A/N – I'm having this problem where I keep feeling the need to fill in gaps with my headcanons. There's a healthy dose of Ruth and Harry in this because, unsurprisingly, they feature quite heavily in that headcanon. You guys should let me know if you think I am trowelling that on too much.
It was hard to tell when the night ended and the day began when tucked away on the Grid, and the fact that she hadn't slept for almost two days was in no way helping Ruth's perception of time. It had been forty eight hours of hell and, coming on the back of that ridiculous EERIE exercise just the week before, Ruth was about ready to drop.
Looking around the Grid, forcing her eyes to open against their own, much better judgement, Ruth decided it must be about eight am. The auxiliary analysts were arriving, fresh from their scheduled time off and looking with vague disgust at the mess the first team had made of the workspace. Ruth noted the empty takeaway containers as though for the first time, and decided the least she could do was tidy them up. Peeling herself out of her chair, she picked up Danny's wastepaper basket and began to fill it, pressing down on the considerable amount of rubbish to make more room. Sam, seeing perhaps what Ruth's intensions were, rose from her own desk and began to collect the dirty mugs that cluttered the desks. They smiled at each other, an acknowledgment of their shared endeavour, but did not speak. Speaking was too tiring.
Ruth stopped at Malcolm's desk although, of course, he had disposed of his own rubbish the moment he was done. There was something so reassuring about Malcolm, the fact you could set your watch by him and always, always know how he would act. He was there now, the only one of them still working, the fact that he suffered from near incurable insomnia giving him the rarest of advantages today. He was used to this, Ruth knew. Forty eight hours meant nothing in his world.
"I'm still going to make you go home soon," she murmured, perched on the edge of his desk, "You might have a thousand things left to do but you can do them tomorrow."
Malcolm glanced up, fingers still working away at the keyboard, and gave a tiny smile.
"I'm almost done, actually. I just have to finish this last report. Shall I call the taxis or will you?"
"I'll do it," she sighed, stretching, "Tom and Zoe should be here soon to take over."
"You might want to wake them first, give them ten minutes to regain consciousness."
Malcolm was talking about Danny and Colin, who had pulled an all-nighter only two days before, and who had definitely struggled the most. Right now they were both curled up on camp beds that had been put up in Malcolm's workroom. Harry had sent the pair of them away three hours before, when Colin's nodding head knocked a whole mug of coffee over a file that, luckily, had not been important.
Ruth crept into the room, loathe to wake them but knowing they would be better off at home. She shook Danny gently, unsurprised that he was alert almost instantly. Field spooks, she thought, were definitely of a type. Colin took longer to wake, clinging to the last seconds of his sleep as though his life depended on them. He looked younger without his glasses, more vulnerable as he blinked sleepily at her, and Ruth set about searching for them. She eventually found them in his shoe.
"What time is it?" Danny yawned, screwing up his eyes against the bright lights.
"Just after eight," she said quietly, handing Colin his glasses, "In the morning. I'm going to call you taxis now. Get ready and they will be here waiting by the time you are done."
"You're my angel," Danny said, holding out a hand and helping Colin to his feet. Colin seemed a little disorientated and hadn't said a word. Ruth made a mental note to call him later tonight to check he was alright.
She hurried to call the company, ordering four to come as quickly as they could be dispatched. Sam was already pulling on her coat and left a few minutes later with Danny and Colin. Ruth stood over Malcolm, holding his coat, so that the moment he finished she could bundle him out of the door too. He accepted this man-handling with his usual good grace, watching, amused, as she packed his briefcase for him. He buttoned his coat slowly, a slight shake of his hands giving away how tired he actually was.
"What about you?" he asked, taking his briefcase in hand, "You need to go too."
"I will, as soon as I know Harry has. You know what he's like."
Malcolm nodded sagely and bid her goodbye, escaping through the pods ahead of several junior analysts who wanted to come in.
Ruth sat down at her desk to wait. Harry had a meeting with the Home Secretary, a duty he had to fulfil before he could sleep, but he would be back soon and she was determined to see him safely on his way. Harry tended to play fast and loose with his own wellbeing, and she had decided enough was enough. He was no more superhuman than the rest of them, despite what he liked other people to believe about him.
She did not have to wait long, thank goodness. He half stumbled through the pods, glancing around to check that they had all gone home. When his eyes fell on Ruth, who was already picking up the phone, he shook his head.
"You should be gone," he said, walking a little taller as though to fool her that she hadn't just seen his stumble, "Why are you here?"
"To make sure you leave, of course," she smiled, dialling the number she knew off by heart, "I'm ordering you a taxi. You have five minutes before it gets here."
"There'll be no argument from me today," Harry said, fighting against a yawn, "Allow me to walk you out?"
She was glad that he turned towards his office then, so he did not see her blush. Since the EERIE exercise and seeing him in such a state – even a state that turned out to be faked – she had felt oddly protective of him, aware all of a sudden that he had no one to look after him. The fact that he seemed to have decided the same thing about her was still making Ruth slightly uneasy, although she wasn't sure why. She hardly dared to poke at it.
Outside, he insisted that she take the first taxi that arrived, and she allowed herself a brief moment to look at him as the car pulled away. Exhausted as he was, Harry still cut an impressive figure, standing outside Thames House as defiantly as if he owned the place.
"Where we going, Miss?" the driver's voice cut through her train of thought, and she glanced up to see him watching her in his mirror, "Long night, was it?"
"Do I look that bad?" Ruth asked, giving him her address and settling back in the seat.
"Not bad so much," he said kindly, "Lovely lady like you. You do look knackered though, pardon my language."
"It was a long one, since you ask," Ruth smiled, despite her better judgement. She could tell, a sixth sense, that this man was one of the good ones. He was older than her, perhaps in his late forties, and his accent was undeniably East London. His voice was soft though, none of the harshness you expected from that little corner of the world. She leaned forwards to read his license. His name was Tommy Smith. She smiled again – was there a more English sounding name?
The car threaded its way through the rush hour traffic, often inching slowly, sometimes picking up a little bit of speed. Tommy had the heater on and between the cosy warmth it generated and Ruth's exhaustion, she was soon fast asleep.
She woke with a jerk as the taxi came to a halt outside her house, almost an hour later. Tommy had turned in his seat and was peering at her, as though he had just been contemplating the best way to wake her.
"It was a long night," he smiled softly, "You feel OK, love?"
"Yes, thanks. I can't believe I fell asleep. I never sleep in cars."
"You looked like you needed it," he shrugged, "And I wasn't going to wake you up. I reckon some shut eye is the least you deserve."
"What do you mean?" Ruth paused in reaching for her purse to look at him more closely.
"I know what you lot get up to in Thames House. If you're tired coming out of there, you must have been doing something important."
He was looking at her earnestly, as though he was suddenly worried he had said the wrong thing. He hadn't, not really – it was no secret that Thames House housed MI5 – but it was a brave man who would even mention that he knew. People were often afraid to do so, as though that knowledge somehow made them guilty of something.
"Thank you," she said eventually, handing over some money she was too tired to count.
"For what?"
"For caring."
He reddened slightly as he handed over her change but he looked pleased, and he sat outside until she was safely in the house, her unlikely knight in dented armour.
A few weeks later, she had all but forgotten about her friendly cabbie, sweet as he had been. Then came The Day Of The Budget Meeting, Harry's most hated day of the year save none. He went storming out at nine am and came storming back at four, muttering darkly about just closing down the whole damn service and being done with it, and retreated to his office where the clink of bottle on glass was in no way subtle.
He finally emerged at just gone six, when Ruth was just beginning to think about heading home.
"So do I still have a job?" she asked him lightly, determined to see a smile on his face before she left.
"Begrudgingly," he muttered, "You'd think the money we spent here defending this damn country is some kind of inconvenience for these Treasury people. The amount of times today I had to defend individuals is laughable and they still tried to tell me that I need to sack one of you."
"So, who's it going to be?" she grinned, "I vote Malcolm. We all know how utterly useless he is."
Harry laughed, a deep and pleasant laugh.
"If I thought I could trust you and Malcolm in the field, I would get rid of all the others," he deadpanned, "But I can't quite see it somehow. No one is getting the sack. I refused. I told them I would find cuts somewhere else."
Harry was good to his word too, putting in even more hours than he had before, painstakingly finding the money leaks and painstakingly plugging them. It was only on the next occasion she needed a taxi and she found herself face to face with Tommy, that Ruth had an idea. She knew how much money was spent on hiring drivers for ops, drivers who most of the time ended up pretending to be cabbies anyway.
"Hello, love," Tommy grinned, "Long time, no see."
"Hi," Ruth smiled back, wondering how best to go about this. Whenever she recruited in the past, she had a clear plan of action, one she had often perfected over days and weeks. She knew Tom always did it like this though, off the cuff, listening to his gut.
The car pulled jerkily into the late afternoon traffic and Tommy sighed.
"Think it's going to be a long one today," he said apologetically.
"No problem. Mister Smith, can I ask you a question?"
"Tommy, and yes."
She took a deep breath and saw him watching her curiously in his mirror.
"If I ever were to call you from Thames House and ask to drop everything and do a pick-up, could you do it?"
"Not sure I understand you, love," he said good-naturedly, but his eyes were guarded.
"If I were to pay you 30% more for a specific journey, a specific person to pick up and drop off, would you have any arguments?"
"Are you asking me if I would drive people around for…MI5?"
He whispered the last part, as though someone may be listening. Ruth nodded and watched his face in the mirror as he thought about it.
"30% markup?"
She nodded again.
"Would you stick a camera in here?"
"We'd have to."
"Only turned on when I'm on a job for you though. Not for my normal people."
"Of course."
He was silent for almost ten minutes, biting his lip. Ruth sat patiently – she could tell she would have an answer by the end of the trip and that was much quicker than these things went normally.
"What would I have to do?" he asked.
"Sign the Official Secrets Act, let us install the camera. Be there when I need you, invoice us when it's over. You will get the fare from the passenger and from us, with the 30% extra."
"Can't really argue with that, can I?" he murmured, "Not dangerous, is it?"
"You'd mostly be used for surveillance. Very low risk."
He sighed heavily and Ruth knew she had won.
"You want me in tomorrow to sign something then, or have I got to do it now?"
Ruth smiled, slipping one of the contracts from her bag. She always carried one, just in case she should ever have to refer to it.
Tommy chuckled.
"I bet you was a Girl Guide," he smirked, "Always prepared."
"Well I don't like to brag," she grinned, "My boss will love this, if it works."
"Good bloke, is he?"
"Yes," she answered before she could stop herself, surprised at the question and even more surprised at the readiness of her answer. She felt herself blush and she didn't know why. Luckily, Tommy was busy reading through the first page of the contract and he didn't notice.
It took him twenty minutes to read the document and he apologised profusely for his slowness, as though he was somehow inconveniencing her. He gave the document more thorough attention than people with twice his education and he asked more questions too, determined he would know precisely what he was getting into. If all of her potential drivers were like this, she was on to a very good thing.
He saw her off with a smile, the signed contract safe in her bag, and she let herself into the house, ridiculously pleased that her gamble had paid off, and even more pleased that in a few weeks she would have something to give Harry, a gift to make his life a little easier.
And, despite a sense of judgement that was screaming she had her priorities all wrong for once, Harry, and Harry alone, was the most important reason she could come up for the smile on her face.