[Apprehension] - spooks fic
Apprehension
S8; Ros Myers, Harry Pearce, Ruth Evershed
She didn't notice it at first.
Apprehension
She didn’t notice it at first.
Though in hindsight, maybe she chose not to.
Harry and Ros are talking quietly as they cross the Grid, heading towards Harry’s office, and Ruth watches as Harry gently touches the small of her back. Ruth would think nothing of it, but Ros’ reaction sparks her curiosity. The blonde, usually so composed, flinches away from his hand. Harry looks surprised and Ruth stops typing, her eyes fixed on the unexpected scene in front of her. Ros’ eyes, so hard and indecipherable, show a deep hurt, one which Ruth would never have associated with her until that very moment.
Harry’s expression wavers to one of understanding and he withdraws his hand, moving away quickly, leaving Ros to follow. She does, after a moment’s pause, and strides past Ruth as if nothing had happened.
All of this happens in less than two seconds.
Ruth’s brow furrows as Ros goes into Harry’s office and sits down, crossing her legs. They both act as if nothing has happened and Ruth’s brain goes into overdrive trying to think of possible reasons.
None come to her.
--
Ruth is at the water cooler when her attention is diverted. Ros is at her desk and Harry approaches, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite. He leans forward, palms flat against his thighs, and the two speak intently in less than a whisper. Their conversation becomes more animated, Ros using her hands to great effect to emphasise a point, and Harry sits back.
They look at each other, their expressions bordering on a glare, before Ros rises to her feet and stalks toward the pods.
Harry shakes his head as he watches her go.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Ruth is broken from her observations by Lucas who offers her a smile which she returns.
“Just looking,” she says, waving in the general direction of Harry who was sitting at Ros’ desk.
“Ah, yes,” Lucas says, eyes twinkling. “The ‘Dream Team.’”
Ruth raises her eyebrows, confused.
“Harry and Ros,” Lucas elaborates. “I think Jo came up with the nickname.”
She forces a laugh.
“I see.”
--
“Ah, Ruth.”
Harry sounds genuinely pleased to see her and Ruth smiles as she enters his office, files in her arms.
“I found these...”
The door is pulled open roughly and Ros comes in, nearly running into Ruth.
“The Home Secretary is on the news, Harry,” Ros says, barely looking at Ruth. “You should really watch.”
Harry nods.
“Thank you, Ros.”
The dismissal is faint, but nevertheless there, and Ruth sees a momentary flash of pain in Ros’ eyes that quickly disappears.
“Always pleased to help.”
Her voice has taken on that tone; the one where Ruth could never tell if she is being sarcastic. As Ros spins on her heel and marches out, Ruth pushes that thought to the back of her mind.
“As I was saying...”
--
Jo is dead.
Ruth chokes at Harry’s words and she holds a hand over her mouth, trying to suppress the sobs which wrack through her body. Her chest hurts, her eyes burn and her body feels weak. She leans against the wall to make sure she doesn’t fall and closes her eyes, willing Harry’s words not to be true.
Heels snap behind her, instantly recognisable, and she hears Ros’ chair scratch against the floor as she pulls it out. Ruth finally gathers her composure enough to turn and finds the blonde typing steadily. She looks as she always does, hair in place, make-up immaculate, nothing to suggest she has just watched a colleague die.
“Ros...?” she ventures.
The blonde turns and Ruth sees the red rims around her irises, making her eyes seem greener than usual, bordering on jade.
It seemed that she did feel things; that she wasn’t an emotionless machine.
“Yes?” Ros asks.
“Are you...?”
Harry’s door opens and he pokes his head out. He looks impossibly serious and Ruth fancies that she sees Ros flinch slightly where she sits.
“Ros, a word.”
She rises to her feet and crosses the Grid, closing the door behind her. Ruth can hear nothing of their conversation but watches as Ros falls into one of the chairs and looks down at the floor.
Ruth feels like an intruder and turns away.
--
Something has changed between them.
Harry is more gentle, Ros more forthcoming, and Ruth feels a stab of jealousy. Ros swivels in her chair and turns toward Harry; her posture is relaxed and she drapes one arm along the back of the chair.
Realisation hits her.
Ros doesn’t allow familiarity with just anyone, if she were honest Ruth hadn’t seen it with anyone else, and to see it with Harry...
Ruth looks down at the floor.
Three years is a long time; perhaps she was a fool for thinking he would wait. She had met George and Harry had turned to Ros. And why not? The blonde was smart, attractive, and understood the harsher aspects of this line of work better than Ruth ever could.
It still hurt.
--
Ruth is confused.
Harry has taken a step backward in time; things are as they were before her ‘death,’ but this time Ros seems to have faded into the background.
By choice it seems.
Ruth only sees it occasionally; those eyes fixed on her person, a moment of wistfulness quickly suppressed, a return to work.
Ruth also sees that Lucas is different.
She wonders if the two are inter-related.
--
“Harry, would you like to go for a drink?”
“Yes, Ruth, I would.”
She isn’t sure what prompted her sudden invitation; maybe a burst of courage, but she feels definite irritation when Tariq breaks into the conversation.
It’s as if she’s playing a game, and she doesn’t know the rules and she’s fighting blind.
--
“Lucas, talk to her!”
Ros is inside; Ros is in danger; Harry is getting on her nerves.
He paces his office, talking with Lucas, talking with Special Forces, talking to himself, talking to anyone. He’s been like this for the past two hours, since Ros has been inside alone. They have Lucas on loudspeaker and Ruth and Harry turn to each other when they hear the unmistakeable sound of an explosion. Harry’s face pales and he swallows, as if to stop himself from being sick. They wait for Lucas to speak and when he does, Ruth’s supposition is right.
“The Home Secretary is fine, Harry, but Ros...”
Lucas doesn’t finish his sentence.
He doesn’t need to.
--
Ros’ funeral is simple; a few words from the priest, a short eulogy by Lucas and - of course - a poem from Malcolm. Ruth sits in the crowd, next to Harry, whose eyes are filled with tears that haven’t fallen. They don’t fall as they watch Ros’ coffin being lowered, nor as they walk away, but as he gets into his car, Ruth sees him lose his composure. He sits in the driver’s seat, leaning forward, his forehead nearly touching the steering wheel.
Unsure what else to do, she crosses to the car and gets inside.
She remains silent, not knowing what to say.
--
The Grid feels empty without Ros, and she’s like a spectre that refuses to fade. Harry’s eyes wander often to her empty desk, and she frequently sees his expression fall when they don’t find her blonde figure.
Ruth watches from the background, unsure what to do.
--
Six months later, they are sitting at a restaurant drinking wine, and Ruth blurts out a question she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer to.
“Did you love her, Harry?”
His eyes show surprise for a brief second, before he dips his head and looks at the white tablecloth. She waits while he deliberates his answer.
“Yes,” he says finally, and it sounds as if he’s only realised it himself. “In a way, I did.”
Ruth quirks an eyebrow.
“In a way?”
He nods. “Yes, in a way.”
His answer is cryptic, though anything involving Ros Myers is bound to be complicated.
However, Ruth thinks as her eyes scan the wine list, it’s an answer she is comfortable with.
Links with Purple, Observations and Inferiority
S8; Ros Myers, Harry Pearce, Ruth Evershed
She didn't notice it at first.
Apprehension
She didn’t notice it at first.
Though in hindsight, maybe she chose not to.
Harry and Ros are talking quietly as they cross the Grid, heading towards Harry’s office, and Ruth watches as Harry gently touches the small of her back. Ruth would think nothing of it, but Ros’ reaction sparks her curiosity. The blonde, usually so composed, flinches away from his hand. Harry looks surprised and Ruth stops typing, her eyes fixed on the unexpected scene in front of her. Ros’ eyes, so hard and indecipherable, show a deep hurt, one which Ruth would never have associated with her until that very moment.
Harry’s expression wavers to one of understanding and he withdraws his hand, moving away quickly, leaving Ros to follow. She does, after a moment’s pause, and strides past Ruth as if nothing had happened.
All of this happens in less than two seconds.
Ruth’s brow furrows as Ros goes into Harry’s office and sits down, crossing her legs. They both act as if nothing has happened and Ruth’s brain goes into overdrive trying to think of possible reasons.
None come to her.
--
Ruth is at the water cooler when her attention is diverted. Ros is at her desk and Harry approaches, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite. He leans forward, palms flat against his thighs, and the two speak intently in less than a whisper. Their conversation becomes more animated, Ros using her hands to great effect to emphasise a point, and Harry sits back.
They look at each other, their expressions bordering on a glare, before Ros rises to her feet and stalks toward the pods.
Harry shakes his head as he watches her go.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Ruth is broken from her observations by Lucas who offers her a smile which she returns.
“Just looking,” she says, waving in the general direction of Harry who was sitting at Ros’ desk.
“Ah, yes,” Lucas says, eyes twinkling. “The ‘Dream Team.’”
Ruth raises her eyebrows, confused.
“Harry and Ros,” Lucas elaborates. “I think Jo came up with the nickname.”
She forces a laugh.
“I see.”
--
“Ah, Ruth.”
Harry sounds genuinely pleased to see her and Ruth smiles as she enters his office, files in her arms.
“I found these...”
The door is pulled open roughly and Ros comes in, nearly running into Ruth.
“The Home Secretary is on the news, Harry,” Ros says, barely looking at Ruth. “You should really watch.”
Harry nods.
“Thank you, Ros.”
The dismissal is faint, but nevertheless there, and Ruth sees a momentary flash of pain in Ros’ eyes that quickly disappears.
“Always pleased to help.”
Her voice has taken on that tone; the one where Ruth could never tell if she is being sarcastic. As Ros spins on her heel and marches out, Ruth pushes that thought to the back of her mind.
“As I was saying...”
--
Jo is dead.
Ruth chokes at Harry’s words and she holds a hand over her mouth, trying to suppress the sobs which wrack through her body. Her chest hurts, her eyes burn and her body feels weak. She leans against the wall to make sure she doesn’t fall and closes her eyes, willing Harry’s words not to be true.
Heels snap behind her, instantly recognisable, and she hears Ros’ chair scratch against the floor as she pulls it out. Ruth finally gathers her composure enough to turn and finds the blonde typing steadily. She looks as she always does, hair in place, make-up immaculate, nothing to suggest she has just watched a colleague die.
“Ros...?” she ventures.
The blonde turns and Ruth sees the red rims around her irises, making her eyes seem greener than usual, bordering on jade.
It seemed that she did feel things; that she wasn’t an emotionless machine.
“Yes?” Ros asks.
“Are you...?”
Harry’s door opens and he pokes his head out. He looks impossibly serious and Ruth fancies that she sees Ros flinch slightly where she sits.
“Ros, a word.”
She rises to her feet and crosses the Grid, closing the door behind her. Ruth can hear nothing of their conversation but watches as Ros falls into one of the chairs and looks down at the floor.
Ruth feels like an intruder and turns away.
--
Something has changed between them.
Harry is more gentle, Ros more forthcoming, and Ruth feels a stab of jealousy. Ros swivels in her chair and turns toward Harry; her posture is relaxed and she drapes one arm along the back of the chair.
Realisation hits her.
Ros doesn’t allow familiarity with just anyone, if she were honest Ruth hadn’t seen it with anyone else, and to see it with Harry...
Ruth looks down at the floor.
Three years is a long time; perhaps she was a fool for thinking he would wait. She had met George and Harry had turned to Ros. And why not? The blonde was smart, attractive, and understood the harsher aspects of this line of work better than Ruth ever could.
It still hurt.
--
Ruth is confused.
Harry has taken a step backward in time; things are as they were before her ‘death,’ but this time Ros seems to have faded into the background.
By choice it seems.
Ruth only sees it occasionally; those eyes fixed on her person, a moment of wistfulness quickly suppressed, a return to work.
Ruth also sees that Lucas is different.
She wonders if the two are inter-related.
--
“Harry, would you like to go for a drink?”
“Yes, Ruth, I would.”
She isn’t sure what prompted her sudden invitation; maybe a burst of courage, but she feels definite irritation when Tariq breaks into the conversation.
It’s as if she’s playing a game, and she doesn’t know the rules and she’s fighting blind.
--
“Lucas, talk to her!”
Ros is inside; Ros is in danger; Harry is getting on her nerves.
He paces his office, talking with Lucas, talking with Special Forces, talking to himself, talking to anyone. He’s been like this for the past two hours, since Ros has been inside alone. They have Lucas on loudspeaker and Ruth and Harry turn to each other when they hear the unmistakeable sound of an explosion. Harry’s face pales and he swallows, as if to stop himself from being sick. They wait for Lucas to speak and when he does, Ruth’s supposition is right.
“The Home Secretary is fine, Harry, but Ros...”
Lucas doesn’t finish his sentence.
He doesn’t need to.
--
Ros’ funeral is simple; a few words from the priest, a short eulogy by Lucas and - of course - a poem from Malcolm. Ruth sits in the crowd, next to Harry, whose eyes are filled with tears that haven’t fallen. They don’t fall as they watch Ros’ coffin being lowered, nor as they walk away, but as he gets into his car, Ruth sees him lose his composure. He sits in the driver’s seat, leaning forward, his forehead nearly touching the steering wheel.
Unsure what else to do, she crosses to the car and gets inside.
She remains silent, not knowing what to say.
--
The Grid feels empty without Ros, and she’s like a spectre that refuses to fade. Harry’s eyes wander often to her empty desk, and she frequently sees his expression fall when they don’t find her blonde figure.
Ruth watches from the background, unsure what to do.
--
Six months later, they are sitting at a restaurant drinking wine, and Ruth blurts out a question she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer to.
“Did you love her, Harry?”
His eyes show surprise for a brief second, before he dips his head and looks at the white tablecloth. She waits while he deliberates his answer.
“Yes,” he says finally, and it sounds as if he’s only realised it himself. “In a way, I did.”
Ruth quirks an eyebrow.
“In a way?”
He nods. “Yes, in a way.”
His answer is cryptic, though anything involving Ros Myers is bound to be complicated.
However, Ruth thinks as her eyes scan the wine list, it’s an answer she is comfortable with.
Links with Purple, Observations and Inferiority