Disclaimer: we don't own Spooks (we also aren't the writers of Spooks and don't write the Spooks canon!)
Finally, this is not the same as The Notebook, and won't turn out to be; the three of us have spoken to make sure that, really, the only over lap is the central shooting theme.
The title is from Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) and the plot is AU 4.10.
For Lynn x
"Angela Wells is beyond any code now," Harry stated, grimly.
"There is still a way we could help her."
He looked across at Adam. "What do you mean?"
"Kill her."
The street was busy as the sleek, black, car pulled up to the building. It had barely come to a standstill before Adam bundled himself out of the door and stepped onto the road.
"I want the anti-terrorist committee to declare special powers," Harry ordered, speaking into the phone which was firmly attached to his ear as he slid out of the car and stood on the pavement outside Thames House. Adam was right; Angela Wells needed dealing with and they only had one option left. "I want authorisation to shoot to kill."
It was ironic, really, that the second he had uttered those words a gun shot rang out. Even above the beginnings of Big Ben's hourly chorus, there's was no mistaking the crack of the round being fired off, closely followed by the smashing of glass as the bullet found the car window. Harry turned back towards the street and scanned the buildings opposite for signs of the marksman. It was all happening so quickly that he didn't have time to think, time to act, time to do anything but search for her. He knew, without a doubt, who was behind the rifle.
There was a panic on the street around him, women screaming, men shouting and the sound of another loud crack punctuated the clock's next chime as a second shot was fired. It missed him, but not by much.
"Get him in, get him in." Adam strained to be heard above the commotion. He could see what was about to happen and try as he might he couldn't seem to get his legs to move fast enough. There was a chance the security guard could get to Harry before he could. He couldn't understand why Harry wasn't moving.
Everything seemed to have slowed down, he could hear Adam shouting instructions to someone but the words were mingled in with screams from a woman caught in the cross fire and he didn't know what he'd said. It didn't matter anyway; his sole focus was on finding Angela's hiding place. He was still scanning the rooftops when he heard Ruth shout his name. On instinct he spun around, eager to tell her to get inside, back into the safety of the building.
"Ruth, it's not safe..." Another crack tore through the air and Harry's eyes went wide with shock as the hot metal ripped through the flesh of his back. There was no time to reach out for help to stop himself falling. He had a brief second to realise that the scream of pain was his before his legs gave way and he collapsed to the pavement amidst the echo of chiming metal floating across the London sky. His blood seeped into the cracks and mingled with the dirt as he lay there helplessly, and waited for her to finish him off.
She dropped to her knees, suddenly, her legs disappearing from beneath her without warning. There was a smack, the thud of bone against marble, and she was vaguely aware of the intense bruising pain which shot through her as she made contact with the floor. She tried to stand, to run to him, but already strong arms were wrapped around her, holding her up and holding her back as she cried out from the depths of her lungs. Somewhere close to the river, the bells of Big Ben continued to chime until it reached five. She wanted to scream out at it to stop, that it was over. It didn't need to chime anymore, the damage was already done. It was intruding on her pain, a sound she could no longer bear. All she could hear was ringing and sirens and screaming, mixing together into a strange white noise which numbed every other sense. Her head felt both full and empty, and it was several moments before she realised she was the one contributing most loudly to the screaming. She tugged, hard, at the hand around her waist, clawing at dark skin and willing it to let go. A louder, more distant scream rose up above the final chime; a cry, a crack, a collective gasp. The restraining arm around her waist gave way at the passing of danger – at the passing of Angela – and she ran forward from the building, skidding, palms grazed, knees cut, to his side.
"Harry. Harry." She was panting; shock, adrenaline and choking tears holding back the words in her throat so that each was forced out in a rush of air. She knelt lower. The rise and fall of his back as he lay faced down was laboured and heavy and he struggled to keep his eyes open on his side-turned face; a small trickle of blood pooled where his temple met with solid ground. She lay herself down, too, her position mirroring his, on her front. "Harry." It seemed to be the only word she could say as she extended an arm to tentatively touch his exposed cheek.
She was aware that she was being moved again. The same hands, now scratched, skin torn, were trying to pull her to her feet. "Ruth, you have to move. The paramedics are here."
She didn't respond. She physically couldn't will herself to either move or speak, acting like a ragdoll in her owners arms. She could only watch, in horror, as they stretchered his bloodied body away towards the back of the ambulance.
"Ruth. Ruth?"
How long he had been calling her name, how long the ambulance had been departed, she didn't know, but she was suddenly aware of a soft touch on her shoulder. She turned around.
"Adam's got the car; we need to meet him at the exit of the car park."
"I'm sorry about your hand, Zaf," she sobbed, looking at the mess she'd made of it.
He turned the left corner of his mouth upwards; he knew her tears were a displacement of her tears for Harry, and not really for him, but still only Ruth could take the time to worry about a scratch when her world was collapsing around her. "Least of our worries," he whispered, "least of all yours."
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