I do not own Spooks in any way, shape, or form imaginable. My imagination (though wild and wily) is my own, however, and that is what fanfiction is for.

This is the sequel to (in chronological order) Breathe Me and Chandelier. It will be rated M for adult language and sexuality, and, ya know, my own stupidity. (If you hadn't been able to tell, I'm borrowing titles from songs from Sia's albums. Because Sia is my spirit animal.)

Fire Meet Gasoline
by ScintillatingTart
November 2014 – December 2014

One:
Secrets and Lies

He just stood there, briefcase in hand, gloves still on, trenchcoat still wrapped around his broad shoulders. "Ruth, I haven't the energy for –"

"How could you?" Ruth hissed. The betrayal was so fresh, so strong, she could taste it like blood in her mouth. "You are a liar and a fraud and – and I hate you. Get out of my house. GET OUT."

He stared at her, face completely blank. "Ruth, I have no idea what you're on about, but I've had a very hard day and coyly playing oblique games with me isn't helping. You'll have to enlighten me as to what you're referring? Was it maybe the not putting laundry in the dryer this morning when I did my wash? Or was it forgetting to acquire more toothpaste or put it on the list?"

"Carole," she said, her tone clipped and distinct, the syllable leaving her lips with such fury and derision that he winced. "Am I just supposed to pretend to be happy when your bloody mistress shows up on my doorstep?"

He dropped the briefcase. "She came here?" Harry said.

"Yes! How bloody else was she going to get a message to you?" Ruth shot back.

"A phone like normal people?" Harry said, rolling his eyes and sighing. "Ruth, god, I'm so sorry – this is all a massive cock-up. You've completely got the wrong end of the stick here, and I'm afraid it's my fault."

"Oh, I've got the wrong end?" Ruth challenged. "Doesn't bloody look like it from here. Get out, Harry. Get out of my house –"

"My father died," Harry said, his shoulder's slumping in defeat. "That's what the message was about. Carole is not my mistress – god, how could you even think it, Ruth? Carole isn't my mistress, nor would I ever touch her in that way. Carole is my sister; she's been caring for my father."

"You don't have a bloody sister," Ruth hissed. "Nice try, though – I give you points for creativity. Now get your things and get out."

"I swear," Harry said quietly, "Carole Thwaite is my sister. It's complicated. Every bloody part of my life is complicated, Ruth."

She was hanging on a thread; half of her wanted to believe him, hear out his explanation, while the other half was listening to that soft niggling voice in the back of her brain. Finally, she just whispered, "You never said you had a sister."

"We're not exactly on Christmas card terms; more like… the occasional phone call but otherwise, neither of us exist to the other," Harry said. "My dad was Army. He was stationed in South Korea before the Korean Conflict in the early 50's. He married a woman named Hae-Won Cho, and they had two children together – Julian and Carole. Hae-Won died in childbirth, and her parents refused to allow my father to bring Julian and Carole back to the United Kingdom when he was wounded in the conflict and removed from service." He sighed. "He came back to England, without his wife, and without his children, and fell into a suicidal depression. He met my mum in A&E. He drank too much and hit his head, so my Gran took him in. Mum broke her finger and was waiting to go in for x-rays. They got to chatting and…" He shrugged. "Neither here nor there, now."

Ruth was quiet for a long moment, then said, "It's not in your family history – the one in your file."

"It wasn't something I knew about until after I joined the Service," Harry sighed. "Dad didn't tell me. Carole married the Undersecretary to the British Ambassador to South Korea in 1972, and came over to the UK when he was recalled to advise the PM. She renounced her Korean citizenship. Julian renounced his British citizenship after attending Cambridge with Honors, and is currently serving as the South Korean Minister of Defense." His face was unreadable.

It was all so plausible, so real… but it could just have been an elaborate legend. God knew she hadn't even met James Arthur Pearce when he was alive. She wouldn't know the difference, would she? All she'd known was that Harry's younger brother, Ben, was dead, and his mum, too.

"Ruth, please," he said very quietly. "I wouldn't lie about this. It's been a headache for my clearances and things for years. It's off the books, but fairly common knowledge to those who need to know. Why do you think Section B always took over anything to do with Korea when I was head of D?"

"Because we're overworked and underpaid," Ruth said automatically.

He exhaled. "Because they feared I would do something stupid – because my brother, who I've never met in my bloody life, is a high-ranking member of the South Korean government. So, no, I'm not carrying on a bloody torrid affair with Carole Thwaite – and she booked a hotel suite in Mayfair so we might discuss the funeral arrangements in private. She knows I'll send someone in to remove the bugs first, so we might speak undisturbed." He gave Ruth a sad smile. "I hope you'll join us. Please."

"Why would I join you? I don't know your father – you never gave me a chance to know him," Ruth said sharply.

"No, maybe not," Harry said, "but you know me. And you know that I am… a bit… stubborn."

"Understatement," she muttered.

"And Carole is much the same way," Harry finished. "You might... feel less threatened if you were to be in the room, watching us battle over funerary hymns and whether or not to allow flowers."

She fell silent, hesitating for a long moment, still at war with the voices in her head. "I hate you so much," Ruth whispered. "I hate you because I don't know if you're lying or telling the truth right now, and it breaks my heart that you could even – that you could even put me in that situation after everything we've been through."

He held his hand out, palm up. "Ruth, Carole is my sister. My father died this morning from organ failure, brought on by liver cancer. I was faxed a copy of the autopsy results earlier today. It's in my briefcase. Please believe me when I say that I regret keeping things from you like this, but I thought it was the right thing to do at the time."

"You always think it's the right thing," she said sadly. "Always. To shut me out. To pretend that I don't care about you when I do – more than anything, I care about you, Harry." She frowned and held back, still unsure.

He sighed softly. "I promise you, Ruth… I will do better."

She hesitated another moment, then took his hand. "This doesn't mean you're forgiven," she said very quickly. "Only that I'm calling an interregnum until I can establish that you're not a lying, cheating bastard."

He sighed. "I hate that you don't trust me."

"Your track record," she pointed out, "is less than exemplary."

"Am I at least allowed in our bed?" he asked. "I'm really quite tired and need to know."

Ruth sighed. "You can sleep in the bed. I'll sleep in the sitting room."

"No, Ruth –"

"Look, you just pipe down," she said, wagging her finger at him. "And you stand over there in your wrongness and be wrong and get bloody used to it. Good night."

With that, she went to the sitting room and flopped onto the sofa.

Much later, she was woken out of a sound sleep by Harry joining her on the sofa. She only woke up long enough to shift so she was lying on top of him, then she went back to sleep.

Harry didn't go to work the next morning; he canceled his appointments and made certain that the Deputy Director would take over for him for the next few days, due to bereavement leave. Ruth found herself wondering if this was his normal reaction to familial grief…

They left for the hotel about eleven and checked in. Harry texted the room number to Carole and he led Ruth up to the suite. They were only waiting a few minutes before there was a knock on the door. Harry opened the door and let Carole and Lionel Thwaite into the suite.

"I took the liberty of speaking to the concierge and arranging champagne and sandwiches to be brought up shortly," Lionel said, shaking Harry's hand. "Bloody shame we have to sneak off in order to make arrangements, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry agreed crisply. Ruth could tell immediately that her husband disliked his brother-in-law intensely, but tried to remain civil about it. He gingerly embraced Carole and kissed her awkwardly on the cheek. "Carole, I'm so sorry –"

"I knew it was coming," Carole said. "But that doesn't make it any easier to live with, Harry. I apologize for all of the secrecy in arranging today, but you did request –"

"I requested evasive tactics, not frightening my wife into thinking I was having an affair," Harry scolded. "Carole, you've met Ruth already – Ruth, this is Carole Thwaite, my sister, and her husband, Sir Lionel Thwaite. Lionel, my wife – Ruth."

Lionel looked her up and down, and smiled broadly before extending a hand. "You're a damn sight nicer than Jane," he commented dryly.

Ruth took his hand and shook it, still unsure where she fit in the hierarchy of this newfound family. She looked to Harry for guidance, but he was no help at all. Carole shook her hand as well, and said, "It's a pleasure, Ruth. I just wish it were under better circumstances."

"I… didn't know that Harry had a sister," Ruth said, the words sounding alien to her ears.

Carole rounded on Harry and smacked him with her clutch. "You no good so-and-so," she scolded. "All the time you spend at my house and your wife didn't even know who I was when I arrived on your doorstep? You arse."

"In my defense?" Harry began.

"No defense," Ruth interjected, putting an end to that madness before it had a chance to begin.

"I like her," Carole said. "She's not afraid to tell you to sod off."

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Shall we begin, then? Dad always wanted Glenn Miller playing –"

"God, don't remind me," Carole sighed, sinking onto one of the sofas with a frown. "Can't we find something just a little less… jazzy?"

"We could, but why?" Harry asked. "He wanted it."

"No offense intended, but he was also suffering dementia and his memory was locked on 1952," Lionel spoke up.

"Are we really going to fight over the music?" Harry asked, annoyed.

Carole gave him an equally annoyed look, and Ruth immediately saw the family resemblance. There was no denying it any longer; she felt horribly guilty, then.

Several hours later, they'd planned out the last details and Carole said, "You do know that Julian will be coming, don't you?"

That gave Harry pause. "Why on earth would he be coming to our father's funeral when he's rejected everything about British culture?"

"Because he was our father," Carole said, her voice tinged with sadness and weariness like she was addressing a toddler. "And he has very fond memories of him. Not to mention, he was coming anyway for the economic summit and talks. This is just incentive for him to arrive early."

"Bloody hell," Harry grunted. He glanced over at Ruth, and she shrugged and raised a brow. "Well, I'll just have to have a word with someone, then –"

"Oh, it's already been arranged through the PM," Lionel said cheerfully. "He's spoken to the Home Secretary about the security arrangements and such… no need to trouble you, Harry."

A muscle in Harry's jaw twitched, and Ruth knew right then exactly why the two didn't get along.

"Harry," Carole said, "of course you must bring your children and their families –"

Ruth spoke up and said, "Yes, of course. Harry, love, we need to get going if we're going to make it to your appointment."

He looked confused for a brief moment, then said, "Ah, yes, I'm sorry – we do need to dash, actually. It's been… good… to see you both. And I will see you on Monday to arrange the catering, Carole." He got his jacket and they beat a hasty retreat, leaving the in-laws to foot the hotel bill.

Once in the car, Ruth sighed. "I suppose I see why we're not even on Christmas card terms, then. Lionel Thwaite is an insufferable twat."

"He was looking down your blouse most of the time," Harry said.

"Yes, I am aware. I didn't want to slap him and alienate your sister," Ruth sighed. "Bloody hell, Harry…"

"Am I forgiven now?" he asked, slightly anxious in tone.

"With interest," Ruth replied. "I just – god. Seriously?"

Harry nodded. "And there was no communication of any type about Julian attending the economic summit," he said.

"Maybe not across your desk, but obviously across the desks of others," Ruth sighed.

"It's my job to provide security to –"

"Apparently not," Ruth said, gently resting her hand on his knee as he drove. "Harry, it will be all right. I promise. I'm sorry I was such a…"

He shook his head. "No, I understand where you were coming from. I just… I wasn't in my right mind last night, and obviously, neither was she."

The rest of the drive home was silent.

END PART ONE