Spooks, nor any of it's characters belong to me, but to the BBC and to Kudos...and it's probably a good thing too! :')
Please review if you can, they really do give me a boost to write more and improve!
"It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back...I better get up to speed, lots of files to read. Wouldn't want to miss anything. Don't work too late."
"I, I'll get the last bus."
He turned back to her as she said this, noting the significance. She looked hauntingly beautiful in the light her desklamp sparingly illuminated her in. As he began to turn away, he smiled what he hoped she knew to be a genuine smile. She returned it with her own, and it was then that he knew all was right in the world...equilibrium had been restored once more.
Alone in his office, he reached out and took the first file in a daunting pile of many, and preceded to open it. Nothing had changed. The background reading was bound to be as gruelling as ever, his desk chair was back to its correct position, the drinks cabinet was well-stocked, and his coat was hung up as it always was, poised ready for a national emergency that may require him to dash from Thames House and join the rest of an unaware civilisation.
The light from his office reassured her. The room shined like a bright red beacon in an otherwise empty Grid floor. She couldn't decide whether she was more comforted being left alone to work into the night, or knowing he was merely a few steps away, mirroring her labourious work ethic. The glass doors and panels made it almost impossible to ignore another presence in her periphery, and she decided to knuckle down, choosing to not waste anymore valuable time before the last bus arrived.
She thought of last night, and his appearance on her journey home. She felt exhilarated by her part in a classic spy drop-off...she very rarely got to experience this side of her job, and her experiences in the past were ones she'd rather not repeat. More than this however, seeing Harry in a non-professional capacity was a new pleasure that made her think all that night of how their 'relationship', for lack of a better phrase, was beginning to evolve and manifest itself. She'd delighted in the touch of his fingers against her own, but had immediately reprimanded herself for allowing her personal feelings to push themselves to the forefront of her thoughts and allow her heart to dictate rather than her head. To her, it was a scene right out of a film, she felt like the heroine of her own life for once, with an accidental brief encounter on the night bus home: One she wouldn't forget in a hurry, and one she hoped would be etched on his mind, as much as it would on hers.
The last few days had been strange for Harry Pearce. Forced to experience life without a job, meant for the first time in years, he'd actually stayed in his house for an extended period of time. It was no longer becoming a quick-stop place for a shower and a bite to eat, but a place that would, or could begin to vaguely resemble a home. He noticed the leather-bound books on his shelves for the first time in years, he idly channel-flicked, marvelling at the idiots that somehow had crepted onto the screen since his last long session in front of the television. He was free to go on long walks, perhaps visit the dogs like he used to as a child with his father. Even the surveillance that had stayed on his toes since leaving Thames House had begun to amuse him...he wondered if he made interesting viewing and chuckled at the idea of a huddle of men all watching him on their tiny screens in a surveillance van, as he waited patiently for his beloved dog to discreetly 'do its business' in the nearby park. Not many people will ever be lucky enough to knowingly see the former head of Section D use a poop 'n' scoop, he joked to himself.
The food parcels that arrived at his house, barely a day after he left 5, were a pleasant suprise. It was a picnic hamper filled with ready-prepared meals and other treats. It even contained a bottle of his favourite malt. A note that came in the hamper had read:
'I couldn't stretch to 'meals-on-wheels', so I hope this is a happy alternative: my cooking skills may leave alot to be desired. There's a bottle of your favourite in there too...please don't take this as an encouragement for your daytime drinking habit of course, but you'll need something to get you through all that reality TV...
Take care Harry,
Ruth.'
He wanted to thank her that night on the bus. He was tempted to stay longer, even just to watch her as she read her book. Just to observe her in that natural state of habit would have beaten being chauffeur-driven any day. He was embarassed to admit his failure to offer a lift that rainy evening long ago, but he felt her smile a curt reply, and was humbled at her reassurance that she liked the bus. He remembered her fingers glide over his in what seemed like slow-motion and the elegant arching of her arm over the railing of her seat. He felt both awkward and exhilarated, a nudging feeling he recognised whilst being on an op. It was not on the same scale of course, but his quickened heartbeat made him feel slightly breathless all the same.