What do Spooks think about when they are awake in the small hours?
Based on events in 3.7.
Andrew had been laying silently in front of Ruth for a long time. She'd lost track of how long. One minute he'd been talking to her, at her, crowing that he was the one who invented the G&J Key, and that now he had what he was owed. The next minute he'd crumpled to the floor, unable to speak. His body spasmed for a time, then stilled. Ruth could only guess what had happened, that it was something to do with the diamonds he'd shown off with alacrity, but she knew he was dead.
Earlier, Andrew had tied Ruth's hands to the banister, held awkwardly above her head, and now she was stuck. There was no way she could have done anything for him. She wasn't sure she would have wanted to help him anyway, not really. What he'd done to innocent people ... it was so cold, calculating. It appalled her that someone could behave like that.
Ruth couldn't think of any way to get out of her predicament. All she could do was sit and wait, and hope. Hope that her colleagues would work out where she was. It was either very late, or very early, depending on how you looked at it, and she had no idea how long it might take them to discover she was missing, and what had happened.
Ruth closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply as she thought back over the last few hours. I should have realised it was him. Why didn't I work it out sooner? The signs had all been there, but she'd been blind to them. Unusually distracted, when she should have been focused.
She wasn't even certain why she'd said yes to Andrew's offer of dinner. Well actually, that's not true. I know why. She was flattered that he'd asked, that he wanted to spend time with her. It was better than a late, lonely meal in front of the television, which was the way most of her evenings played out. And if she was honest with herself, there was also the chance that Harry might sit up and take notice. Not that he had been around at the time, nor would she have expected him to do anything if he had been. But when the team found out, as they were sure to, she knew someone was bound to make comment in his presence. Why did it always come back to Harry?
Her eyes still closed, Ruth replayed memories of her first day on the grid. She had been late, and entering the meeting room, only just managed to stop herself from dropping the entire armful of files all over the place. She was conscious of the team's wariness, but then Harry's silly joke, and his response to her nervous comment about the Home Office, had somehow reassured her, boosted her confidence. And later, when she told him about hacking into the French Secret Service, she'd felt an unexpected thrill at his reaction. She could still picture the look on his face. A mixture of shock and awe.
Shock and awe. Ruth had experienced that too, at the climax of the EERIE exercise. Shock and awe that Harry could fool them like that, and that he wasn't dying. Tinged with fright, at her anger, and the realisation that she would have missed him if he had died, even after knowing him such a short time. The strength of those emotions still scared her, and so she preferred to endure them in silence. It wouldn't do any good anyway. It's not like he could possibly feel the same way.
It was better to pretend she didn't feel anything, at least when she was at work. Though that was easier said than done. Ever since Tom had gone off the rails, Harry had come to rely on her. Not just in her role as analyst, but as a kind of confidante. She thought it had started in earnest on the day, only hours before Tom had shot him, when Harry told her of his doubts and asked for her support: Will you stand by me on this Ruth? And Ruth had given it, unreservedly. Harry had her complete loyalty, and then some. He always would. She knew he was far from perfect, but she understood his motives, and his actions were rarely unjustified.
She couldn't explain why she felt the way she did. Not in so many words. It was simply a progression, a combination of little things: a common desire for justice, bravado that belied underlying fears and insecurities, mutual respect, and a sense of humour. Moments of shared understanding ... the way he sometimes looked at her, eyes sparkling and gentle. And so many other things she couldn't possibly put her finger on, and which wouldn't mean anything to anybody else anyway. An innate compatibility. Why do I keep doing this? It's pointless. Stop wishing for something that's never going to happen.
Ruth felt emotionally and physically exhausted, and events were taking their toll. However much she tried to remain still, her wrists kept chafing, and her arms ached from being wrenched into an unnatural position. She finally allowed a few silent tears to escape, and they trickled down her cheeks.
Eventually, she slipped into a restless sleep, visions of Harry flitting through her subconscious.
There may be more to this. I have a couple of ideas percolating away in my head, each of which could take the story in different directions. So I guess it's a case of watch this space, and we'll see what happens.