Set: About two-and-a-half years after 5.5, but the events of series 6 and 7 are…very different.
Characters: Everyone in series five (post 5.2, pre 5.6 i.e. Ruth and Ros, but no Colin), Connie, and Sam. Yeah, you heard right – Sam. I miss her!!
Pairings: Harry/Ruth, Ros/Malcolm, *hints* of Zaf/Jo
Sorry if I've been rather liberal with the artistic license – I realise that Harry probably wouldn't have the authority to completely re-jig section D, but…y'know…forgive me. :D
The bride and groom atop the cake were a present from the rest of the team. She was scowling, one hand on her hip, the other wagging angrily; he just looked weary. The somewhat bemused spooks had been unable to resist buying them upon receiving their invitations, and had left the tiny gift box on the real groom's desk, with a note that read simply:
About bloody time!
That had raised a private chuckle from both, when they thought that they weren't being observed.
And now, the miniature figurines were waiting patiently on their stage of creamy, ivory-coloured icing, mere hours away from their moment of glory. Similarly, their real-life counterparts were preparing for their own moment – though of course, not in the same room, and perhaps displaying marginally more obvious outward signs of nerves.
The real-life bride had chosen to get ready alone, opting for reflective solitude over the chaotic hubbub of a gaggle of bridesmaids milling around, berating her for styling her own hair on her wedding day. And so simply, as well!
Meanwhile, the real-life groom was pacing the thickly-carpeted floor of his hotel room, reciting and re-reciting his vows. He was rather proud of them, and grateful to her for allowing his idea that they write their own – he wanted to get them just right.
The real-life bride slowly, methodically applied a coating of lipstick, in a subtle, fleshy shade.
The real-life groom stood before the mirror, wondering if having an actual human face to speak his vows to would help matters. Even if it was his own, and only a reflection.
The real-life bride fastened the gorgeous, antique silver bracelet – and priceless family heirloom – that she had accepted somewhat embarrassedly from Jo as her 'something borrowed'.
The real-life groom took a sip of sweet tea, hoping that it would calm his nerves. It was too hot, and he ended up spluttering in a rather undignified manner. Luckily, he avoided spilling any of the tea on his shirt.
Ros twisted a single lily into her tightly coiled, pale blonde hair, and Malcolm, whilst blowing on his tea, absentmindedly wondered if using ex-Soviet bugs to record the wedding video was entirely legal.
*
"Tell me," groaned Harry, fighting – and losing – a battle with his tie, "When we found out we would be back at three a.m. on the morning of Ros and Malcolm's wedding, and we said 'oh, well that's alright', what were we thinking?"
Ruth was calm as she batted his hands away, and used her own to fix his tie, but she could not resist taking the opportunity to roll her eyes when he briefly averted his gaze from her to worriedly study his watch.
"We were thinking," she answered, expertly taming the silk between her fingers, "That the masses of big, important men who owe you favors hardly ever bother even trying to pay them back; let alone come up trumps with an all-expenses-paid trip to New York. We were thinking, that considering we spent that long weekend in Paris last month, it was my turn to be indulged."
She rested her palms on his chest, and pulled back to inspect her handiwork, before leaning towards his ear, to continue in a hushed, sultry whisper.
"We were thinking, that six days – and more importantly, nights – in a five star hotel, is just. Too. Good. An offer. To. Pass up."
The last part of her speech was accompanied by soft, fleeting kisses to his jaw line.
Harry smiled contentedly as his hands crept lower down her back.
"Ah, yes. I remember now."
He could not help the disappointed sigh that escaped his lips when she eventually pulled back from his embrace, teasingly thumping his shoulder in a fraternal, consolatory manner. To distract himself, he glanced back at his watch.
"You know that I'm going to have to drive like a madman to get us there on time."
Ruth raised her eyebrows at him in the bedroom mirror, in front of which she was now stood, adjusting her dress.
"Because you've always needed an excuse to do that, of course."
*
It had been ten months since Ruth's name had been cleared, and she had bashfully, and laughingly, agreed with Harry that perhaps they should try a second dinner date. Ten months since Ros, whilst helping Malcolm change some ancient bugs for newer ones, had mistaken a blue wire for a green one, tugged too hard, and fallen, quite without grace, from the stepladder, and into the blushing technician's arms.
When Ruth had come back, and surprised Harry by being quite willing to pick up where they had left off, the world-weary section head had realised that he needed to take a long, hard, unforgiving look at his priorities. The result had been his shock announcement that he would be dramatically reshaping the department.
Adam had been promoted to a newly invented post, which was a sort of halfway house between his old position, and Harry's position of section head. Ros, meanwhile, was given Adam's old job. This effectively meant that Harry now had twice the spare time that he had previously had. Of course, his connections, and talent for getting what he wanted from people – one which surpassed even Adam's – still needed to be called upon from time to time, and he would never be content to step back completely from the forefront of the defence of the realm, but he did now leave much of the responsibility for decision-making and heading up the team to Adam.
When he had announced the plan, several jaws had dropped. How on Earth would Harry Pearce survive without his every living moment being taken up with pacing around, shouting at politicians, and turning red in the face?
The owners of the jaws in question had not bargained on the new activities that he had discovered to keep himself busy.
Another aspect of Harry's shake-up was to bring in an old colleague of his – Connie James. Ruth – though she had returned to Britain, and to London, and to Harry – had decided that her return to MI5 would be only partial. She loved her work, but it had always been something of a substitute for an actual life, and now she had one of those. So, instead of taking up her old position of senior analyst, she had passed the buck to Connie, and instead accepted a newly-created post of assistant senior analyst. The extra word meant whole world of difference to Ruth's life. Suddenly, her job really was a nine-to-five living – unless there was a crisis, of course. She worked reasonable hours, her weekends were all her own, and her holidays were, well, generous.
It is often said that a person cannot have their cake and eat it too, but thanks to Harry's sheer determination – and the sense of purpose that he gained from Ruth's presence – that was precisely what section D proceeded to do.
Adam made the new position entirely his own. He was wonderful at bridging the gap between those who made the decisions, and those who implemented them. He was an extra line of communication between Harry and his officers, relaying to him their fears, doubts, and ideas. When he was left to take charge, he was mindful of Harry's advice, of his own experiences, and of the opinions of his officers. He was fair, intuitive, and ruthless, and the team flourished even more effectively under his new level of authority. Of course, there was a lot less field work involved in his new duties, but lately he had started to regard that as a good thing – the thought of missing Wes growing up made his blood run cold. Besides, he had always been brilliant at being smarmy with the country's big cheeses.
Meanwhile, Ros seemed determined to prove that Harry should have given her Adam's job the second that she stepped onto the grid. Deciding that, as her predecessor had carried most of the consideration and motivation and generally personal aspects of the job into his new position, she would completely forget about mollycoddling and mentoring, and focus on streamlining the section to run with deadly efficiency and precision. That was not to say that she was cruel or domineering – in fact, for Ros, she had been remarkably cheery of late – only that, if a member of the team wanted a heart-to-heart, they knew that Adam's office, or perhaps Ruth's workstation, were the places to head.
Ros had also surprised them all by placing great emphasis on developing the technical aspects of their work even further. At least, they had been surprised, until they had realised that she might have ulterior motives regarding the frequent, late-night, one-to-one meetings between her and Malcolm. On the Grid though, of course. Or, maybe…occasionally…at a restaurant, or one of their homes…?
Amongst all this change and romance, Zaf and Jo pottered along much as before, ecstatic to have Ruth back, of course – she had been a somewhat maternal figure to both of them – but nonetheless bemused at it all.
Though, eventually, they had decided that they should probably have their own turn at generating some change when, seeing a film at the cinema one evening, they had bumped into, and befriended, a certain Sam Buxton. It was with surprisingly open arms that Harry had welcomed the lovely, kooky Sam back into the fold, after realising that she had matured tenfold since Danny's death and Zaf's arrival.
Connie, meanwhile, just watched everything with a dry smile, and the occasional rolling of her eyes.
*
So, here they were, singing Mozart as Ros walked up the aisle. The team were the only guests apart from mothers of both bride and groom, and of course, Wes. In the enormous church – a traditional setting, which they had been surprised to hear that Ros had not merely agreed to, but in fact, suggested – the effect should have been a negative one. It should have felt lonely and cold, but somehow, the empty pews were beautiful. Malcolm and Ros' entire world was present, and nothing more was needed.
Harry looked proud as punch as he walked a truly stunning-looking Ros down the aisle. The bride had decided on a simple, but striking dress, and her hair was pulled back from her face, twisted up at the back of her head. The lily and the bracelet were the only ornaments to adorn her. She didn't even have a bouquet. It was just as with the guests – nothing more was needed.
Both bride and groom exchanged a private smile as she finally reached the end of the aisle, and Harry gave her a soft kiss on the cheek before going to stand beside Ruth. To a casual observer the ironic grins would have looked out of place – especially Ros', which was far less nervous than Malcolm's – almost as though belittling what they were about to do. But to Ruth, Harry, and Adam, the look made perfect sense. It was a look that said, 'We bloody made it. Despite all the obstacles, despite everything that says we shouldn't be here – we are.'
Wes didn't understand why his daddy squeezed his hand extra hard at that moment, but he didn't really mind.
Meanwhile, as Ruth felt Harry's arm creep tightly around her waist, her mind wandered to the events of her own wedding – just three months before. They had been traveling whenever they got the chance since she got back, and somehow they had found themselves on an unconventionally gorgeous, rural, near-deserted stretch of beach a couple of hours before sunset, basking in the last of the day's modest heat. She could remember every word of their conversation.
'I always imagined getting married somewhere like this.' An honestly innocent remark, of the sort people often make when warm, content, and absentminded.
'Why not this evening?'
She looked across at him. 'Is that your idea of a proposal?'
'No. This is my idea of a proposal – Ruth, will you marry me?'
'Oh.' She squinted as she stared out across the horizon. 'Yes. I will.'
He had astounded her by summoning up everything necessary in less than an hour and a half, and then…they got married.
One of the bemused locals acting as a witness had snapped a picture of them as they sealed the whole thing with a kiss, just as the sun disappeared from sight. They'd sent it to Adam for him to show to everyone else. Simply slipped it into an envelope with a note reading,
Mr. and Mrs. Pearce – March 22nd, Sunset.
The photograph now took pride of place in their – previously Harry's – front room.
The sound of Sam already weeping quietly beside her reminded Ruth to come back to the present moment. Just in time for the vows.
Malcolm surprised everyone when he started off, "Entrusting minds far greater than my own with the task of conveying what I feel is something that I have done my entire life. And up until today, I suppose you could say that it has served me well. But when I came to searching for the perfect sonnet, the ideal quotation, I realised that there were none to be found. I realised that I was going to have to use my own, woefully inadequate mind, and think of something of my own to say…"
Ruth, Connie, Jo, and Sam all had streaming faces by the time it came to Ros' turn.
"I'm yours."
It was all she said. Or whispered, really. But it was still the final straw for both Adam and Zaf, who both let their tears finally fall.
Ros and Malcolm joined in with the laughter at the sight, but there was no disguising their giddy smiles.
*
"Look, Harry?"
Despite years of field experience, Harry could not stop himself from jumping as Ros ambushed him outside the gents.
"Er, yes, Ros?"
Ros caught his pointed glance at the door behind him.
"Yeah, sorry. But, I just wanted to thank you. For this."
She gestured around them. The restaurant was entirely empty, excluding their own small wedding party.
Harry smiled. "Not a problem. Owner owes me so many favors, he's lucky I don't just demand the deeds off him."
That appealed to Ros' sense of humour, and she was still feeling unnaturally happy from the events of the day. She laughed loudly at the joke for a moment.
"Really – thanks," she said, when she'd finally recovered.
"You're welcome, Ros."
They stayed silent for a moment, before Ros spoke again.
"Last week, I found out I was pregnant."
Had she been present, Ruth would have said that Harry's reaction was remarkably similar to the one he'd given to Sam's talking about PMT.
"Wow. That's…"
"Unexpected?"
His face relaxed into another gentle smile. "Yes. Unexpected. Have you told Malcolm yet?"
She shook her head, and the lily petals danced with the few stray wisps of hair that had escaped from the tight bun.
"I thought I'd leave it until tomorrow. Just let today be about the wedding."
"I understand. Well, congratulations. I mean, I'm presuming…?"
"Yes." Ros looked away from him, and he could see that she was thinking deeply as she continued, more to herself than to him. "I'm actually really happy about it."
*
One Week Later
Ruth stretched out luxuriously between the sheets.
"Mmm. Bed feels so good after a long day."
Harry nodded distractedly. He was pacing up and down the stretch of carpet beside their bed, and she couldn't work out if it was in a good way.
"Look, Harry, forget what Juliet says – today was a good day."
He looked up at her, confused.
"Ah," continued Ruth. "Whatever's bothering you isn't to do with work." She sat up against the pillows, looking serious. "Is it Ros' pregnancy?"
"How did you know about that?" he asked sharply.
"Same way as you – her and Malcolm announced it today." She frowned, suddenly twigging. "You knew already?"
"Mmm. Just don't…mention that to anyone, will you?"
She shook her head. "Of course not. But, if it's not that…is it me, Harry?"
Harry's face softened, and he sat before her on the bed, taking her hand. "What have I told you about my staff behaving like idiots?"
She grinned, and pressed her forehead to his. "It will not be tolerated."
"Quite." He leant forward and kissed her, before suddenly pulling back again. "Have you noticed how unusually cheery you are today?"
Her jaw dropped, and she looked as though she was about to hit him. He continued quickly.
"I mean, unusually so for today."
She frowned again. "I'm sorry, Harry – you're being a bit cryptic. Even for me."
"Well, like you said; it's been a busy day. Quite understandable that you would completely forget about the little purple 'p' you're so careful to add to your diary on the fifth of every month…"
Ruth gasped as he finished his speech with suggestively raised eyebrows. Seeing that she was following him, he dropped his potential bombshell.
"The new pack of…er…" He coughed in embarrassment. "…Tampons you bought to replace the ones you used up last month. They haven't been touched."
If it hadn't felt quite so much like the planet was turning over, she would have remarked disbelievingly at just how observant he actually was.
"Well, there's no point jumping to conclusions, yet," she said, in a hollow voice. "Not until I've done a…"
Her voice petered out as he stood up and withdrew a paper bag from the pocket of his jacket, which was slung over a chair on the other side of the room.
"Test," he announced, adding by way of explanation, "It hit me during morning briefing, so I popped out and bought one."
Ruth's hand shook a little as she took the bag from him, and exited to the en suite, without another word.
Harry waited nervously…
*
"Well?"
Ruth shrugged, looking down at the white stick clutched tightly in her – now quite still – hands.
Finally, she answered. "I suppose the grid's going to have to get a baby changing unit installed…"
