A/N—A/N—I'm new to the fandom of MI:5. This is first in what might be a series and involves my favorite Section D team: Adam, Zaf, Jo, Ros, Colin, Malcolm and of course, Harry & Ruth. This particular part is a bit light on the Harry & Ruth but they're in there. This "plot" is completely implausible and non-canon but I tried to keep the characters true to themselves. It's pure indulgence and very, very naughty. Mature themes come-so to speak. Mind the "M" rating. It's more my fantasy than anything else. I'm just wild about Harry.
Pardon my American-isms. I didn't even try to "talk British" (as Eddie Izzard would say). Also, the name "Eli" is pronounced e-lie, not el-lee. Chapter titles from Zeppelin songs 'cos Harry's a fan. Give them a listen. They'll put you in the mood. No beta. All fubars belong to me. Usual disclaimers apply. -girl6
~~Chapter 1
Harry Pearce was a chameleon. Two days without a shave changed his entire face. He even had more hair than he let on, usually keeping it cut close - a half-inch longer than normal and a soft, wavy pattern asserted itself, filling in the thin spots. He was not a tall man but was never described as short. Ask someone his eye color and they were just as likely to say brown as green, his hair, brown or blond or ginger. He was careful with his fingerprints, wearing gloves well into the summer. He could fade into a crowd or stand out. He was good at not being directly photographed, casually shielding his face with a hand or a lift of his folio. That's not to say that he was unknown to the general public but he avoided being directly quoted, rather appearing in the papers as quoted by someone else.
In his prime, he was a lanky youth from a Renaissance painting - thick burnished curls and bee-stung lips, fey with men, seductive with women, big bulge in his trousers. He wielded his looks like a weapon, disarming his opponents such that they sometimes told him everything, simply because he asked.
By middle age, his body had evolved and he adjusted the impression he gave off to go along with these changes to that of the paunchy bureaucrat. He subtly reinforced this image by being seen eating the occasional large meal at his club and by pausing at the top of a flight of stairs as if to catch his breath. His tailor was a wizard who pointed and laughed at Saville Row. His bespoke suits created the illusion that Harry had gone soft and run to fat - a hidden dart here, a seam there, all engineered to hang a bit off - his jackets a little too fitted across the belly, a fraction too long at the hip and just the wrong shades of gray or navy blue to wash out the color of his skin. His shirts were loose in the sleeves and tight at the neck. His pants were cut slightly lower in the inseam than was necessary. He maintained himself about a half-stone over his fighting weight to keep the soft roundness of his face. His full mouth and brown eyes could make him seem sweet and faintly vulnerable.
Harry knew the value of being underestimated and used his cherubic appearance to his advantage.
Now, he stood with his hands on his hips, contemplating a satellite photo on the electronic whiteboard mounted in the conference room. He'd removed his suit jacket, his only concession to the lateness of the hour. He reached up and enlarged a section of the photo with his thumb and forefinger. The movement elongated his torso and pulled his shirt tight at his waist. He turned away from the board, folded his arms across his chest and tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip, staring at the floor, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt, biceps bulging in his sleeves.
Jo blinked in surprise and stole a glance at Ros. Ros was gazing at Harry speculatively. Ruth kept her eyes firmly fixed to a spot on the table in front of her.
Harry looked out at his team from beneath his lashes. Malcolm and Colin had their heads together over a tablet. Adam was staring at nothing, frowning. Ruth rubbed a fingertip against a spot on the conference table.
"What do you see, Ros?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure, Harry," she said, keeping her face empty.
He looked at Jo. Her lips were parted and her eyes wide. "And you, Jo?"
Jo closed her mouth and gave a quick negative shake of her head.
Harry scrubbed his hands over his face. "Somebody wake up Zaf," he said.
Zaf's head snapped forward at the sound of his name. "Huh? Yes. What? Right," he said.
"Go home, all of you," said Harry. "We'll pick this up in the morn-." He glanced at his watch. "At 0900. Six hours."
Adam got up and immediately stalked out. Zaf invited himself to stay over at Malcolm's and Ros offered her spare room to Jo to save her a cold trip on the tube. Ruth pushed back her chair.
"Ruth," said Harry.
"Yes, Harry?"
"I'll give you a lift."
"No. No, I can…" She looked out at the empty corridor.
"You've missed the last bus. It's my fault for keeping you. I'll take you home."
"Oh, uh-."
"Your home. Let me see you home."
"My home. Yes, of course. I knew you meant my home. But-."
Harry rubbed his eyes with the flat of his fingers. "Ruth. It's late. Let's go."
Ruth ducked her head and rushed out the door. Harry exhaled slowly through pursed lips. He'd never known anyone who tested his patience like Ruth. He followed her down the corridor, snatched his overcoat and suit jacket from his office and crowded into the same pod with her before she could disappear.
They drove silently through the rain-washed streets to her house with Ruth sitting stiffly, her hands clutched in her lap. Harry made no attempt at small talk. He was entirely too exhausted. She was in his car. That would have to suffice for tonight.
Harry pulled to the curb. When she didn't get out, he looked over.
"Thank you for the ride," she said.
"My pleasure."
"The door is locked."
"Oh. Sorry." He pushed a button and the lock disengaged with a discreet click. "Sleep well, Ruth."
"This car," she said. "It's solid. And expensive. Like you."
Harry arched his brows. "I suppose I'm flattered," he said. "Though, I bought it because it's fast and…for other reasons."
Ruth nodded. "In the pod," she said, staring through the windshield.
"What about the pod?"
"We're supposed to go through one at a time."
"I'm sorry if I got too close."
"No, I— it's. I — I like the way you smell at the end of the day," she said.
She was out of the car and in her house before he could recover. As he pulled from the curb, Harry smiled. This is the pay-off for patience, he thought. Here was another weapon for his arsenal in the Battle of Ruth.
XXXXXXXX
Harry let himself into his house and hung his coat on the rack in the foyer. Scarlet trotted over and dropped a small red ball at his feet.
Harry froze.
Scarlet backed away wagging her tail, looking from him to the ball and back. Harry reached under the small table by the door and pulled a gun from a holster he fastened beneath it. He knelt and picked up the ball. He didn't buy this for her.
He held his breath and listened. He heard nothing. He inhaled quietly through his nose. No professional would be stupid enough to wear cologne to a hit but adrenaline and testosterone had their own aroma. He wished briefly for the security system of his former house but no system was impenetrable and anyone going after Harry Pearce would likely find it more expedient — and safer for them - to just drop a bomb on him. He spared the taxpayers the expense, installed motion-sensitive outdoor lighting, fortified the doors and windows and adopted the next best thing to a sophisticated security system - a yappy, territorial little dog.
He studied Scarlett. She wasn't behaving as if someone were in the house.
He rolled the ball into the hallway. Scarlet scrambled after it, barking happily. He stepped out of the foyer with his gun raised. He followed the dog, peering into the darkness. He took another step, his feet flew out from under him and he landed hard on his back. He lay there, blinking. Scarlet ambled over and dropped her new ball by his head.
"You're going to catch me on the wrong day and get yourself killed, Eli," said Harry.
Eli peeled from the shadows, dangling Harry's gun by the trigger guard. "You dropped this," she said.
"Careful, there's a round in the chamber."
She stepped over Harry and went to put the gun back in its hiding place. Harry watched her from the floor. She came back and gazed down at him with her arms folded.
"I think I broke something," said Harry.
"You're all right."
"I'm an old man. You can't knock me around like that."
"Old man, my ass," Eli snorted. "Get up, Harold."
Harry held out a hand. "Help me up," he said, wincing and rolling his shoulder.
She gripped his hand and pulled him to his feet. He used the momentum to twist her arm behind her and bring her hand high between her shoulder blades. He pushed her face first against the wall and held her there firmly with his hips. She struggled briefly but stopped when she felt the sharp sting of a blade against her throat. He increased the torque on her twisted arm and spread her legs with a kick to her ankles. He pressed harder with his hips. She let out a small gasp. He held her like this until he felt the muscles in her body relax.
"Look at me," said Harry.
She leaned her head back on his shoulder. She looked at him. His eyes roamed her face, glittering darkly. She swallowed hard. He felt a tremor run through her. He dipped his head, his lips veering away a millimeter before they met hers.
"My name's not Harold," he breathed in her ear.
He closed the knife and slipped it back into her pocket. He released her and strode into his kitchen, flipping on lights as he went.
"Jerk," she muttered, massaging her wrist.
Harry grinned. "What is it you say in the Colonies? Payback is a something or other?"
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not an American?"
Eli Winston was born in the US of British parents.
"I need you to do something for me," said Harry.
She leaned against the counter while he rummaged in the refrigerator.
"Make your own fucking sandwich," she said.
"Fancy a trip to Hong Kong?" asked Harry.
"Want me to kill somebody?"
"No, you psychopath." Harry paused, frowning. "Well, let's hope not, anyway."
"What's the gig?"
"I need a lover."
"You're a little high profile to be doing ops, Harrison."
"That's the beauty of it."
She watched him with narrowed eyes. "You just want to have sex with me."
Harry abandoned his quest for sandwich fixings and drank from the glass of red wine Eli poured for herself after breaking into his house. He looked into the glass.
"That bottle cost eight hundred pounds," he said.
"Dishwater crap," she said.
"Anyway," said Harry. "The legend is, Harry Pearce on holiday."
"You loathe vacations."
"Exactly. A lavish holiday with a beautiful girl. I'll be acting completely out of character."
"Ah. The old mid-life crisis con."
Harry spread his hands. "Presidents have been impeached, kings abdicate their thrones…"
"Men are so stupid. They spend their entire lives being dragged behind their erect penises."
"A prime moment to turn the unturnable."
"Don't Five have a stable of hookers for this kind of thing? Or are you making a statement about my character?"
"I need reliable back up, not just another pretty face."
"What about what's her name? Ruth. She's a closet badass."
Harry took another sip of wine. He held the glass to his nose and sniffed. "No," he said quietly. "It's complicated." He sat the glass aside with a grimace. "You're right. It's crap."
Eli watched him fidget. He ran his hands through his hair, fiddled with his watch and smoothed his tie with his fingers.
"What's the target?" she asked, letting him off the hook.
"I'm not sure."
"Somebody poke you with a stick?"
"Not yet, but I'm being watched."
"What else is new?"
"This is different. They're not being very stealthy. They know I know."
"Sounds like you're going to be burned or turned."
"I think turned. I got a ridiculously good deal on my new car."
Eli stretched and yawned. "Well, I'll think about it, Harcourt."
"It's the least you could do for breaking into my house."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, heading for the door.
"And stop stealing my t-shirts," he called after her.
Scarlett whined softly when the front door closed. Harry looked down at her.
"Traitor," he said.
More Harry to come. More on Eli, though I don't even know that much about her, yet.
