A/N: I found this one-shot lurking on my laptop. On-screen Ros was devastated after Adam's death (a very smashed-up hotel room serves as evidence) and yet there was no mention of her reaction to the news about Zaf. This is what I think she might have been feeling.
It was the outcome I anticipated. I had pushed it to the back of my mind for as long as possible during my expulsion to Moscow, but every now and again I'd catch sight of an ostentatious race car, or spy a man in a leather jacket, or hear somebody crack a joke, and suddenly I would be back on the Grid and Zaf would be whining about something and I would retort scathingly, or he would crack a joke and I would raise an eyebrow. It was perhaps the easiest relationship I'd ever had with a colleague. He didn't pry or piss me off. He didn't try to fix me or figure out what I was feeling. He was just a friend. Zaf. My friend, when I had so few.
I hadn't honoured his memory at all on my wild goose chase resulting in my ensnarement at the hands of Yalta. He would be livid that I prioritised his life over the smooth-running of operations. Zaf didn't anger easily, but the thought of someone placing his life above others would have made him distinctly uncomfortable. The fact that I almost got myself killed, along with Adam and Harry, would have been unforgivable to him.
And yet here I am, the undeserving traitor, sitting at my old desk on the Grid with the central heating. And where is he?
Harry was still going through hell following Adam's death. It was a topic that I was furiously trying to block out. The few tears I was able to shed had long since dried, and my bitterness and stubbornness to continue working because he never could again was the only thing that stopped me from going insane. I had seen the explosion, spoken personally to the men on the scene. He was gone. Not even a body for a burial.
But Zaf, on the other hand, I had no idea if his death was confirmed, or if he was still missing.
I could have cornered Jo, but she looked terrible, truly terrible, and I didn't want to pressure her. Also, if the worst had happened, I would not be happy to have to witness her crying.
Malcolm would take about a month to get out a sentence.
Connie, on the other hand, was brutal. Tough. Hardened by experience. And seeing as she never met Zaf she would have no personal attachments to cloud the cold facts I was seeking.
I cornered her by the kettle, and she told me everything.
I hated myself for not being able to shed any tears at the news. I had expected the worst ever since his capture, and I was still numb following Adam's death, and I had been thrown back onto the Grid so quickly that my head was still spinning, and I couldn't afford to let Harry down again, and I didn't know whether I wanted to even be the section chief and step into Adam's shoes...
And, if I cried and Zaf was still around, he would have been seriously disturbed. He would never want someone hurting because of him. Despite his pranks and wide smile and childish sense of humour, he was a professional.
Maybe the only tribute I can pay is to carry on serving my country, just as he would have done if he were alive.
It seems like small compensation. But it's all I've got.