A Retreat of Truths
Chapter 1
This is the first "Spooks" story I've written, though not the first fanfic written. This story came about after recalling some stuff from a trip I took this spring to Oxford.
Life in the Grid of MI-5 was in its usual organized chaotic state. Intelligence officers were moving about collecting and retrieving files to study and analyse. Or at least appeared to be doing so. When in actual fact they were unobtrusively keeping watch on Harry Pearce's office to see when the figures inside would implode, or just kill each other. The section chief had been visited by Juliet Shaw, the National Security Coordinator, and from all intents and purposes, the meeting was something neither of them relished. Suddenly the office door swung open and everyone made quick haste to make themselves look busy.
"I'm telling you, Harry, it wasn't my doing. If you don't like it, take it up with the Home Secretary." Both Juliet and Harry seemed to wear identical expressions of loathing. Perhaps Juliet more so, as the effect of storming out of an office had kind of lost some of its effectiveness when one was in a motorized wheelchair. Malcolm, Ruth, Zaf and Jo watched as Juliet disappeared beyond the pods.
"What did she want?" Ruth asked pointedly, fearing the answer she might get.
"If you've got any plans for this weekend, cancel them. Mandatory working retreat for secret intelligence services. MI-5, MI-6, Special Branch, and Joint Intelligence Committee must send delegates for this. Non-negotiable." Harry managed to growl out. It was most certainly not on his priority of things to do in this, or any other century. "Apparently they also decided to spring it on us without much notice, so that we'd have no opportunity to pull out of the retreat."
Ros lifted her head from the screen she was viewing. In her usual dry manner, she quipped, "Oh, wonderful. An opportunity for Britain's intelligence services to wipe each other off the planet. Why wait for the terrorists to do it, when the Home Secretary can do it for you."
"Where is this little retreat supposed to be?" Ruth asked.
"Oxford."
"Not in London?" Adam queried.
"No. Apparently the powers that be decided that should this retreat be held in London, most of us would be at Thames House (and respective other parts of the city) rather than be at the retreat. So no, it's being held as Malmaison Oxford. Here's the list of staff that are expected to be there from Thames House: Ros, Zaf, Ruth and myself. Staying in London are Adam, Jo, and Malcolm."
Something clicked in Ruth's memory of what Juliet stated before she left. Then she sighed. "Oh, please tell me the wicked witch is not going to be there all weekend as well?"
The edge of Harry's lips curled up almost imperceptibly as he acknowledged Ruth's comment. But she saw it. "Sorry. But Juliet will be there as well. Not willingly, I can assure you."
"I suppose it's fitting then, that we're staying there," Ruth noted quietly.
"Pardon?" Jo asked.
"The Mal Oxford used to be Her Majesty's Prison Oxford before it got decommissioned. When I studied in Oxford, the prison was on the bus route I often took. Apparently the place is all rather posh now, but still with a prison theme."
"Why fitting?" Adam asked sensing the direction of conversation, and he smirked.
"Because if I have to spend too much time around Juliet Shaw this weekend I'm going to get done for GBH, and end up in a prison. None too swank as that, I can guarantee."
Harry put his hand over his mouth to cover the smile. But the half-laugh died as quick as it started as Ruth looked over at him. The others weren't so reserved and laughed heartily. Eventually Ruth joined in on the humour of the situation. Hell, she figured, she might as well laugh than cry.
After things settled down a bit, Ruth, being quite the pragmatist, asked why the retreat was being held so quickly. "I mean it's not like counter-terrorism has nothing else to do. Especially as Special Branch keeps piling on the reports by the truckload."
"After the Director General's speech on terrorist threats, the Home Secretary decided that it was in the country's best interests if the intelligence agencies worked with more co-operation, rather than passing the buck." Harry walked around the room so that he stood behind Ruth at her workstation.
Ruth scrunched up her face. "All very well and good. Until you remember that someone in the JIC tried to frame me for the murder of Maudsley." She looked briefly up at Harry, slightly exasperated. "I never did get the whole truth on how that was resolved."
"Not now, Ruth." Harry understood her frustration. He felt it as well. But as much as he felt, right then was neither the time, nor the place to discuss it. He gave her a glance, leaning down he quietly whispered in her ear, "Later." He then walked around and headed into his own office.
A lot of discussion followed between the colleagues about the retreat, the possible goals and outcomes that might be brought up, and how much surveillance equipment they'd be bringing. "Just to be on the safe side," Malcolm quipped. After a look from Jo, he added, "You don't think we'll be the only ones intending on covert intel at this retreat, do you?" he asked rhetorically.
"Spooks spying on each other. Sounds like fun," Adam smiled. "Too bad I'll miss it."
Zaf threw a crumpled sheet of paper at him. "I was supposed to have a date this weekend. Gorgeous girl, too."
"I feel for you, buddy," Adam grinned and replied, in a tone that said anything but. "Now, we've got some work to do in advance of this retreat. Let's see how much headway we can make." Each of the officers grabbed some files and headed to the conference room. Hours went by, discussions grew and finally most everyone packed in for the day.
Harry was just coming out of his office when he saw the light on in the small office kitchenette. A moment later, he heard the sound of a ceramic crashing against the counter, and onto the floor. It was followed by a slew of curses. Quickly he made his way over to find Ruth bent over trying to clean up the remnants of a broken mug. It was then that Harry noticed droplets of blood falling to the floor.
"Ruth, stop. You're bleeding." He inwardly cursed as she flinched. "Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you."
"It's okay, I was just getting a mug to have some tea. I mustn't have had a good grip because it slipped out of my hand. I'll just get this cleaned up."
"Ruth," Harry added in a low tone that brokered no arguing. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, wrapped Ruth's hand, and then he directed her over to the chair in the corner of the kitchenette.
"It's really not that bad, Harry. Shouldn't even require stitches." Ruth disliked most people fussing over her. And she was a little embarrassed that it was Harry fussing over her.
"Ruth, it's all right. Just sit back and let me do this for you." After a moment's hesitation he continued, "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but why didn't you leave when the others did?"
"Why didn't you?" she playfully shot back. It had become a rather frequent discussion between the two.
"Paperwork."
"Tell me about it. I swear Special Branch has nothing better to do than make my life a living hell. Do they not have their own bloody analysts?" she asked, knowing full well that there were analysts in the newly formed Counter-Terrorism Command. Ruth sighed, very frustratingly.
As Ruth talked, Harry had found the first aid kit in the cupboard and called her over to the sink. He turned the water on to warm then unfolded the cloth that had been wrapped around her hand. "Here, let me see the cut." Harry gently turned her hand over and examined the extremity. A long thin sliver ran across the palm of her hand. "Put your hand under the water, we need to see if there's any shards in there."
Ruth did so, only because in doing so she found herself less flustered by the attention. They were very much aware that they were interested in each other. They'd had one dinner date that seemed to go fairly well, except for the nervousness both of them felt. After becoming aware that others were talking about them, did Ruth stop wanting to go any further. She felt it undermined Harry's authority and she felt uncomfortable with their colleagues talking about their relationship, especially as he was her boss. That being said, she was still in love with him, and could tell that at least some of that affection was reciprocated.
After a few moments, Harry dried off her hand and took a look. Then he placed a bandage on her hand and wrapped it with gauze. "There, that should be all right." He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did. After a few moments they both realised he was still cradling her hand in his. The break was enough to break the spell that had kept them entranced. He remembered that she'd originally come in to get some tea.
"Ruth, do you still want a cup of tea? Or would you like me to drop you home? It's long past time of the last bus."
"I probably should. The cats will be wondering whatever happened to me. Wanting to be fed and all that. I think that's why I got the kitten, to keep Fidget company for the long hours I'm at work." Ruth knew she was babbling some. She knew it was a coping mechanism when she was flustered. And having Harry Pearce this close to her was doing all sorts of crazy things to her insides. "I need to lock down my computer for the night and put away the files I was working on."
"I'll be back in just a moment. I need to get my coat." Just as he said after about five minutes, he'd turned off his own computer, dimmed the lights, retrieved his coat and closed his office door. He placed his hand along the small of her back after Ruth put her own coat on and led them over to the pods before leaving the floor.