Title: Conversations
Fandom: Spooks/MI5
Characters: Harry Pearce, Ruth Evershed, Jo Portman
Rating: K
Summary: A series of 'hidden scenes', mostly between Harry and Ruth, but also Jo. Starting at the end of 8/02, although Plus ca change and A Different Perspective may be seen as prequels. Trying desperately to stay canon, at least for now...
Disclaimer: Much as they are in my heart, Spooks characters are owned by Kudos, as are any lines you may recognise.
A/N: Please do let me know what you think!
They are walking in a covered walkway, the sun breaking through wire mesh to occasionally dance on their faces, and he has just admitted that she was right. Jo wonders if perhaps this might be the moment to press her advantage.
"She should come back to us. If you talked to her..." She risks a glance to see what kind of a reception the words meet. It's not just for herself that she wants Ruth back - although she has deeply missed her friend - but she knows that Section D would work a lot more smoothly if...
"She's extremely fond of you Jo. She thinks the Service needs more people like you. I can try and sort the logistical side of things out with the Home Secretary, but...if you continue to meet her...?" He is doubting his own importance to Ruth, just as she was doubting her importance to him. Jo has the urge to get the two of them in the same room and bang their heads together. It's really not that difficult. But, of course, this is Harry, and this is Ruth, and it is that difficult.
"I'm happy to try." There is no point in telling him that it will take him, and him alone, before Ruth will agree. But she had already arranged to meet up with her friend, so it's not like he's asking her to something she wouldn't be doing anyway.
"Good." The soft, sad, almost hopeful tone to his voice nearly breaks her heart. She doesn't need any persuasion, but if she did... "Don't go behind my back again though, I'll have you deported to Tazhbekstan."
"Understood." Poor Harry, if only he realised the amount of times one or other of them had gone behind his back, to try and help him open his eyes. But the smile on his face is endearing, and the thought that they might see it more often if she is successful is a warming one.
They meet by the Orangery in Holland Park. There is an excellent ice cream booth that has been there for years, and Ruth has missed the Amaretto flavour that was her favourite, once upon a time. They walk in silence, for a while, round the back of the building, tracing the paths around the fish pond, enjoying the autumnal flowers. A large Koi swims lazily up to the surface to assess them.
"The Gas problem seems to have calmed down." Ruth cannot help herself, now she is here, back. It is an itch she keeps scratching. It is the only thing she knows, here, and to not be a part of it is becoming daily more irritating.
"Yeah. Not quite how we wanted it. And we lost Bibi. I don't think she could have lived, though."
"What happened? Asides from what the news reported?"
"Harry came round to the fact that we couldn't sacrifice her - for which I am grateful to you, Ruth - and decided that the only option was to take Urazov out of the equation. Obviously, we couldn't be seen to do that."
"Obviously."
"It was my idea. I knew Bibi wanted Urazov dead, more than anyone. I knew she had a good reason to want him dead, and that it would look like the Russians were behind it. So we put it to her, explained what would happen - like that time at the African Summit - and she agreed. Everything went to plan, until, after killing him, she shot herself too. I was there, Ruth. I was her handler, and the bait for Urazov. I couldn't stop her." Her voice is leaden with guilt, and Ruth can see Jo is struggling, as she stares at the golden fish, and shreds the remains of her icecream tub.
"Jo, by the sounds of it, if she hadn't done it there, she would have done it shortly afterwards."
"I know. And she had it planned. She left me a note at her flat. But the worst thing was - someone, probably the Russians, had spotted me, beforehand, at her flat. And again, after the hit."
"And of course, being the friendly, sharing types that they are, gave the evidence to Tazhbekstan?"
"Yup. All that, for nothing."
"But it wasn't for nothing, Jo."
"Wasn't it? Bibi is dead, the Tazhbeks will never trust us, and we ended up doing a deal with Russia, which was supposedly unthinkable a few days ago."
"You gave a wounded person a chance. We're not doing a deal with a modern Hitler in the making, and we have gas enough to keep the country ticking over. Sometimes you have to look at the simple side. You said it yourself, Bibi wouldn't have been able to live, either way."
"Maybe." Jo cannot help but note the "we", but she dare not press too quickly.
Finding a bin, they walk onwards, past a preening Peacock, and some Squirrels running after tourist thrown nuts. The Kyoto Garden seems quiet, considering the weather, and they climb the white stone steps to it.
"I've missed this place. I used to come here, now and then, in the summer. It's always peaceful, no matter what's happening elsewhere." Ruth looks around her with evident pleasure. The garden is simple, elegant. Not fussy, or crowded; not complicated or over sentimental,
"I'm surprised you had time. We always thought it was a close call between you and Malcolm as to who spent more time on the Grid."
"Have you heard from him? Malcolm?"
"No. Not yet. I expect he's busy, catching up on reading. Did you ever see his pile of books? He called it his retirement plan, and none of us believed him."
"I was never in Malcolm's home." She turns to Jo, pausing their steps. "He came to see me, Malcolm. Before Nico's aunt arrived. He said it was because he wanted to see me, but really, I think he just wanted to check on Nico. I can never repay him, for what he did."
"And he wouldn't ask it."
"I know... I know. But it seems strange to think he's left the Grid. I can't imagine what it feels like, without his presence."
"You could always come and see." Without realising it, Jo is holding her breath, bated, unsure. Was it too soon, too quick?
"That's likely. They don't let dead people walk around Thames House, unless things have changed." She is mildly derisive, but there is a small enquiry there, just to see if Jo is intentionally taking this where Ruth thinks she is.
There is a patch of grass just here, dry and warm in the sun, without the white chain barrier that keeps much of the ground unstepped on. Ruth spreads her coat on the ground and sits down, leaving ample room for her companion. The sun is on their backs, and causing the little lake to gleam like silver, flashing in their eyes. Legs stretched out, arms behind them, propping them up, they are a mirror image.
"I think they might make an exception for you."
"They? Or Harry?"
"Both, really." Jo glances at her friend, but Ruth is steadfastly squinting at the ducks on the pond. "Did you ever think about it, us, when you were gone?"
If anyone other than Jo asked her that question, at that moment, Ruth would lie. Shake her head carelessly, artlessly, say it hadn't crossed her mind. They'd probably know it was a lie, but she'd defend it until they gave up. But this is Jo, and there is something childlike, disarming, in the way she asks.
"Yes." The word is simple. The tone is simple. A simple statement of fact. If only it were that simple. If only she could share the fact that she had never stopped thinking of the Grid. Of her friends, some of whom were long dead, little she knew. Of him. Oh, she had banished the thoughts, or tried to, every single day. She would shake her head slightly, to dislodge them; pass a hand across her eyes to stop seeing them; focus on her clerical work, or the bustle of the market, or the clarity of the water she swam in. But they were always there. Wondering what they were doing, where they were, how they were. She had stopped reading anything other than local news, because she could see their faces behind the headlines. But she never forgot the adrenalin of successfully stopping a threat. She never forgot the laughter. She never forgot him. Waking at 5am every day, no matter how hard she tried not to, she could not help but wonder how he was; as he dressed for work, where he was as the dawn broke, winking out the stars that covered them both, what he was meeting as he walked through the pods. She never forgot, and she never stopped thinking like a Spook. Not really. Which was what had brought her back here, and was what was pulling at her now.
"Yes. I did think about the Grid. A bit. It was... a hole. But we carry on, Jo. God knows, we can't go back in time."
"No." Jo is pensive, quiet for a moment. "But we can move forward." Now it is her turn to look firmly at the ducks peacefully floating by, and ignore Ruth's thoughtful eyes as they cloud over for a second.
"Thanks Jo. It's good to see you." She pauses, gathering herself. "It's still a bit strange. Everything. Being here, I mean. I don't quite know who I am." They're standing, now, and she is re-tying the belt of her coat firmly around herself.
"Will you think about it?"
"About what?" Ruth's voice is completely neutral, and Jo takes the warning with a slight nod.
"It's good to see you too, Ruth. Give me a call, if you'd like to meet up again."
"I dare say you're far too busy saving London."
"I make time for my friends, Ruth. That's the way I know myself."
Ruth nods and quickly grasps her friend's arms in a swift hug.
"Look after yourself, Jo. And...look after him." She turns abruptly and walks away, steps short and quick, head bowed.
Jo watches her leave, until her head is out of sight going down the steps, and then sits back down, staring unseeingly at the peaceful scene before her. The sun is pleasant, and she could sit here forever. In her minds eye, she sees Bibi and Aarti, walking on the other side of the lake, arm in arm, laughing; golden in the light. Maybe Ruth is right.
