Harry and Ruth in the Big Apple. Disclaimer: Neither Harry, Ruth nor and any of the characters in Spooks are mine. (But I DO claim the Big Apple..along with millions of others.)
-1-
"And you are to leave within 24 hours as well. " The big man stops and stares at the Section head of MI-5, Harry Pearce. "Is there a problem, Sir Harry?"
"Problem? Of course not, Home Secretary. I cannot wait to cross the pond and spend my time off during the holiday season to be with our cousins."
The HS narrows his large round eyes, but says only. "Black tie. Of course."
"Naturally," Harry says blandly. "I shall look forward to that as well."
Ignoring the last, the Home Secretary opens his desk drawer. Reaching inside, he grabs something and places it down on his desk. "Your ticket."
"Thank you. " Harry says, picking it up as if it were contaminated.
Seconds later, something else slaps down on the desk . An identical one stares up at Harry. "For a guest," the HS says at Harry's look of puzzlement. The extra ticket sits there, unclaimed.
"Cat got your tongue, Sir Harry?"
He finally picks up the second ticket. "A guest?"
"Yes." The HS says. "At your country's expense, too." As he leans back in his chair, it creaks a bit. "It is Christmas, after all, you know."
Harry looks up at the Home Secretary wondering just when did the Ghost of Christmas Past visit the other man. There appears to be no other explanation. Rational or otherwise. None at all. "Why don't you take—what's her name –Evershed?" The HS says, cutting into Harry's musings. When Harry looks at his superiour, he swears he can detect a gleam, a Ghost of a Smile, as it were, in the big man's eyes.
"Who?" Harry says, still trying to shake the disconcerting image of the Home Secretary in long red robe and white beard.
"Don't give me that, Sir Harry. You know as well as I do...who. "
Harry picks up the second ticket as if it were the most precious thing on earth. He places inside his coat pocket. Then looks at the HS. "Thank you," he says and means it.
"Well." The Home Secretary says, standing up, his chair creaking again. "What are you waiting for? Start packing."
Harry nods, then standing up as well, says, "Home Secretary." As he turns to leave, the HS adds, "And do bear in mind that you and your guest will be representing Her Majesty's s Secret Service and of course, your country."
"Naturally, Home Secretary."
As soon as he's out in the hall, Harry flips open his mobile and begins to ring Ruth Evershed, his desk analyst, colleague, and well, he's not exactly sure what else she is despite the HS's staunch belief that they are in fact, are couple. Harry's not sure that she is sure where they stand, either. He snaps his mobile shut before the call goes through and heads back to the Grid. And her. But when he arrives, he sees she's not at her desk. Taking a quick look around, he knows she is not on the Grid. She could be in the Ladies of course, but his RuthRadar unerringly points him to his target and without further delay, he heads there.
She is there, of course. On the roof, looking out at the London skyline. The noonday sun is directly above her, kissing her soft brown hair and warming his heart, but little else on this cold, cold day two weeks before Christmas. The elevation and wind does little to improve the temperature, either. But there she stands, back to him, sans coat, and seemingly oblivious to the weather. And Him. But then he hadn't counted on her HarryRadar. She turns suddenly around. "Hi."
"Ruth," he says, hurrying to her, unbuttoning his coat. ""You'll catch your death of cold up here."
"No." She says, staying him with one hand. "It's bracing." And she breathes in the cold air for good measure.
"Bracing? Are you mad?" He shivers involuntarily.
"Thanks, Harry." She says, piercing blue eyes fixing on him. If anything, the cold makes them look even bluer.
"Sorry. I don't mean mad. Not exactly I..."
"Actually, I feel warm." She says.
His eyes open despite the wind. "Ruth. You're much too young for hot flashes. So..."
A deathglare locks onto him and he very nearly steps back from its beam. "Do the words, faux and pas mean anything to you, Harry?"
He swallows visibly before responding. "If they hadn't, they do. Now." He drops his hand from the last button of his overcoat. "How about I make up for it and take you to a ball? At a really, so I'm told, fancy hotel?"
Her eyes narrow. "Why?"
He swallows a bit. "It's Christmas, Ruth. Or will be soon. Say yes, Ruth. Please.
"When?"
Can we discuss this downstairs? Please?" Christ. I'm bloody freezing my bollo-
She touches his arm, taking a good look at him hunched against the cold, coat mostly open and waiting for her. The tips of his ears are red.
She nods and begins to walk towards the door.
He exhales at the blessed warmth as the door closes behind him.
"Ok. Harry. She says standing in front of the lift seconds later. "What is this all about?"
"You like apples, Ruth?'
"Sorry?"
"Big Apples? Really Big Apples?"