Title:Annoying television (and a bottle of gin)
Set during series 7
Characters/pairings: Series 7 Section D, mostly Ros and Harry, mentions of Ros/Adam, Fiona, Wes, and Jocelyn Myers.
Genre: Angst (I think), friendship
Rating: PG for swearing and mentions of drinking, but nothing more
Word count: 1700
Disclaimer: I do not own Spooks.
A/N: Fic written for a Christmas-present prompt on LiveJournal. Me being me, I got the inspiration after Christmas, and it turned out to be a bit longer than a ficlet. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. It was my first time having Ros mostly interact with someone who wasn't Lucas, and it feels like ages since I posted fic, so I hope this is okay. :) Reviews are always much appreciated!
She likes Christmas, unlike what people tend to think. Or she would like it if all the things that went with it didn't have to be so bloody painful.
Christmas is supposed to be a moment you spend with the people you love. She has always loved the idea of Christmas, but has never been able to enjoy the celebration itself for that very reason. When she was little, her father was always busy with parties at the Embassy, and later… well, she has always been pretty much on her own.
oOo
Her colleagues seem to rejoice at the perspective of Christmas approaching. She guesses Malcolm must secretly like to decorate his house for the occasion; he's probably the type of person who enjoys Christmas trees and such things. Maybe he takes his mother out to dinner, maybe they invite family over. This year he has mentioned going back to Wales for a few days.
Jo and Ben are young, they still have parents, siblings. It's probably refreshing for them to pretend for a while – pretend the world is normal, pretend nothing hurts.
Connie… Connie has carefully avoided the subject of Christmas so far, but Ros suspects it will involve annoying television programmes and a bottle of gin. Or several, actually.
What surprises her is that Harry seems reasonably happy this year. He usually grumbles at the useless expense that is Christmas, but his daughter is coming back to London for the Holiday season and she has agreed to see him, or so Ros has heard (God knows how the younger officers have learned about that). 'Good for him,' she thinks.
Lucas volunteers to stay on the Grid for Christmas. She feels sorry for him, sorry that no-one seems to mind – as if it were normal, because he has no family to go home to after all. She is almost tempted to volunteer and stay with him, but if she's honest with herself she doesn't really want to. Besides, she has other plans this year; and if he really needs her, he'll call.
They nod to each other as she's leaving the Grid on Christmas Eve, a bit earlier than her usual time. He manages a smile as she wishes him a 'Merry Christmas'. Trying not to sound too cheerful while hiding any trace of pity from her voice, she goes for her usual annoyed tone. Whether she's succeeded in her little act, she cannot read it on his face. He quickly goes back to his desk, avoiding any further eye contact even though he knows she's still there, and scrutinises his computer screen as if he's trying to see through it. Ros silently sighs, turns around, and leaves.
oOo
Annoying television and a bottle of gin… Ros didn't realise when she was reflecting on Connie's possible evening that she was in fact predicting her own. As if it wasn't obvious enough already that she was bound to become a slightly altered version of Connie when she'd be older. If she got there... 'Oh cheer up Myers, it's Christmas,' she thinks.
This couple of TV presenters is really annoying, it has to be said. And the tragedy is that they seem to have duplicated them on every damn channel. But she doesn't feel like watching a movie either – all the good ones have sad endings.
She goes to bed early. She can only afford the luxury once a year (and actually last year she was on duty), so she might as well make the most of it. As she takes off her necklace and earrings, and puts them back in her jewellery box, she opens the small top drawer of her drawer chest and takes two picture frames out of it. The first one contains a picture of a much younger Rosalind, smiling, still relatively fresh and innocent – if it is to be believed that she ever was those things. Standing next to her is her father, an arm around her shoulders. A lifetime ago...
She takes a closer, far less detached look at the second picture. It was taken approximately two years ago, she can remember the day. She looks old in comparison; her eyes are tired, she is visibly exhausted... but the expression on her face is one of contentment. This time the man standing next to her has an arm around her waist. She is looking at the camera, but the tall, blond man is looking at her, smiling. A stolen moment of life.
She knows which of the two men she will be visiting on the next day.
oOo
So she's the woman who pulls a chair by a former lover's grave on Christmas day – because she doesn't want to pretend she's not tired, doesn't want to pretend she's only just passing by, not today. It snows. Picture perfect. Only if he had been there with her it would have been better.
She tries hard not to think about what it would have been like to spend Christmas with him, or with a family of her own. Could she really picture herself that way? Unpacking presents, toddlers running all around her... maybe not. But then again, how could she know?
There is something utterly peaceful about the place. She can vaguely hear the noise of a water stream nearby. All around her, everything is grass, trees, and graves. 'It must be nice to rest in a place like this,' she thinks. He is buried next to Fiona. Even now, with both of them dead, she still feels like an intruder in their relationship.
She has taken the precaution of coming here early enough to enjoy being here all by herself, if only for a few hours. The sun is getting higher in the sky, though, and people start coming... which means it's time for her to leave. One thing she certainly doesn't want is to come across Adam's family, or Fiona's.
But they don't come.
Harry does. Luckily, she is out of sight when he shows up, but from where she is she can still see him – and he isn't alone. He has brought Wes with him. 'Uncle Harry' she hears the boy call him.
She can feel her heart tighten in her chest at the sight of them, as if some invisible hand was trying to crush it. She knows it shouldn't bother her, but it makes her feel more illegitimate than ever. Captivated as she is by the stern look on the boy's face, and by Harry's arm around his shoulders, she pulls the strength to walk away and go home.
oOo
Thank God she hasn't drunk the entire bottle of gin the night before! It would have been a shame to be short of booze right now. She normally prefers vodka, but she can't be bothered to run to the store and buy some. Even she has the right to be lazy once in a while.
The doorbell rings at seven o'clock in the evening. Her body tenses, as it is accustomed to do, but it's Christmas day, so whoever her visitor is might as well be here for perfectly innocent reasons. Besides, if Lucas had wanted to red-flash her, he'd have called, so chances are it's not even work-related. She still grabs the gun she keeps under one of her sofa's pillows when she's alone before she opens the door.
She should have guessed. It's Harry. Who else could it be, really? As greetings he holds out a bottle of whiskey. Oh well, whiskey will do.
'I saw you, you know,' he says, once they're both sitting on the sofa with generously filled glasses of whiskey in their hands.
'You did?,' she asks back lazily, not nearly as surprised as someone else would have been. 'Well, I wasn't exactly hiding,' she adds, her gaze lost, looking at (or rather through) the alcohol in her glass.
'Weren't you?'
'No. I was leaving,' she corrects him with the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice. 'When I saw you with Wes I thought it would have been awkward to say hello, and I decided to go home.'
'Hmm, a wise decision, I guess. I should trust you to make those.'
'I'll take it as a compliment, coming from you.'
'You should. Did I ever lead you to believe you were anything else than an outstanding officer?'
She breathes deeply, but doesn't answer.
'You left the chair.'
'What?'
'There was a chair near the grave when we got here. I didn't make it appear with my magic wand, so...'
'Oh, shit.'
'Mind your language Rosalind, it's Christmas.'
'It was a few feet away when I got there, I just moved it.'
'It doesn't sound like you to leave evidence behind you.'
'What were you doing there anyway? I thought you were spending Christmas with your daughter.'
'Yes, well, we had lunch. She went to see her mother afterwards, so I had the afternoon all to myself. I visit Wes when I can; his grandparents know who I am, so they let me take him.'
'How is he?'
'As good as can be expected, I suppose. He is a good boy.'
Ros tries to smile, but the result is closer to pressing her lips together.
'And the lunch with your daughter?'
'Good.'
He coughs.
'Well. It went well.'
Feeling Harry's obvious desire not to linger on the subject, Ros doesn't insist.
'For a moment I got really scared,' she says in a lighter tone. 'I thought you might be Carol singers.'
Harry laughs.
'Aren't they supposed to bother you on Christmas Eve?'
'Ah, well, maybe you're right. I probably scared them off last year, so they didn't come at all.'
'Why doesn't that surprise me?,' Harry asks, the amusement now evident in his voice.
'I have absolutely no idea,' Ros replies in a seemingly innocent tone.
oOo
Christmas is a time you're supposed to spend with the people you love... or your colleagues, because, well, they're rather okay.
Booze and annoyingly stupid television, that's what her Christmas is made of. However, it seems a lot funnier when you're not on your own.
'Merry Christmas Harry,' she says, raising her refilled glass.
'Merry Christmas Ros.'