THE NEW RECRUIT

By Liz

This is a short interlude of romantic fluff. Written as an antidote after the extended fic of NY NY to prove to myself that small is not necessarily inferior! This is shaping up to be a 2-parter with more adult content in part 2 but not a bodice-ripper!
As usual there is no claim to the grown-up characters who inhabit the 'real' world of Kudos's 'Spooks'.

The liquid gaze of Ruth's luminous eyes focused on Harry as he sat back in his chair: cocooned behind the glass walls of his office; cut off from his staff and yet able at all times to observe the comings and goings of the main area of the Grid. It was one of their favourite games of cat and mouse – the watched watching the watcher – with all the stealth of operatives trained in counter-surveillance it was an activity that could be ongoing and yet always deniable. If challenged, even by a slightly raised eyebrow or a flicker of a smile, Ruth's eyes would instantly refocus on the screen in front of her that was ostensibly the primary object of her attention. Did he always know when she was watching him? Certainly he watched her. She had developed what might almost be termed a sixth sense; an intuitive awareness of when his eyes were trained on her, observing her, assessing her, dare she hope, wanting her. Not a day passed without she raised her gaze and momentarily caught his eyes focused on her before he looked away, disguising his interest.

It was both exciting and faintly ridiculous. Two grown intelligent adults behaving in a manner that would have seemed absurd to Victorian spinsters. Neither willing to chance their hand and openly declare their feelings in case they were rejected; or more relevantly, neither willing to overstep the bounds of decorum that defined their professional working relationship. Ruth was almost constantly in a state of heightened agitation. One moment she chastised herself that it was the most clichéd office scenario: falling for your boss, almost as clichéd as actors falling for each other whilst on set. She should pull herself together, date other men, look beyond the figure within the glass enclosure for her emotional fulfilment and yet the next moment she would hear his voice low and passionate and her heart would beat like a trapped bird trying to escape through a glass window and her stomach would turn somersaults. He was always there, hovering just within her personal space, intruding and yet never touching her. Tantalising, beguiling, compelling and yet unreachable. The arm casually resting on the back of her chair, so close she could smell his cologne and yet was such proximity just a natural consequence of the familiarity of colleagues that meant just that to him or was it a sign of something more? A tacit acknowledgement of the chemistry that seemed at times incandescent in the air between them.

Yet what if she dared? Dared to take a leap of faith and encourage what she suspected but perhaps only wished he also felt. What then? Passionate kisses (Oh God yes, how she fantasised endlessly of actually touching him, feeling the strength of his arms holding her and his soft lips exploring hers, the intensity was a physical ache that suffused her body), sensual coupling and then what? The romantic in her saw endless days and nights of intimacy and love; the realist predicted initial euphoria and carnal gratification followed by the arguments and tensions that would surely creep into the union of two such stubborn characters and a disastrous and messy ending to the relationship that would force her to leave Section D. Far safer not to go down that route – the opportunity for ecstasy lost but also the prospect of disaster averted and so they went on impinging on each others personal space but never overtly; dancing an elaborate pas-de-deux of desire and muted gestures that climaxed only in a failure of nerve.

Too little and yet by necessity enough. Harry often found his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he fought the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch her; to cross the Rubicon and make the decisive move. He was likewise aware of the absurdity of their decorous charade. During his successful career he had combined his intelligence & clarity of thought with a dark ruthless streak to achieve and maintain his current position of seniority in a highly competitive dog-eat-dog environment and yet in close proximity to Ruth he was left tongue-tied, hesitant and crass, resembling nothing so much as an inept teenager. He held back however, for similar reasons to Ruth: anxieties that a relationship once embarked on might end disastrously as sooner or later all of his love affairs had done before, which would result in her leaving altogether and with the added concern that as the older and more senior of the two he would be bringing unfair pressure on her to acquiesce if he openly declared his feelings. Deep down perhaps it was the spook in him however that dictated his caution – never show your hand, always keep to the higher ground and maintain the advantage, revelation is weakness, knowledge, control. So he too kept his desire and affection repressed if not totally hidden. Glimpses of the man behind the mask of self-control could be noted by the more gimlet-eyed of his colleagues, but were assiduously ignored by an ambivalent Ruth.

Into this charged atmosphere of frustration and anticipation stepped the catalyst of the new recruit. Catherine Palmerston was everything that Ruth was not. Confident to the point of brashness but with the veneer of sophistication that an expensive education provided and openly flirtatious. A sexual predator. The sort that women scorn and men secretly admire. Seconded from 6, her reputation as a man-eater and a high achiever preceded her. Zaf was apprehensive when he heard of her imminent arrival – he had already been taken up, sampled and spat out by Ms Palmerston during a particularly dull operation at the Jordanian Embassy. Ros was similarly unimpressed by the former colleague who had seemed more preoccupied with adding notches to her bedpost than focussing on operations. Bets were already being laid as to who would be her first target in Section D. Adam was not surprisingly the clear favourite – he had looks, seniority, a certain sardonic arrogance and the challenge of a tragic background – an irresistible combination to a woman of Catherine Palmerston's ambition. The question was whether Adam would cave into her sexual onslaught immediately or put up a fight. The common aphorism that women require a reason for sex whilst men merely require a place, might in their case be reversed. The Grid waited with bated breath and there was fervid activity around the water cooler for days before her arrival.

Harry marched onto the Grid closely followed by the slim elegant figure of Catherine Palmerston who seemed to have been poured into a corseted black dress that left little to the imagination. Her immaculately waxed and bronzed legs were lengthened by the vertiginous heels of her black patent court shoes and her copper highlighted hair was swept into a neat chignon that yet held the promise that it would come cascading own at the slightest touch. Her makeup was expensive and her perfume exclusive but to female observers both seemed a touch over-applied. The complete package shouted class, money and availability. Ruth eyed her curiously, like an exotic animal being paraded on a leash and frowned her disapproval when she observed Catherine touching Harry's arm and whispering in his ear. A stirring of jealousy gripped her as she speculated that being higher up the hierarchy Harry might actually be Catherine Palmerstons primary target rather than Adam; but then she dismissed the idea that Harry would allow himself to be beguiled by such obvious charms. Harry on the contrary seemed, ostensibly at least, to be relishing the attentions that Catherine Palmerston was lavishing on him. He smiled and joked and his eyes flashed flirtatiously back at her as he gave one of his rare open smiles. Adam came forward and shook hands, both amused at her play for what would prove to be an unobtainable target and slightly miffed that she considered him lower down the pecking order of desirability than Harry. Catherine however was perfectly happy to back more that one horse in a race and also know from past experience that setting alpha males against each other for the attentions of a female was often the easiest way to gain their undivided attention.

"Oh hello Adam, it's been too long. We must get together and talk over old times."

Adam smiled back enigmatically.
"Lovely to see you again Catherine, broken any hearts recently?"

"Oh you know, one tries one's best."

Catherine laughed a low, sexy, provocative chuckle as she glanced under her eyelashes at Harry who smiled back at her. Ruth's heart sank. Maybe he was playing a devious game but maybe he wasn't. This dreadful predatory woman was just going to walk in and claim him without giving a damn about professional etiquette or protocol and whatever his declared stance on self discipline and self denial Harry was a man. A middle-aged man with what Ruth suspected was still a healthy libido, being handed a sexual invitation on a plate by a younger, attractive and obviously available woman. Ruth felt her eyes involuntarily begin to fill with tears and she turned away hastily and grabbing a pile of folders she disappeared into the meeting room. She closed the door and placed the files on the table. Unable to control her emotions she buried her face in her hands and felt tears run down her cheeks and drip onto her blouse.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid woman" she whispered to herself. Suddenly she felt hands on her shoulders and a familiar voice murmur in her ear.

"Don't upset yourself Ruth, she's not worth it."

Ruth smiled through her tears.

"Thanks Malcolm, but I'm fine really. Just a headache, it's nothing to do with Catherine Palmerston. Why should it be? I don't even know the woman. Why should she upset me?"

Malcolm sighed. If Ruth was still going to take refuge in denial then he wasn't going to be able to provide much comfort and he didn't want to intrude further.

"Well take something for it before the meeting and if anything is ever troubling you, you know I'm always available to talk to."

Noises outside the door heralded the arrival of the team. Harry walked in and didn't seem to notice Malcolm standing with his arm around Ruth's shoulders, but his peripheral vision had taken in the whole scene, including Ruth's reddened eyes and pale complexion. He was both concerned at her obvious distress but also heartened that she had betrayed signs of caring for him. He gestured to the others to sit down and Catherine immediately placed herself next to him, shifting her chair up so that her knee touched his under the table. Harry was happy to encourage utilising sexual attraction to achieve goals in an operation and as long as the agents were happy to participate little was off limits; but it was a different matter within the office and flirtation as a strategy towards himself was particularly not welcomed. He could find a woman for sex if he chose without difficulty and he believed that with fewer professional qualms he could have had love, affection and intimacy with one of his staff without looking beyond the confines of the Grid but in relation to both he preferred to keep his own counsel and not lay himself open to blackmail or compromise. If Catherine Palmerston thought she would make him the next notch on her bedpost then she was in for a disappointment but it didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy stringing her along for a while, both to confound the other members of the team and perhaps give him further clues as to the depth of Ruth's feelings.

"I'd like to begin by formally introducing Ms Palmerston to you all. As you know Ms Palmerston has been seconded ….."

"Please, call me Catherine" interjected a husky, purring voice.

Harry smiled his assent and patted her hand that conveniently lay touching his on the table. Zaf choked on the water he was sipping and Ruth stared with mute consternation at the uncharacteristic gesture of familiarity.

"By all means, Catherine, will be with us for the duration of operation Butterfly, which as I hope you are all aware is the task of safeguarding the foreign dignitaries who will be gathered for the Special Commonwealth crisis talks that have been called for next week."

"Surely this is more a job for Special Branch?" Jo ventured.

Harry smiled at her in his most condescending manner, as though he were a teacher dealing with a persistent but dim-witted pupil.

"Well normally yes, but the inclusion of several high profile members of Middle Eastern royal families not to mention hostile African governments in functions at high-level locations including Westminster and Buckingham Palace makes this Conference a high-risk terrorist event, both as a potential target and as a means for terrorists to infiltrate and strike at the heart of British government and monarchy. So certainly not a scenario that we can leave to Special Branch plods with any degree of confidence."

Jo, humiliated by her failure to grasp what was obvious to all her colleagues, blushed deep scarlet.

"You're obviously new" said Catherine dismissively; never one to let an opportunity to put down rival females pass her by "it's difficult to comprehend the complexities of these events until you gain more experience."

Ruth fumed inwardly. How dare this painted Jezebel parade in here and lord it over poor Jo and how dare Harry let her get away with it.

"So urm … Ms Palmerston, tell us how do you think we should organise the operation?"

The question was innocuous in itself, but all those around the table know that it was not usual for Ruth to openly challenge strangers and it was only Harry and more recently Ros, who had been directly at the receiving end of her barbed comments. It warmed Harry's heart to see her rise up to defend Jo, but he showed no outward sign of his approval beyond a slight raising of an eyebrow.

Catherine bathing in the glow of inflated self-esteem took the question at face value and launched into a detailed proposal of the allocation of field operatives, the nature and extent of surveillance and emergency measures in the event of an attack.

Ruth smiled sweetly at Catherine but her eyes were stormy.

"I'm so glad you've been able to join the team for this operation Ms Palmerston, your organisational skills will be invaluable."This time it was Adam who had to hide his amusement. A clash of wills and personalities between the egotistical, overconfident Catherine and the intellectually superior but diffident Ruth, with Harry as the prize, could prove this to be an eventful op, if only within the confines of the Grid.

Harry, having already reached the same conclusion, without perhaps realising that his affections were the primary target of the warring parties, moved briskly onto allocating tasks and responsibilities. His mind remained focused despite the disconcerting presence of Catherine, who had edged her chair again fractionally closer to his, so that her knee was firmly pressed against his thigh and it was also fleetingly joined by her hand that 'accidentally' brushed against his leg as she reached into her handbag.

"Lucky old devil" murmured Zaf to Adam as they exited through the pods.

"From what I heard I wouldn't have thought you would give Catherine Palmerston such a glowing reference."

Zaf laughed off the referral to his all-too-public humiliation.

"Oh yes, I was one of the many casualties, but whilst it lasted it was pretty exciting. I hope Harry's ticker is up to it."

"Well I wouldn't be handing out condoms just yet. Harry is a wily old fox, you never know what game he's playing and certainly he normally prefers to be in the driving seat."

Zaf snorted "Well in that case it's definitely a case of fasten your seatbelts you're in for a bumpy ride."

Malcolm overheard the ribaldry and frowned. He didn't like to hear Harry the object of such coarse gossip, it was demeaning and he knew it would cause Ruth heartache. He had a soft spot for the analyst with her fragrant fragile beauty and her piercing intelligence. Malcolm was one of those rare men for whom the sexual promise of women like Catherine Palmerston held little appeal. It was not that he had totally sublimated sexual desire but rather that he was turned on by old-fashioned values such as bravery, honesty and cultural refinement. He viewed with distaste Catherine's blatant play for Harry and was puzzled by his boss's reluctance to repel her advances.

Ruth meanwhile was vacillating between anger and hurt. How could Harry condone such outrageous behaviour? She had been unable to resist the temptation to glance under the table as she reached for a dropped pen during the meeting and had clearly seen Catherine's knee pressed against Harry's and her fingertips lingering on his thigh. Normally Harry would have issued some icily sardonic put-down and halted Catherine Palmerston's advances but he had given no indication of doing so. There was only one answer to such a puzzle – he fancied her and was enjoying the attention Catherine was lavishing on him. Enjoying it to the extent of ignoring his normally high standards of propriety. "Bloody hypocrite" muttered Ruth to herself, blinking back the sting of tears that were again brimming up "so much for self control and self denial well I hope the shag's worth all the betrayal of his so-called principles" "and of me" whispered a tiny broken little voice inside her head.