Title: Hubris
Author: MelWil
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to 4.7. Please don't spoil me past 5.5
Summary: He blames himself. Post 4.7
Hubris.
They allow the word to slip into the conversation when they discuss him. They allow it to wrap around the snide remarks: Adam and Fiona Carter were too happy, too satisfied. They flaunted their contentment around too much. They say they taunted the gods.
He hears their whispers when he walks through the empty corridors. It oozes from the walls, surrounding him. He can see the traces of loathing beneath their blank, sympathetic masks.
"They were the golden couple, you know. They thought they had everything – the world was supposed to be at their feet. Yes. They say she left a son behind."
He stands on the rooftop and looks out over London, resisting the urge to scream. He wonders what it would feel like to jump over the edge, to fall to the ground. He holds onto the edge, waiting until his knuckles turn white.
They come and join him, one at a time, a rotating guard bringing their own rotating worries. Zaf arrives, uneasy, bringing him pieces of information that mean nothing. Telling him stories that have no end. Malcolm looks at anything but him, talking of philosophy and religion and unhappy childhoods. Ruth just stands there, watching him, waiting for him to start.
He finds that he can't tell her the truth. He can't tell her that they deserved this, that they were – all the time – waiting for this to happen. He's not worried that Ruth won't understand. He knows her much too well to think something like that. He's worried that, with her background, with her knowledge, she'll understand too well. That she'll stand there and give confirmation to his theories, she'll set in stone the thoughts that contaminate the air around him.
He thinks and thinks and he realises that he can't remember the first time he heard the word 'hubris'. Maybe it fell from the mouth of some sports commentator, describing the shock loss of some overconfident team. Maybe it was one of those words they used at school – something they were supposed to remember and they inevitably forgot. Just another old fashioned word to clog up the stuffy atmosphere.
Ruth put her hand on his and pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at her, wondering what she wanted, wondering what they were doing there.
"We were in love, you know." He spoke firmly, desperate to make her understand. Desperate to make her look beyond the rumours and stories that were only partially true.
Ruth nodded. "I know."
There was no reprimand in her voice, no gentle rap over the bare hand to remind him of his crimes and misdemeanours. Just her, there, waiting for him to say more. Waiting for him to open up, to break down, so they could begin building him up again. It was like she couldn't remember the way his hand caressed her cheek.
He looks out over the city, thinking about the 'what could have been's. What might have happened if Ruth had allowed him to take it further that night. What might have happened if they had found it easier to talk, easier to share the information they all should have had. What would have happened if he really did not love Fiona the way he did.
Ruth removed her hand and moved away, one slow steady step at a time. He can hear her breathing and he longs to talk about hubris and what it means. He longs to sit down with her and be honest, even if it's just for a moment.
But she's gone and Jo is there, and Jo means nothing, really, no matter how much she tries. He's left with his own thoughts and an awkward silence and the knowledge that he'll always blame himself a little.