intrigued him. That Ros Myers, who thought nothing of walking into a potential trap, had a problem with needles.
"Do I have something between my teeth, Harry?"
Harry's eyes snapped to Ros who leant back in the chair, legs crossed.
"I was merely thinking, Ros," Harry said, ignoring her quip.
A smile. "Anything I should be worried about?"
"Needles," Harry said succinctly. "I was thinking about needles."
"Scintillating thoughts, I'm sure."
Ros's voice had taken on a hard note and Harry knew he was beginning to tread on very thin ice. Nevertheless, he continued.
"When did your problem with needles start?"
Ros's eyes flashed.
"You've read my file."
It wasn't a question. Harry looked at her, his gaze non-judgmental, and Ros felt her irritation begin to fade.
"It's not needles per say," she explained. "It's what I associate them with."
Harry's eyes urged her to continue.
"I was injured - badly - in an accident when I was small. The doctor at the hospital was... less than sympathetic and whenever I dared to cry, he'd simply pull out my arm and insert the needle roughly. It was patient abuse really."
A pause and shrug of the shoulders.
"But I was scared of everything then."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I very much doubt that, Ros."
She gave a short bark of laughter.
"You should," she said, almost bitterly. "The dark, stained glass windows, lampshades, ladders, heights..." A rueful smile. "Candyfloss..."
"Candyfloss?" Harry said incredulously.
She nodded, one corner of her mouth still tilted upward.
"How about you, Harry?" she asked, turning attention away from herself. "Any bizarre or unfounded fears?"
He stiffened and Ros could see for a brief moment how formidable in the field he would have been in his youth. His mouth tightened and she expected him to give her a snappy retort, a not-so-subtle 'mind you business.'
"My children," he said eventually. "I'm still afraid they could be hurt because of me."
Ros bit her lip.
"I wouldn't call that unfounded, Harry."
He shook his head.
"No, nor would I."
--
It was barely dawn but Malcolm was already at his desk. He had slept fitfully, not able to truly rest, and had finally given up choosing instead to go into the Grid. He sat before his computer, not knowing what to do. Ros's mobile trace was - as was the norm - to his left and the blue square pulsated gently. He looked at the photos next to the blue square. He hadn't yet updated the program and old Spooks gleamed from the screen.
Zafar Younis.
Adam Carter.
Connie James.
Ben Kaplan.
All gone within the past year.
Sighing, Malcolm's eyes fixed on the blue square, hoping that Ros Myers wouldn't be added to the list.
--
Ros paced the length of the hotel room, stretching her limbs. She had always hated waiting, be that in line at the store or doing surveillance work. She felt clammy in the enclosed space and wished she could go outside but Harry had forbidden it with the assertion of "there's a risk you could be recognised." She stopped and leant against the wall, looking to Harry who had dragged the chair into the corner and was now sitting down.
"Rosalind," he said calmly. "Pacing won't make the time go any quicker."
She gave him a look that spoke volumes.
"Sit down," he continued.
"I prefer to be doing something, Harry," Ros said, though she did cross the room and sit on the bed. "The waiting game is the worst part of this job."
"Mm."
"You know," she said. "This is not the life I would have imagined for myself."
Harry found himself surprised by this; he had always assumed that Ros had chosen this life a very long time ago.
"What is?"
She gave an elegant shrug.
"I don't know, really. I never did 'when I grow up I want to be.'"
"No," said Harry. "Neither did I."
Between them, the phone rang, making Ros and Harry jump. She reached for the mobile, the screen flashing 'Lucas', pressed 'receive'. Lucas's voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.
"Ros?"
"You've got the passports?" she said immediately.
"We do," he affirmed. "Meet us at the Moscow International Airport in one hour at Gate 7."
He hung up and Ros looked to Harry who was already gathering their few possessions. He held out her jacket, which he had scrubbed yesterday whilst she slept, and helped to slide over her shoulders. They crossed the room and he opened the door.
"Shall we?"
--
Malcolm's eyes were wide open and a smile tugged at his lips as he watched the blue square slowly move over the screen. Lucas had called him a few minutes ago and reported two things: one; that he and Jo had acquired passports and would be in England in less than six hours and two; that Ros and Harry would be arriving with them.
He leant back in his chair and breathed a long sigh of relief.
Operation successful.
--
When the plane finally touched down at Heathrow, four tired spooks found their way into a taxi. Lucas opted to take the front seat, leaving Jo, Ros and Harry in the back. They said nothing as they drove back into London, none bothering to look outside at their surroundings. The driver tried a few times to engage them in conversation but when none responded had fallen silent, to their collective relief. The car sped quietly through the streets, first dropping off Jo and Lucas, then to Thames House as neither Harry nor Ros wished to return home just yet.
The drive seemed to take mere minutes and they entered the pods to find Malcolm waiting for them. His face cracked into a smile as he shook each of their hands in turn.
"Welcome back."
post S7; Ros Myers, Harry Pearce
Harry and Ros play the waiting game.
... no peace that I've found so far...
...words mostly noises,
Ghosts with just voices
- 'Set the Fire to the Third Bar' by Snow Patrol.
Outside it was black - pitch black - and Harry could see nothing as he peered out the window. That didn't stop him from scanning the street, his keen eyes searching through the dark lest there be - yet another - enemy hiding in the shadows. Ros sighed in her sleep, almost too soft to hear, and he turned from the window and leant against the chest of drawers. She bore evidence of a fight, one she nearly didn't win, and her jaw was grazed, the result of a heavy punch, whilst other bruises were blooming over her body, all a deep and angry claret. She shivered where she lay- not surprising really - the heater had spluttered and finally died over an hour ago and the blanket she had covered herself with was thin and did little to keep out the cold. Harry took off his jacket and draped it over her, tucking it neatly under her chin. They had been in the hotel for six hours or so while Lucas and Jo went to meet a Sugarhorse asset who could lay their hands on high quality, false passports though how long that would take was uncertain. Harry had elected to stay back with Ros who had protested only briefly before allowing herself to be pushed into the passenger seat of their stolen car. Harry had driven to the nearest hotel - which offered cheap rates - grateful that the man behind the counter asked no questions when he set eyes on Ros. Harry had all-but-carried her into the room and placed her gently on the bed where she had fallen asleep immediately.
Ros sighed again, the sound almost inaudible, and curled into herself. He leant against the wall, periodically glancing out the window, then back to Ros who had nestled further into the bed, the lumpy pillow obscuring part of her cheek. She breathed deeply, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Ros buried her face still further into the pillow and a wilful strand of hair fell across her cheek. Harry folded his arms across his chest, trying to instil some warmth into his hands. Without his jacket the chill was passing easily through his shirt and he crossed the room as quietly as he could and opened the cupboard, hoping to find a spare blanket. The shelves were bare and Harry turned back, resigning himself to being cold.
Ros stirred and rolled onto her back. She shivered as the jacket slid and hurried to pull it up again, her fingers tightening around the cashmere. She raised herself a few inches from the mattress, tilting her head back briefly to stretch her neck, before fully opening her eyes.
He gave her a soft smile.
"Go back to sleep, Rosalind."
"No," she said hoarsely, "I'm awake now."
To her puzzlement Harry left her briefly, going into the bathroom. He returned bearing a glass of water which she sipped from gratefully. The liquid ran down her dry throat, a welcome relief, and she drank until the glass was empty before placing it on the bedside table. She sat upright properly and struggled with Harry's jacket, which was a number of sizes too big, until she was able to slide it over her shoulders.
"How are you feeling?" Harry asked.
"I've been better," Ros admitted.
It was astounding really, Harry thought as he looked at his Section Chief, how different she seemed. Sitting there, now, on the bed with his over-large jacket around her, she seemed almost vulnerable, though he knew this to be untrue.
"What time is it?" she asked, rolling her shoulders.
"One o'clock."
She tightened the jacket around her as she fought back a yawn.
"Go back to sleep," Harry repeated, "You look like a wreck."
A small, almost imperceptible smile.
"You say all the right things."
--
The Grid was dim, most of the lights having been switched off, and Malcolm sat alone at his computer. The blue square on the screen that was Ros hadn't moved for the past few hours, which he prayed was a good sign. He had no doubts that she would find Harry; Ros was - if anything - tenacious, but he was worried as her tactics often held little concern for her own safety.
It echoed eerily of the previous year where she had gone back for him, knowing that she would die. And she had, albeit in an unusual sense. It was odd, he would admit, how much his opinion of Ros had changed since she had first glided through the pods. He had thought her arrogant and cold then and, to some degree, this thought remained. However, over the past two years since she had begun work at Section D, the enigma that was Ros Myers had both twisted and unravelled. The moment he thought that he had finally grasped what drove her, something changed. When he first met her, it was her father; last year it was Adam, and now it was Harry.
For Ros was not loyal to an ideology or the 'greater good', she was loyal to people.
So when she had arrived back on the Grid to find that Harry had disappeared, last known position with Viktor Sarkisiian, she had wasted no time pulling up data, helping him to hack through databases and siphon through files. The data they collected was vast, and Sarkisiian was found to have his hands in all sorts of activities, from drug-running to smuggling in terrorists. Ros had sent this to various authorities then left for Russia almost immediately, with Lucas and Jo two steps behind. They were also eager to find Harry, as Ros had told Richard Dalby Section D was 'utterly loyal' to their leader, but it had been Ros who had only stopped talking to him - giving him instructions - when Lucas forcibly pulled her into the plane.
In front of him the screen flickered.
The blue square didn't move.
--
Ros woke to sunlight streaming through the window and she shielded her eyes as she sat up. She was still shrouded in Harry's coat and the cashmere was soft against her skin as she hunched her shoulders forward. She looked around the room but the owner of the jacket was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, she rose to her feet, ignoring the protests from her stiff limbs. The bathroom door was open, with no Harry inside, and Ros felt unease surge through her veins as she scanned the room again. It was bare except for her phone which rested on the bedside table; Malcolm had given it to her before they left, with assurances that it was encrypted and that calls could not be heard. She reached for it and was preparing to dial Lucas's phone, praying that he knew where Harry was, when the door opened to reveal the man himself.
She leant against the wall, unimpressed, as he placed several bags on the bed.
"Food and clothes," he explained, seeing her raised eyebrows. "I didn't know what size you were so they're probably too big..."
Ros couldn't stop the smile tugging at her lips.
"You went shopping?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, unless you wanted to stay in those, I thought it was a good idea," he retorted, pushing one of the bags towards her.
She peeked inside; the clothes he had chosen would be too big and they were colours she wouldn't normally wear but as a whole...
"Thank you," she said gratefully, meaning every word.
A smile and nod towards the bathroom.
"You're welcome; now go and shower."
--
Ros emerged from the bathroom - silhouetted against the steam - looking far more like her usual self. The jeans and shirt she wore were oversize but the look suited her well enough. She took possession of the bed once more as Harry - ever the gentleman - had opted for the wooden chair in the corner. The smudges under his eyes looked like bruises, she thought, as she reached for the sandwich that rested next to a bottle of water on the bedside table.
"No word from Lucas then?" she said, taking a small bite.
"None," said Harry, "but fake passports aren't as easy to come by as they were before and with Sarkisiian after our blood..."
"I see your point," said Ros, taking another bite. The sandwich, whilst not of overly high quality, was nevertheless more-than-edible, especially to someone who hadn't eaten for the past three days.
"Still, my Sugarhorse asset is - shall we say - more than competent and I have no doubts that it won't take much time."
A smile from Ros.
"You choose your assets well, it seems."
"My agents too."
Ros pulled at the fabric of her shirt, embarrassed, and said nothing.
--
Malcolm had finally opted to leave the Grid - for a few hours at least - though he had taken his laptop to which he had (quite illegally) transferred the tracking program. He walked through the hallway, to his bedroom, where he placed the laptop on the bedside table where he could see it easily. He was forced to move the framed photo that normally resided on the table and he held it in his hands and looked at the familiar faces, some still with them, whilst others had gone through means both fair and foul. The photo had been taken at the annual Christmas party two years ago and a smile tugged at his lips as they travelled from face-to-face. Jo and Zaf were on one end, Zaf with his arm draped around Jo's shoulders. They were both holding bottles of beer and toasting the camera, both well on their way to being intoxicated. Harry and Ruth were in the centre, neither touching, though they stood closer than was strictly necessary. Ros and Adam were on the far end; Adam's hand lightly brushed her elbow, the most physical contact that she would allow in public, and she smiled enigmatically at the camera, though her eyes were the softest he could recall.
Malcolm slipped beneath the covers of his bed, stifling a yawn.
He hadn't been surprised when Adam had called a meeting the day after Ros's funeral. Adam had waited until they were all seated and all eyes on him before her spoke. When he did, his words were simple.
"Ros is alive."
The reactions around the room were mixed. Jo had merely nodded, Connie looked only mildly surprised, and Harry's expression was unreadable whilst he himself barely batted an eyelid. Adam had asked him for TTX2 and it didn't take a rocket scientist to know where - or rather on whom - it would be used.
"Well," Harry had said, resting his palms flat against the table. "If that's all..."
Malcolm's eyes closed.
The blue square didn't move.
--
Ros's legs were stretched out before her, ankles crossed and she glanced out the window. Night was falling once more and she rubbed her arms as the temperature fell. She had - reluctantly - given Harry back his jacket and the man in question was now sleeping bolt upright in the chair. She rolled her eyes as she swung her legs around. In three strides she was at his side and she touched his shoulder softly.
He woke with a start.
"It's your turn to rest."
He didn't bother arguing and crossed to the bed and lay down. The sheets were still warm and he felt himself relax as he sunk into the mattress. Ros took his place, wishing she had some sort of weapon. She hated waiting, always had. The chill was worsening and she curled her knees to her chest, looking to all intents and purposes, like a contortionist. She looked at Harry who had fallen asleep almost immediately. It was odd, the protectiveness and loyalty she felt towards him. It was the sole reason she had searched for him with the tenacity she had. If it were anyone else but Harry she still would have searched, but she would admit that it would not be with the same thoroughness.
She arched her back.
The sun disappeared completely.
Harry slept.
--
Even at the best of times Harry didn't sleep for long stretches and he opened his eyes. They fell on Ros who was perched on the chair, her eyes fixed on the window. Every muscle on her body looked poised to spring and he knew that she would be able to leap forward in an instant. After all, he'd seen her do just that. The speed and athleticism that she showed when she, Lucas and Jo had stormed into the room was almost surreal. Adam had been like that as well, able to duck and land punches with ferocious speed and strength.
He thought back to last year.
"You, lay and finger on me, I'll kill you."
Adam had hurled a chair over the table and lunged towards Ros in three long strides, forced back by her hand to his chest. Who would have won that particular fight was anyone's guess.
"Try and sleep a bit more," Ros said, her gaze not leaving the window.
Harry shook his head as he sat up; if Ros had seen him waken without turning her head, then she had certainly seen his brief slip into the past.
"No," he said, straightening his back. "I won't go back now."
"Mm."
Ros stretched, her muscles lengthening to their full extent briefly, before she swivelled the chair around.
"You should have bought a deck of cards," she said dryly.
"Are you good at poker, then?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Silly question," Harry muttered; if anyone could pull a 'poker face' it would be Ros.
"I should have left some identification here," Ros said, looking about the hotel room. "We could have been on a flight..."
"No," interrupted Harry sharply. "I didn't want you to come back."
Ros leant back in her chair, intrigued by his vehement response.
"A contract is out on your life, Ros," Harry continued. "That won't have gone simply because Katchimov is dead."
She made a noise in her throat that could mean anything or nothing.
"You haven't told me what happened with Connie in the tunnels," Harry said in an abrupt change of subject.
Ros's eyes darkened at the mention of Connie's name but when she spoke her voice was calm. "To cut a long story short; Connie's dead, the nuclear part of the bomb was disabled, the rest of the bomb exploded taking Connie with it."
"Ah."
"She wasn't afraid," said Ros, a touch of admiration in her voice.
"I didn't think she would be," said Harry. "Bombs were her speciality."
"Well, we all need one."
They fell silent and Ros fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt, her fingers tugging lightly at the small buttons. The shirt was a deep burgundy, not at all like the pale shades she normally wore, but as Harry watched her mouth twist into a scowl he thought she should wear more colour.
"Though I'm not sure what mine is."
Harry was drawn back to the present and he quirked an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue.
"Can you really tell me I have a 'speciality'?"
He pondered for a moment.
"No, I can't," he finally admitted. "Though I stand by my statement that you are an outstanding officer."
Ros's lips quirked briefly into a smile.
"Pity it took someone injecting poison into my neck for you to tell me."
Her words were abrupt but any harshness was negated by the spark of amusement in her eyes. Silence settled in the room as Ros turned back to her shirt sleeve. Harry's eyes were fixed on the window above her, though his gaze occasionally flicked back to Ros. She had shown vulnerability last year when Juliet had walked towards her, syringe in hand. Juliet had pulled Ros's hair roughly to the side and injected the poison quickly with the detached efficiency of a highly-trained spook. Then came the screams; Harry could still hear them sometimes if he was in a particularly maudlin state-of-mind. They had seemed to echo until there were ten Ros's screaming, then she had slumped to the side, finally quiet.
Harry thought back to when Ros had first been recruited by Adam when he had read her file. It had been interesting to say the least; with most operations successful though there was one small fact which intrigued him. That Ros Myers, who thought nothing of walking into a potential trap, had a problem with needles.
"Do I have something between my teeth, Harry?"
Harry's eyes snapped to Ros who leant back in the chair, legs crossed.
"I was merely thinking, Ros," Harry said, ignoring her quip.
A smile. "Anything I should be worried about?"
"Needles," Harry said succinctly. "I was thinking about needles."
"Scintillating thoughts, I'm sure."
Ros's voice had taken on a hard note and Harry knew he was beginning to tread on very thin ice. Nevertheless, he continued.
"When did your problem with needles start?"
Ros's eyes flashed.
"You've read my file."
It wasn't a question. Harry looked at her, his gaze non-judgmental, and Ros felt her irritation begin to fade.
"It's not needles per say," she explained. "It's what I associate them with."
Harry's eyes urged her to continue.
"I was injured - badly - in an accident when I was small. The doctor at the hospital was... less than sympathetic and whenever I dared to cry, he'd simply pull out my arm and insert the needle roughly. It was patient abuse really."
A pause and shrug of the shoulders.
"But I was scared of everything then."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I very much doubt that, Ros."
She gave a short bark of laughter.
"You should," she said, almost bitterly. "The dark, stained glass windows, lampshades, ladders, heights..." A rueful smile. "Candyfloss..."
"Candyfloss?" Harry said incredulously.
She nodded, one corner of her mouth still tilted upward.
"How about you, Harry?" she asked, turning attention away from herself. "Any bizarre or unfounded fears?"
He stiffened and Ros could see for a brief moment how formidable in the field he would have been in his youth. His mouth tightened and she expected him to give her a snappy retort, a not-so-subtle 'mind you business.'
"My children," he said eventually. "I'm still afraid they could be hurt because of me."
Ros bit her lip.
"I wouldn't call that unfounded, Harry."
He shook his head.
"No, nor would I."
--
It was barely dawn but Malcolm was already at his desk. He had slept fitfully, not able to truly rest, and had finally given up choosing instead to go into the Grid. He sat before his computer, not knowing what to do. Ros's mobile trace was - as was the norm - to his left and the blue square pulsated gently. He looked at the photos next to the blue square. He hadn't yet updated the program and old Spooks gleamed from the screen.
Zafar Younis.
Adam Carter.
Connie James.
Ben Kaplan.
All gone within the past year.
Sighing, Malcolm's eyes fixed on the blue square, hoping that Ros Myers wouldn't be added to the list.
--
Ros paced the length of the hotel room, stretching her limbs. She had always hated waiting, be that in line at the store or doing surveillance work. She felt clammy in the enclosed space and wished she could go outside but Harry had forbidden it with the assertion of "there's a risk you could be recognised." She stopped and leant against the wall, looking to Harry who had dragged the chair into the corner and was now sitting down.
"Rosalind," he said calmly. "Pacing won't make the time go any quicker."
She gave him a look that spoke volumes.
"Sit down," he continued.
"I prefer to be doing something, Harry," Ros said, though she did cross the room and sit on the bed. "The waiting game is the worst part of this job."
"Mm."
"You know," she said. "This is not the life I would have imagined for myself."
Harry found himself surprised by this; he had always assumed that Ros had chosen this life a very long time ago.
"What is?"
She gave an elegant shrug.
"I don't know, really. I never did 'when I grow up I want to be.'"
"No," said Harry. "Neither did I."
Between them, the phone rang, making Ros and Harry jump. She reached for the mobile, the screen flashing 'Lucas', pressed 'receive'. Lucas's voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.
"Ros?"
"You've got the passports?" she said immediately.
"We do," he affirmed. "Meet us at the Moscow International Airport in one hour at Gate 7."
He hung up and Ros looked to Harry who was already gathering their few possessions. He held out her jacket, which he had scrubbed yesterday whilst she slept, and helped to slide over her shoulders. They crossed the room and he opened the door.
"Shall we?"
--
Malcolm's eyes were wide open and a smile tugged at his lips as he watched the blue square slowly move over the screen. Lucas had called him a few minutes ago and reported two things: one; that he and Jo had acquired passports and would be in England in less than six hours and two; that Ros and Harry would be arriving with them.
He leant back in his chair and breathed a long sigh of relief.
Operation successful.
--
When the plane finally touched down at Heathrow, four tired spooks found their way into a taxi. Lucas opted to take the front seat, leaving Jo, Ros and Harry in the back. They said nothing as they drove back into London, none bothering to look outside at their surroundings. The driver tried a few times to engage them in conversation but when none responded had fallen silent, to their collective relief. The car sped quietly through the streets, first dropping off Jo and Lucas, then to Thames House as neither Harry nor Ros wished to return home just yet.
The drive seemed to take mere minutes and they entered the pods to find Malcolm waiting for them. His face cracked into a smile as he shook each of their hands in turn.
"Welcome back."