Author's Note: I still do not own anyone or anything in the Spooks world. They are the property of Kudos and the BBC. This is a follow up to Tabula Rasa - and that I do own! (In the highly unlikely event that anyone wishes to borrow any of my Original Characters - as if... - just drop me a line!)
Debriefing Protocols: Read, enjoy, review.
Dedication: To Lynn, for her unfailing support and beta-ing skills and without whom I would never have made it through Tabula Rasa, never mind its sequel.
Spooks
Touchable Dream
By
Laurie
Chapter One: Handle With Care
She was certain that she could recite every line of text in every file by heart. And all she had for it was a sense of futility and an awareness of her own limitations. 'That's it, I give up. If there's a connection here, I can't see it.' There was a dull ache behind her eyes; she tried to remember when she had last slept in a proper bed and decided that it had been in her dreams.
'You know what we need?'
Jo worked out the kinks in her shoulders, caught his fleeting smile. 'A really, really good analyst?'
'No.' Zaf leant back, raked his hands through his hair until it was standing in every direction at once. 'We need a phenomenally good analyst.' He grinned. 'Pity we don't have one.'
Jo answered his smile; the both looked at the woman whose desk lay between their stations.
'And to think that I actually missed the two of you,' Ruth said flatly. One corner of her mouth twitched.
In some ways coming back had been easy. Few things had changed: there were still the same faces; the same atmosphere of barely contained energy; the same crises in which the events varied but little and only the names of the protagonists were different.
Plus ça change, she thought.
The air on the Grid had a smell that she had never really noticed, had not thought about when she was away; but when she stepped through the pods again for the first time she caught it and the recognition of it stopped her like a blow.
She found herself missing Rome, at times. Salvo, still holding himself painfully erect, would be making his rounds. Anton would be telling his terrible jokes to whomever would listen; Madeleine would smile at him, pretending to laugh and Andreas' sparkling dark eyes would watch her every movement. Had he finally worked up the courage to ask her?
Ruth had to admit that her curiosity, in that respect, was ironic.
Yes, in some ways it had been easy. Her younger colleagues in particular had gone out of their way to ease her back into the life that had once been so familiar. Jo watching her with tender eagerness, waiting for any sign of weakness that would call for her comfort. Zaf kept catching her eyes and grinning. It was endearing. And maddening.
They had accepted her back with barely a word, as though nothing had happened. That was the sort of people they were. What they had been made into. There were friends – outside of the service – to whom she could never explain, and who would never quite forgive her.
And beyond the circle of intimates on the Grid was the whispering, the curious eyes that followed her when she walked through the corridors. And she knew what they would be thinking and how they would talk and speculate about her and-
'Ruth, Jo, Zafar.' Their names barked across the Grid made all three start. He stood in the mouth of the passageway, eyes blazing with the ferocious impatience he always displayed whenever something wasn't done exactly how and when he wished.
Harry Pearce.
There had been no passionate declarations, no falling into each other's arms. No accusations, no demands. An unspoken agreement that she needed time to recover from her exile. She had never left him, not really. Or maybe he had never left her. And here they were again.
Harry didn't wait to ensure that they responded to his summons. There was no question that they would not. It was a necessary arrogance. The trio gathered their papers, followed, and took their places in the briefing room.
ooOoo
Palms flat on the table, immobile, Harry listened to the routine briefing. It was impossible to guess at what he was thinking – except, perhaps, that what they termed routine was a sad reflection on both themselves and the world at large.
Ruth cleared her throat and continued. 'We've had confirmation of a meeting on Tuesday between one Maksim Sidorov and members of an Islamic group called Kytmyr.'
'Kytmyr.' Harry's eyes narrowed.
'A reference to the eighteenth sura of the Qur'an. It's the name sometimes given to the dog that guards the sleepers in the cave – Al-Kahf.'
His fingers steepled. 'What do we know about them?'
'Of Maksim Sidorov, not much. He's from Belarus, he's a known terrorist believed to have some involvement in the recent threats to the governments of the former Iron Curtain states. Kytmyr are fairly low-level: they've written a few pamphlets, made a few threats on internet sites. A couple of their members were suspected of having links to a more militant cell that may or may not have been involved in manufacturing ricin, but there was never enough evidence.'
'I do love the sound of uncertainty in the morning,' Harry murmured.
Ruth's chin lifted. 'If there was more information coming in from the field, there would be more to work with.'
Silence. When Adam spoke they all stiffened. 'Well, Zaf, they say a dog is a man's best friend – how'd you like to make some new ones?'
'How did I know I'd be volunteered?' the younger man remarked.
Adam smiled unrepentantly. 'Telepathy.'
Ruth was sorting through her papers.
'Rosalind. You are, I believe on amicable terms with our friendly local FSB liason officer.' Harry's eyes moved slowly from the screen to Ros. She inclined her head a fraction of an inch.
'Reasonably.'
'See what he knows about Sidorov. Ask him to drop in for a chat.'
It was not the usual procedure. Zaf frowned. 'Get him here?'
'Homeground advantage. Give him a few things he won't be expecting.' He turned back to Ros. 'Smile at him.'
A flicker that could have been amusement passed across her features.
'Right. If that keeps everyone satisfied, I suggest that we return to the work at hand.' Harry stood and walked out of the room.
ooOoo
The red glow on the periphery of her vision had been rendered almost unnoticeable through familiarity. The glass walls gave the illusion that the office and its occupant were approachable by and visible to all. Approachable, perhaps. But it was far more difficult to see in than out. The supposed subject of their all-seeing gaze was, in truth, the watcher.
Despite the promises to herself, Ruth found that she was still one of the last to leave on any given night. There were others. She looked up in time to avoid colliding with him. 'Oh, I-' For a moment, words abandoned her. 'I-I was just going to-' She juggled the files awkwardly.
'Ah. Of course. Could you put them on my desk?' Coat, gloves in hand. He was obviously leaving for the night – earlier than usual. 'Save some of the fun for tomorrow.'
'Yes. Yes, of course, Harry.'
His eyes were on her face. 'You-' A breath. 'You have settled in again, haven't you? Everything's all right?'
'With me? Fine, yes – yes, it's fine.'
Everything seemed to blur a little
'It is good to have you back, Ruth.'
A little over a month ago and her new life had gone as easily as the old one. Like a mirror broken and re-broken and the pieces put back together. But the distortions increased. Both arms wrapped the files, Ruth held them to her chest. Part comfort, part barrier. 'Have you seen Mia lately?'
He looked slightly startled by the question, watched her curiously. 'Mia? Not lately, no.'
Ruth nodded, silent for a moment. 'I liked her.'
'Well...' A frown had appeared, the same expression he wore when trying to unravel a hopeless enigma. 'That's ... good.'
Ruth's smile was quick and nervous. 'You know she offered me a job?'
He looked at her.
'She- Well, sh-she probably didn't mean it.' In Budapest in a hotel room at three in the morning, Mia's cheek propped heavily against her hand and her eyes barely open.
'She probably did,' Harry said quietly. 'That would be like her.'
'Oh.'
The frown had gone and his gaze was steady.
Two voices echoing each other called goodnights across the Grid. They both turned in response. Jo and Zaf walked across to the pods, chatting and keeping a certain amount of distance between them.
'They make an attractive couple,' Harry observed.
Ruth started slightly then smiled. 'Do you think that they really believe that no-one else knows?' And was aware, once more, of the irony. Or perhaps it was just hypocrisy.
'Does it matter? They're happy.' There was a certain note in his voice, one that twisted something inside her. She caught her breath back, would have spoken-
'Goodnight, Ruth.'
He was already past her.
'Goodnight.'
It wasn't numbness, it wasn't pain – she would almost have welcomed that. It was a horrible hollowness and she couldn't escape it. Ruth leaned back until her head rested against the wall. Coming back was supposed to be something happy, something good. She pushed herself away from the wall, continued to his office, rolled the door back with more gentleness than she used when he was in it.
She didn't really need the desk-lamp but she flicked it on, placing the files in the middle. A moment to survey the space that he kept ridiculously tidy. There was something propped against the computer and she picked it up automatically.
A thin piece of card. She turned it over, barely registering that this was an unforgivable invasion of privacy. There was no message on the back, no address or stamp. Something he had bought rather than been sent – or perhaps had been given. Ruth stared at the picture again, losing herself in the floating purple and reds.
She replaced it carefully and turned off the lamp.
ooOoo
The heavy metallic thud as the door fell closed behind him still had the power to send a wave of nausea through him. A sense of claustrophobia that screamed at him to run. It was a natural reaction, he told himself. Perhaps it was the smell. Harry had seen the inside of enough prisons to know that they all had the same smell. Desperation and despair. The warden, heavy footsteps ringing on the concrete floor, did not help matters: the thick Ulster accent and it was the H Blocks all over again.
Muffled clangs reverberated along the walls, counterpointed by the occasional shout suddenly cut off.
'This is an unusual visit for us,' his companion informed him.
It wasn't exactly usual for himself, Harry thought; his non-committal grunt of a response, however, seemed to satisfy the warden. He was led to a small room that smelt strongly of antiseptic and an underlying coat of dirt. The walls were still rough whitewashed brick. A scratched metal table with a chair either side – Harry seated himself at the one facing the door.
The warden stood to one side, jaw set and eyes glassy.
Footsteps along the corridor, from the direction opposite to the one Harry had travelled. The door opened and three men entered. Two remained in the doorway, the third crossed the room slowly and took the other chair.
'I'll be outside if he gives you any trouble.'
'There won't be any, I'm sure,' Harry replied.
The door fell to heavily. Harry observed the man opposite him. He was thinner, the hollows at his temples more pronounced, his skin more sallow. Under his eyes it was puffy, purple so dark it looked bruised. His hair had been cut short against his head, more silver than previously and in so short a space of time. He leaned back in the chair, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. 'Well, Harry, come to practise your interrogation skills?'
Harry let out a heavy breath. 'Hello, Oliver.'
TBC