Another Ros oneshot (I really must attempt to write something with plot!). Set when she joins the team in Series 5 (so mild spoilers for non-UK viewers, perhaps?). I don't own the DVDs so I'm relying on my memory here, apologies for any mistakes.
Disclaimer: neither Spooks, the characters or the places belong to me.
The more a scar burns, the less painful it becomes. Simply fire and flesh, and after a while, none of it matters.
The walk from the SIS Building to Thames House was not a long one, but it allowed for ten minutes silent thought, for which Ros Myers was grateful. The icy afternoon air suited her cool demeanour and distant expression, and the businessmen who hurried past her in their uniform black suits barely glanced at her as they raced on to their board meetings and gentlemen's clubs. The sky was grey and insubstantial, and though watery sunlight persistently attempted to spill through, it clearly threatened rain. The last of the autumn leaves were clinging stubbornly to the twisted branches of trees that lined the river, the decidedly dull water weakly lapping at the banks and Ros breathed in the cold musk of winter. The bitter air did wonders for a buzzing mind and heavy conscience, the numbing effect preferable by far to a raging storm of anger and confusion.
Betrayal was an ugly word, Ros decided as she paused at the banks of the Thames to lean dejectedly into the railings, and ugly words often come from the prettiest people. Not that she would call her father pretty, she almost smiled at the notion only to look down and see her own face reflected in the water, stomach curling as she realised how like him she was. Her eyes were smiling as she considered the irony: her angular jaw and pointed features are her father's and until now she had never noticed the personality flaws behind those features that had made her dislike them as a teenager. She had always trusted him above all others, thought of his opinion as being far higher than anyone else's and sought his approval before any other person's. Only now did she realise her mistake as she focused on the sparkling eyes and softening smile, not to mention the sleek, white gold hair that she had always loved so much. They came from somewhere else entirely, or most likely a recessive gene, and she was proud of them: they made her different.
It was with that encouraging thought that Ros turned to face the soft grey stone of Thames House, somehow more welcoming than the austere walls of the SIS Building. She took one last deep breath of winter air, rearranged her features into those of the coolly alluring spy and pushed her way through the revolving door without a single glance back across the river. She figured she didn't need too and as she started towards the stairs she knew she was right to assume so, it was like moving house – a little disconcerting, but all for the greater good.
Her first step in Section D was met with five pairs of staring eyes. There was Adam, his intense look softened with a hint of understanding and the tiniest glimmer of pride; Harry, his fatherly gaze at once cold and concerned; Ruth, with her uncertain smile, always determined to see the best in people; Jo, whose coolness was mixed with perplexed surprise that made Ros smile slightly – clearly no one had quite taught this one the ropes yet; and Zafar, whose eyes almost revealed his honest friendliness… but not quite. Ros stood there, a little unsure about what to do or say, her usual confidence deserting her. She needn't have worried however as Malcolm burst through the pods behind her, eyes a little red as a lasting mark for the loss of his friend, but busy and faintly excited all the same.
"Look," he said with the air of a small child at Christmas, "new, top of the range…"
"Yes, yes, Malcolm," Harry began, "but…"
"But what are they?" Adam finished, the look of disdain from his superior going unnoticed.
Ros saw her chance and it amused her faintly that she could have the upper hand in this conversation, the chance to reinforce her assured, coolly confident style.
"They're electromagnetic pulse bombs, with a new design that allows for easier concealment and activation."
Six pairs of eyes were then fixed upon her and she found the silence almost as amusing as Malcolm's muted stutters. In the face of six glares, some questioning, some admiring, she felt she should elaborate.
"Six have been using these for months."
Barely concealed delight flashed upon her features as she turned from the momentarily stymied counter-terrorism team to hang up her coat.
Yes, she was going to like it here.