[Abandoned] - spooks fic
Abandoned
S7, code-9; Ros Myers, Harry Pearce, Jo Portman.
She's been waiting for death long enough that she's ceased to care.
Click.
The sound of a safety catch being released should scare her, Jo knows that, but she’s been waiting for death long enough that she’s ceased to care. Besides, a bullet to the brain is more elegant than a slow death from radiation poisoning.
That’s what she tells herself anyway.
“Turn around,” a voice commands and Jo thinks for a moment that it sounds familiar, a voice from a past she chooses to forget.
Instinctively she obeys and she moves slowly, holding her hands in the air. She can barely see six foot ahead of her and the figure is indistinct, somehow becoming part of the fog that surrounds them both. Slowly, her eyes adjust and her mouth falls ajar.
“Ros?” she manages.
The woman’s eyes widen, though retain a hardness that Jo misses more than she cares to admit. She holds a gun in her hands, her grip strong, the barrel pointing directly between Jo’s eyes. She looks tired, the smudges beneath her eyes are like bruises, and her skin has become so pale to be almost translucent. Nevertheless, the tangible air of danger that always surrounded her remains.
Finally, she responds.
“Where’s Harry?”
--
Jo takes Ros back to the abandoned apartment block that has become her home. Neither woman speaks, though take comfort in the other’s presence. The London streets are empty of people, though rubbish litters the road, papers flying through the wind, disappearing into the mist. Jo looks at Ros as they walk; she appears as strong as ever but Jo’s eyes are sharp and she notices how she favours one leg above the other.
“What happened?” she asks as she pushes open the door.
Ros looks at her, eyes expressionless, for a full minute before answering.
“I underestimated an opponent.”
Her voice is not raised but Jo knows not to push the subject.
--
Harry’s expression would be comical in another situation and he rises to his feet and stares at Ros as if she is an apparition. Jo smiles to herself, a ‘spook.’ Neither speak, communicating without words, until Ros takes off the bag slung over her back and throws it onto the ground, next to their make-shift mattresses.
“Is there room for one more?” she asks, one corner of her mouth tilted upward in a trademark smile.
Harry shrugs his shoulders even as he pushes his meagre belongings to the side to make room.
“If it suits you.”
--
It turns out that Ros comes bearing gifts. Admittedly they are not conventional, but they are practical; three guns, anti-radiation medication, medical supplies and - most importantly - travel passes that will allow them to leave London. Jo wonders as they sit on the floor, eating food that she scavenged the previous day, how Ros came across these.
On second thoughts, perhaps she doesn’t want to.
Ros’ voice is welcome; Harry does not speak often, and conversation has become a novelty. Now, as she watches the two talk softly, she can’t help but smile. The two had been close, had a mentor-protégé relationship, and she wonders if it was that closeness which had prompted Ros to enter a literal apocalypse.
Perhaps she’ll ever know.
--
They stay in the warehouse for a week before Ros suggests that they move. And by ‘move’ Jo know she means out of London. Part of her is terrified but she nods as she slings a bag over her shoulder. She tucks Ros’ gun into the back of her jeans, concealed with a jacket she had taken from a dead man, and follows the blonde into the street. The night sky is uncharacteristically clear and the devastation is stark to the eye. The only light is from the moon, the street lamps having stopped working months ago, and they move slowly careful to avoid the gangs that have sprung up in the city.
Ros leads, having done this before and Jo is forced to jog to keep up with her pace. Alongside, Harry is breathing far harder than usual.
Perhaps Ros hears this for she looks over her shoulder and stops, allowing him to gain breath.
--
Jo is tireder than she wants to admit and her eyes close even before her body hits the sofa cushions Ros scrounged earlier. At some point she has become their source of everything; food, clothes, bedding, even comfort.
Jo would never have believed this six months ago.
Ros doesn’t seem to tire and when Jo wakes the other woman is speaking once more with Harry. Jo freezes, not wanting them to know she is listening.
“Why did you come back, Ros?”
“MI-5 has gone to the dogs, Harry. We need someone who can fight them.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Jo shifts and the two look over at her, stilling their conversation.
Ros raises her eyebrows.
“We need to get moving.”
--
They reach Manchester one evening.
Jo breathes a sigh; one of exhaustion, relief and thanks as Ros unlocks the door to her flat and steps aside to let them pass. The flat is large, open, and Ros ushers Jo into one of the bedrooms which has an ensuite bathroom. On the bed is a change of clothes and Jo realises that Ros had been planning this ‘rescue mission’ for some time.
“Why?” Jo asks suddenly. “Why come back for us?”
Ros pauses, deliberating her answer.
“I don’t like leaving people behind.”
Jo nods, it is a ‘Ros’ answer; typically ambiguous and indecipherable.
Ros turns and walks toward the door, though Jo calls out before she goes into the hallway.
“Thank you.”
Two simple words filled with so much subtext Jo doesn’t know where to start.
Right now, she doesn’t care to.
S7, code-9; Ros Myers, Harry Pearce, Jo Portman.
She's been waiting for death long enough that she's ceased to care.
Click.
The sound of a safety catch being released should scare her, Jo knows that, but she’s been waiting for death long enough that she’s ceased to care. Besides, a bullet to the brain is more elegant than a slow death from radiation poisoning.
That’s what she tells herself anyway.
“Turn around,” a voice commands and Jo thinks for a moment that it sounds familiar, a voice from a past she chooses to forget.
Instinctively she obeys and she moves slowly, holding her hands in the air. She can barely see six foot ahead of her and the figure is indistinct, somehow becoming part of the fog that surrounds them both. Slowly, her eyes adjust and her mouth falls ajar.
“Ros?” she manages.
The woman’s eyes widen, though retain a hardness that Jo misses more than she cares to admit. She holds a gun in her hands, her grip strong, the barrel pointing directly between Jo’s eyes. She looks tired, the smudges beneath her eyes are like bruises, and her skin has become so pale to be almost translucent. Nevertheless, the tangible air of danger that always surrounded her remains.
Finally, she responds.
“Where’s Harry?”
--
Jo takes Ros back to the abandoned apartment block that has become her home. Neither woman speaks, though take comfort in the other’s presence. The London streets are empty of people, though rubbish litters the road, papers flying through the wind, disappearing into the mist. Jo looks at Ros as they walk; she appears as strong as ever but Jo’s eyes are sharp and she notices how she favours one leg above the other.
“What happened?” she asks as she pushes open the door.
Ros looks at her, eyes expressionless, for a full minute before answering.
“I underestimated an opponent.”
Her voice is not raised but Jo knows not to push the subject.
--
Harry’s expression would be comical in another situation and he rises to his feet and stares at Ros as if she is an apparition. Jo smiles to herself, a ‘spook.’ Neither speak, communicating without words, until Ros takes off the bag slung over her back and throws it onto the ground, next to their make-shift mattresses.
“Is there room for one more?” she asks, one corner of her mouth tilted upward in a trademark smile.
Harry shrugs his shoulders even as he pushes his meagre belongings to the side to make room.
“If it suits you.”
--
It turns out that Ros comes bearing gifts. Admittedly they are not conventional, but they are practical; three guns, anti-radiation medication, medical supplies and - most importantly - travel passes that will allow them to leave London. Jo wonders as they sit on the floor, eating food that she scavenged the previous day, how Ros came across these.
On second thoughts, perhaps she doesn’t want to.
Ros’ voice is welcome; Harry does not speak often, and conversation has become a novelty. Now, as she watches the two talk softly, she can’t help but smile. The two had been close, had a mentor-protégé relationship, and she wonders if it was that closeness which had prompted Ros to enter a literal apocalypse.
Perhaps she’ll ever know.
--
They stay in the warehouse for a week before Ros suggests that they move. And by ‘move’ Jo know she means out of London. Part of her is terrified but she nods as she slings a bag over her shoulder. She tucks Ros’ gun into the back of her jeans, concealed with a jacket she had taken from a dead man, and follows the blonde into the street. The night sky is uncharacteristically clear and the devastation is stark to the eye. The only light is from the moon, the street lamps having stopped working months ago, and they move slowly careful to avoid the gangs that have sprung up in the city.
Ros leads, having done this before and Jo is forced to jog to keep up with her pace. Alongside, Harry is breathing far harder than usual.
Perhaps Ros hears this for she looks over her shoulder and stops, allowing him to gain breath.
--
Jo is tireder than she wants to admit and her eyes close even before her body hits the sofa cushions Ros scrounged earlier. At some point she has become their source of everything; food, clothes, bedding, even comfort.
Jo would never have believed this six months ago.
Ros doesn’t seem to tire and when Jo wakes the other woman is speaking once more with Harry. Jo freezes, not wanting them to know she is listening.
“Why did you come back, Ros?”
“MI-5 has gone to the dogs, Harry. We need someone who can fight them.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Jo shifts and the two look over at her, stilling their conversation.
Ros raises her eyebrows.
“We need to get moving.”
--
They reach Manchester one evening.
Jo breathes a sigh; one of exhaustion, relief and thanks as Ros unlocks the door to her flat and steps aside to let them pass. The flat is large, open, and Ros ushers Jo into one of the bedrooms which has an ensuite bathroom. On the bed is a change of clothes and Jo realises that Ros had been planning this ‘rescue mission’ for some time.
“Why?” Jo asks suddenly. “Why come back for us?”
Ros pauses, deliberating her answer.
“I don’t like leaving people behind.”
Jo nods, it is a ‘Ros’ answer; typically ambiguous and indecipherable.
Ros turns and walks toward the door, though Jo calls out before she goes into the hallway.
“Thank you.”
Two simple words filled with so much subtext Jo doesn’t know where to start.
Right now, she doesn’t care to.