Ok... this is my attempt to work out what I have eloquently dubbed 'the Connie thing'. I could ramble on about it (and I do on my LJ account) but I'm not going to here. It was sparked by re-reading something I wrote in my story 'Waiting for Tehran' and it's an acknowledgement that Connie is cleverer than me and I am wrong. As usual. It also involves a bit more Connie/Ros interaction than is probably necessary, I couldn't help myself. There are MAJOR Series 7 spoilers, so if you haven't seen it and don't want to know what happens, don't read on.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or plot lines from Spooks. I do not own the dialogue that I quote, all credit for that must be directed at a variety of the Spooks writers. The first quote is a direct quote from my own story 'Waiting for Tehran'. Also, I don't own the characters (one in particular) from Peter Pan which, once again, I can't help but reference.
In a disused bunker in the country, Connie James doesn't know that her retirement will be cut short. That the ghosts never can disappear completely and will be re-awoken by Harry, Malcolm and a band of bright, young officers. The crosswords run out eventually.
Wrong. Connie knows without doubt that this is not the end. She doesn't know how or where or when but she knows it will happen, knows that this cold existence will all mean something again just as soon as she's back in London.
Fighting the good fight.
Well, giving a good fight in any case.
--
Connie enjoys playing games. And the KGB oblige. The crosswords won't run out because if they do then something has gone horribly wrong and she's cut off for good. And Connie isn't about to let that happen: how could anyone stand knowing all of the world's secrets one day and none the next? Knowing what she knows, Connie thinks that she can hardly rest in peace, alive or dead.
And so she keeps playing their games. And sometimes she sends them games of her own.
Connie enjoys playing tricks.
--
Connie spends a lot of time thinking about how she might return to the fray. After all, she has a lot of time to spare these days and whilst the crosswords keep on coming, the whisky supplies get lower and lower with each day that passes. She hopes that, whatever happens, it isn't Harry who comes calling. Connie hopes this because she knows what she has to do, whom she has to betray, and she likes Harry and would like to remain his friend. She still remembers how they stood side by side and watched as the bombs fell on Ireland. She knows she will be grateful to the last the Harry Pearce was there with her during that terrible time. She's grateful that his character is strong and warm. Yes, she'd like to remain his friend.
He's also bloody perceptive and she wouldn't like to cross him. She thinks she'd still win, but she doesn't really want to test that particular theory.
Keep your enemies close in case your friends turn out to be bastards.
--
Constance enjoyed playing games. She was more attractive than any other secretary in the Service: she wasn't as plainly pretty as those other girls, simpering at their superiors and flirting with the officers. Constance liked to give as good as she got and soon, with a coy smile and a flick of the wrist, she had a job.
Apparently he never recovered from his injuries.
Connie remembers and doesn't care. So he died. Shame.
--
Connie still calls them the KGB. And not just because it could be important for her cover later, it really is a personality quirk. Connie longs for the days of the Cold War: a time when she wasn't so alone.
Connie's been lonely far too long.
--
A deadly virus is sweeping the nation and Connie breaks open the whiskey. If she's going to die she might as well enjoy it and if she isn't then it's just another new day in which old sorrows can be drowned. She laughs a little as Nicholas Blake's pallid complexion fills the screen and he begins to pout his way through another mind-numbing TV interview. She hopes that he and everything his pathetic little government stands for goes down with the virus and sinks away without a trace.
She smirks. She doubts it. She reaches to finish her puzzle, lifts her pencil to complete the final row and establish this month's contact number. She lingers over the final digit, invisible circles spinning in the air.
She hears an engine outside and her heart races. After all this time her moment might be here. Or it could just be death knocking on her door. Connie isn't going to take the chance. She gets up and loads her gun, she may be older now, but she hasn't forgotten any of the things she learnt so long ago.
She reaches the window and sighs with true relief – she won't have to fight her way out of this one. The last time she had suffered bruises that didn't disappear for weeks. But then he suffered a bullet to the brain and his comrade a spine broken in three places.
Connie isn't someone to be messed with.
She puts the gun away, checks her hair and bares her teeth. It won't do to look like she isn't coping. She won't let them pity her. She heads for the door. She takes a deep breath that catches slightly as a familiar face opens the passenger door. The driver appears and her best and worst fears are confirmed in a sudden head rush. She holds a little tighter to the doorframe and composes herself. Her face is unsmiling but not unkind, and her visitors don't notice that anything is wrong.
Connie was good at her job.
You might have called ahead.
Connie is good at her job.
She invites Harry and Malcolm in and leaves the others to stand in the cold. She's not about to let them into her secrets without good reason.
She'll look back on the moment later and distinctly remember the expression on Ros' face.
What the hell?
Right now all she feels is her heart thumping in her chest.
--
She resists Harry for a little while. It's more fun that way, and she mustn't look too eager. When she gives in she does it with a cold matter-of-fact edge to her voice. She's already forgotten that she'll have to betray them. This is too exciting to miss.
Excitement doesn't prevent the derision in her tone as she tells Ros Myers that she's 'retired'. She hasn't forgotten but she has other things to think about now and she does so enjoy telling the secrets of her bunker.
Some of the secrets, anyway.
--
Whilst Hogan and Cuvier and the others are having the cravats scared off them by Harry's team and some guns, Connie checks that her own prisoner is still breathing. She reckons he'll be gone soon, he's already blind from the sodium hydroxide and it probably hasn't done the rest of his system any good. Not to mention the stab wound that almost certainly punctured a lung. He's been useful though. He's a Sugarhorse asset and when he breathes his last breath Harry Pearce won't even know about it. This man would have died in a matter of weeks anyway. Cancer. It'll go down as natural causes. It'll go unnoticed.
She hears a door slam. Time to leave.
--
Harry looks tired. Connie looks concerned. Everything works out exactly as she wants.
You won't let them see you like this.
She thinks it's vaguely ironic that they're discussing the Russians already, barely an hour in to this brighter, more violent life. Violent whichever side you're on.
Between the Devil and the deep blue sea.
When he's gone she breathes a sigh of relief. Job done. Whether he knows it or not, Harry Pearce has just been convinced to let Connie James back in to all his secrets. And there's one secret that she's particularly interested in.
She steals Harry's access card and leaves as quickly as she can. Eventually she'll have to outsmart the system, so it's time for a little test.
--
Malcolm does everything she asks for and the only insult that she has to use from her arsenal is the one about the monkey. She's so glad. She has some much better ones for use later.
Her security clearance, revoked in 1994, is updated and there's a new fire in her blood. She stares out the Home Secretary. He looks even paler than earlier and breaks easily under her gaze.
It's good to be back.
--
You can consider that history permanently and officially erased.
I need you Connie.
Yes, that's what she likes to hear.
I need someone I can really, really trust.
There's emotion in her eyes. He thinks it's gratitude, she knows it's regret. She'll have to break his heart eventually and she knows it isn't fair.
I'll give it my urgent consideration.
And for a moment she really does consider it – whether she wants to enter in to all this again. But she stands as strong as ever. She knows what she has to do.
--
And all of a sudden she's part of MI5 again and it feels good.
She gathers whatever she can on active operations in Russia, but for the most part she's dormant, a sleeper. She helps solve problems and she analyses data, they find a secret American spy plane, prevent another coming down, and, of course, she is derisive when she speaks of Russia to anyone else. It's what one might call 'deep cover'. And she loves every minute of it.
--
Connie looks good in lilac. She doesn't look good in the hat but she wears it anyway. A show of support.
As Harry kneels before the sword Connie is proud. Genuinely proud. He's a good man and he's fought hard for his country. Connie is fighting for her country too, though she's pretty sure that Harry won't see it that way. The tears in her eyes are real, but they mean far more than anyone else realises.
Suddenly it's too hot and too bright and Connie is blind.
When the tears clear Harry is beside her. He says something about whiskey. Connie smiles.
--
Ros.
The name sounds metallic in Connie's mouth. She had never underestimated Ros but this came as a surprise. Connie had been hoping to turn Ros in the end. They were so alike, so venomous and beautiful and intelligent.
But someone else got there first.
So whilst Adam bares his fists and spouts insults like the child he is and Harry stands stoic and shaken, Connie is sad. She and Ros could have been the greatest team.
Adam smashes some glasses with a chair and Connie stops watching. She turns and fiddles with the edge of her sweater.
She sees Jo who knows more than she lets on.
Oh, the possibilities.
--
Connie isn't stupid and she knows that Ros isn't dead. She talks to Harry and he gives her all the answers that she needs.
Ros is in Russia?
Oh, the possibilities.
--
Connie watches as the little girl dances past, the pretty gingham dress fluttering around her. She can still hear the clock ticking. That clock inside the crocodile.
Davey King smiles behind her eyes and Connie is scared, deep cover or no deep cover. Connie remembers that she is only human and that she doesn't want to be alone anymore.
Harry is relieved to see her.
From now on Moscow Rules apply.
How apt.
--
Jo is hurting and Connie gives up - clearly this girl can't cope as well as she'd hoped, she's just a little girl after all. And little girls are no good to her if they aren't going to grow up. So, she turns her attentions back to Ros. As long as Ros is in Russia she is extremely useful.
And vulnerable.
Connie has Qualtrough send some goons to give her a bit of a scare. As long as Ros runs back to Connie there is still an opportunity to turn her.
"Come in, Rangefinder."
Connie enjoys playing games.
--
Adam is dead. And Connie can't really bring herself to care, though she is sorry that another life has been lost. She's more concerned about herself right now. Lucas North has returned to Britain and whispers of Sugarhorse echo around the place, bouncing off the walls and bumping into Connie.
It's getting dangerous. The time is near.
Connie shivers with the knowledge that she doesn't really know what is going to happen. She pours herself a whiskey. One thing is for sure: she'll be keeping an eye on Lucas North.
--
Ros is back and planted firmly by Harry's side.
Connie is genuinely sad. They could have made a great team. They're so, so alike.
She calls Qualtrough to tell him. He's angry. She's angrier. Apparently, Lucas North knows about Sugarhorse. Or that it exists anyway. The more people that know, the harder this will be.
Connie grimaces. From now on Moscow Rules apply.
--
My ears are ringing.
I know. Don't worry - it'll pass.
It'll pass.
Jo is still hurting. Wandering through No Man's Land just waiting for her judgement. Connie hopes that she won't be the one to deliver it. She has a feeling that she's not getting out of here without spilling some innocent blood.
She hopes it isn't Jo's.
--
Connie is a good actress. She cries and Harry smashes an ugly, old model of Big Ben. They listen to the recording and Connie is careful to dab at her eyes every now and again. And as easy as that Harry forgets all of his suspicions.
It will take her a while to clean up the mess but Connie doesn't mind – Harry's henchmen found nothing and she found a way out, just like she knew she would. She puts the books back on the shelves and makes some more tea.
It's only a matter of time.
--
Connie can barely hold her nerve. The hands of the clock move faster that she ever thought they could and she knows that soon it will all come spilling out and that the fallout will be ugly. But she has what she needs now and she has faith that Bernard will save her. And Connie never misplaces her faith.
She deletes the recording.
She descends the stairs.
Her hand shakes as she opens the door. It settles as she closes it.
Someone's time is up. And she's defiant that it won't be her that loses this fight.
--
When he declines the tea, Connie is genuinely sad. She had hoped he would be allowed to leave peacefully.
There's a lot of blood but Connie isn't squeamish. She comforts him as he falls to the floor, gasping wordless goodbyes to darkness.
She's sorry for him as he struggles and then he dies without a word. As his last breath flutters inside him Connie moves on.
--
Ros clicks her fingers for dramatic effect and Connie feels herself getting angrier and angrier. None of this is subtly, delicately acted. Connie has shown herself to be a far superior actor and she expected more from Ros – Ros whose mind is so complex that even poetry couldn't pin down her thoughts.
As she realises that Ros is lost Connie lets go. No more subtlety. These people are all amateurs. And she lets them know it.
She snarls at Harry and a bitter taste is left in her mouth, like dark coffee and lime and acid all mixed together. The bile that rises as the gazelle bows to the lion.
Connie might enjoy playing games but she doesn't like losing.
--
Still, she hasn't given up. Connie isn't ready to die just yet. Tiresias wakes 3pm tomorrow. And Connie intends to be there to see it.
We'll see each other again.
She doesn't doubt it. She'll see them all again just as soon as they realise that they need her.
She'll see death again too, she's also sure of that. Perhaps he'll get even closer to her than before. Perhaps he'll take her as he's always threatened.
Only time can tell.
--
Connie pretends to be scared as she sits nursing her tea in a cold little cell. She's pretty sure that Harry and Malcolm will be watching her from somewhere. She fakes a little shudder and hopes that they think she's frightened. Connie is not afraid of pain, any more than she is of death. Let it come if it must, but she thinks that Harry might just get there first and delay her judgement for a little longer.
Let it come if it must. It comes to everyone, after all.
--
Ros is shouting at Connie in a windy alley in London. Connie isn't frightened of Ros and for a while she takes it. Then she finally voices what she has thought for so long.
It's why you hate me. Not because I'm a traitor, but because you're looking in the mirror.
Ros splutters and Connie knows that she is right. When it's important Connie tells the truth. Connie isn't sure why she thinks that this is important.
Time ticks on.
--
Connie doesn't think that she can run any further; she isn't as strong as she used to be. She hears the gunshot and knows that the woman in the train carriage is dead. She wonders if it is some bizarre omen. She hopes it isn't. But then she had hoped it wouldn't be Harry, hoped that she would be safe in Russia by now…
And with another breath, with agony gnawing at her bones and gravity getting heavier and heavier, she gives up on hope. Stops hoping. Stops caring. Stops breathing. This is her end.
Ros pulls on her arm.
--
And now Connie is face to face with a bomb and Connie still isn't scared. She left her fear back with that wretched corpse in the train carriage. Two dead souls curled around each other.
The bomb kills whoever disarms it, so go, please. Both of you.
Connie doesn't want them to die. This is her death they're interrupting. Her moment.
I'm not scared of bombs.
And she isn't. She wasn't when she showed Davey King how to make them. She wasn't when she first set eyes on one. And she isn't now.
It wasn't Harry who sold you out - Who was it? – It was me. It was always me.
Lucas will never know whether that is the truth or not. Connie hopes it gives him the freedom he needs to excel and, besides, Connie knows the truth and that is all that matters. Black or white? She decides that she doesn't care.
She stares into the mass of wires and knows what she is, for real, the truth.
She is only human.
She closes her eyes.
The bomb goes off.
--
The dust rises and settles. Connie goes with it.
There's no body. Blown to tiny pieces?
Possibly.