a normal life
Disclaimer: so not mine.
Summary: The beautiful simplicity of normality seduces her. R/H ish. Post Ep 10.2
Notes: Uh, hadn't intended to write anything more for Spooks, but here I am again with a plot bunny that refused to be ignored. A little with the angst, but who knows, maybe I'll write something a little more cheery next time round. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.
XxX
At times, she thinks about possible alternative careers. Lately, her thoughts turn in this direction with increasing frequency. It's a symptom of change, she knows, and a feeling of being unsettled with the immense changes that have occurred over such a short period of time.
She used to come home to spend evenings with a glass of wine and conversation with Beth. She used to be the person who knew Harry Pearce best, who he turned to with every uncertainty and dilemma and just to talk to. She used to have friendly banter with Tariq. In short, she thought she was relatively happy in life.
She didn't cry when she heard about Tariq.
It's a sign she's getting far too used to losing colleagues – friends – as a result of their jobs.
And she really doesn't like that about herself.
XxX
She never thought she'd say this, but with Beth gone, there's decidedly less reason to go home. She feels her loneliness so much more acutely in Beth's absence after having finally become used to Beth being in her home. But after Beth's termination from the service, she could hardly continue to live with Ruth, and Ruth isn't in the market for a new flatmate.
After leaving work, she wanders the embankment, lost in thought and loneliness and the consideration that her life just. wasn't. supposed to be like this. And it's unfair. And yet, for all her wondering and consideration of an alternative life, still, she's here. Wandering the embankment at 7pm on a Friday evening. Alone.
She wonders where Harry is, if he's planning yet another meeting with Elena. Or Sasha.
And then, she hates these feelings of jealousy, because she has no claim on him. She gave up that opportunity a lifetime ago when she asserted that they could be no closer than as colleagues. They're still colleagues. She wasn't ready then for more, but she's been ready a thousand times over since, and at this moment she has no damn clue what has been holding her back. Still, this is the life she's chosen, it would seem, and there's only one thing she can do about that.
Well, two things. But right now, standing back and being dependable Ruth and allowing everything to carry on around her just doesn't hold the same appeal as it once did.
She lied when she said she was happy with that role. She lied to herself as much as to him. She realises that now as Harry slips further and further away, and as Tariq and Beth and a whole host of former friends are no longer available to talk to.
She only hopes that she has the strength to finally do something about it.
XxX
She doesn't intend to do anything but wander and enjoy the unseasonably warm night air of autumn until she's ready to go home, but somehow, she finds herself still unready to broach the oppressive quietness of her impersonal flat.
Instead, she heads towards one of the boat pubs floating on the Thames, sits at the bar and orders a glass of wine. It's not something she does often, but it's Friday and she's not sure she has anyone anymore and that's not something she particularly wants to contemplate sitting alone.
She enjoys listening to the enthusiastic conversation surrounding her, which surprises her. The normality of it all is so reassuring and she feels envious of the people whose main worries in life seem to be the opportunity for promotion, or who share an in-joke about a conference call. She doesn't recall any recent conference calls where the outcome or discussions could be laughed about, an amusing anecdote.
"Is this seat taken?" she's asked and she shakes her head, no.
The man sits next to her, a worn look on his face as he sips at beer. It's an expression she can well empathise with. It's an expression that's probably mirrored on her own face.
"Appallingly crap day at the office," he explains as he notices her watching. "We very nearly lost a big account." He downs the rest of the beer and orders another. "Just taking a moment before I head back home. Can't quite face the questions about how my day has gone and the enthusiasm of the kids." And then he smiles slightly, relaxing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offload."
She's not used to regular conversation, and for a moment, she tries not to think about hidden messages in the words and who he might represent and why he came and sat next to her. But now, it's second nature. She doesn't like that, either.
"It's fine," she says eventually, slightly smiling back. She doesn't intend to get into a conversation and yet the beautiful simplicity of normal conversation seduces her. "I'm just waiting for my partner. He texted about ten minutes ago to say that he's still stuck in a meeting that's likely to last for a while yet. I probably should just go home." She makes no move, however, and continues to sip at the glass of wine. She enjoys the feeling of relaxation that it brings.
"I'm John," he says, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Accountant at the firm of Screwed, Screw and Get Screwed."
She laughs lightly at his humour as she shakes his proffered hand. "Rebecca," she replies. "I own a book shop."
And suddenly, she's part of the world of normal people with normal discussions and normal lives and it feels good.
"Now that sounds like an enjoyable job," he replies with obvious envy. She can't disagree with this sentiment.
"I can't complain," she says benignly. "It's sort of always been a dream of mine. We've just opened a small coffee shop as well."
His phone rings, disrupting their conversation and her fantasy life. He answers, and it's clearly his wife. "I'm just heading home now, I'll be back in half an hour or so. Take away would be great. Uh, chicken jalfrezi and peshwari naan? Great. I'll see you soon." As he hangs up, he stands up, and takes another gulp of his beer. He sends her an apologetic look. "Duty calls. It's been good talking Rebecca."
"You too," she replies before he leaves.
Afterwards, she drinks the rest of her wine then exits the bar, rejuvenated by her brief moment of living a normal life.
A book shop. Maybe, she thinks. As she returns home, she plots out this life. In it, she talks to normal people about normal things, and advises customers on books to buy and the most pressing question she's asked is to find a book based only on a description, or to locate a rare first edition of a long-loved book. And in this life, there's her, and there's Harry, and there's no MI-5, and somehow it all works out. And she's happy.
XxX