The atmosphere on the Grid is subdued.
Harry watches from the confines of the office, watches them interact with each other in a way they haven't quite managed with him, and wonders whether they feel any fraction of the guilt that gnaws away at his mind. It's the first time he's ever felt that he might be getting too old for this business. Before, the sacrifices have always been rationalised and filed away in the appropriate mental cabinets, but Lucas...
John, he reminds himself. John, not Lucas. Lucas was a construct, a facade, a shadow of a life that had held so much promise.
He tears himself away from that train of thought and focuses instead on his team. Beth is at Ruth's desk with an armful of folders, and from the look on his analyst's face it's more work; Tariq is huddled in a corner with his equipment, absorbed in something Harry knows he probably wouldn't begin to understand; Dimitri is at the watercooler. All perfectly ordinary, but there's a tension in them all that wasn't there yesterday.
With a sigh, Harry closes the folder he's been trying to study and heads out of his office.
"Briefing room," he says tersely once he's in earshot.
They all get up and follow him in.
"I know this is difficult," Harry says without preamble when everyone is seated. "Believe me, I know. But we have to carry on as normal."
The rest of the team exchange glances.
"We can't pretend it didn't happen." Ruth speaks up, her eyes locking with Harry's. "No matter how much you might want us to be, we aren't machines."
Beth, Dimitri and Tariq stare at her, and she returns their looks with a shrug. "We lost him," she says simply. "It doesn't matter what he did at the end, he was our colleague and friend for a long time, and we lost him."
"You still think he was your friend, Ruth?" Harry asks. "After what he did to you?"
"He was trying to save the woman he loved. Not such an alien idea, is it?" Her face is set in stone.
"No," he allows softly.
"We can do our jobs," Beth says in to the silence that falls after their exchange. "We're just not going to be happy."
"I don't expect you to be happy." His voice should be irritated but it carries a softer edge of understanding; he bows his head, and when he looks up again he catches all of their eyes in turn. "I need you to work."
The cue to leave is obvious. One by one they file out, voiceless, silent against the weight of knowledge that has settled on them. They've lost people before; they've known betrayal and lies; but somehow Lucas - John - this man who had both their trust and their love - has shattered their resilience. It's imprinted on their faces.
Ruth lingers. Ruth, who should by all rights be the one running right in the other direction, turns at the door and stares mutely. Harry can almost read the conversation in her eyes. He nods - it's okay - and within seconds she's gone.
The entire Grid is muted. Work goes on in a daze, efficient but detached. Nobody mentions the fact that Harry's blinds are emphatically open, or the fact that his eyes flit regularly from face to face from behind the barrier of glass, as if reassuring himself of their continued existence. Nobody voices the question that's in all of their minds: what will happen next?
They're working in Limbo right now, events not quite sinking in, consequences not emerging yet.
Consequences are for tomorrow.
"Fake or not, Albany was a State Secret and you gave it away. There's going to be a full enquiry, and not just in to this sorry affair. In to you, Harry, your whole career. You're the spy they want to kick back in to the cold, I'm afraid. Now, I'll be in there batting for you, but I can't see this ending well.
I'd start preparing for like after MI5.
I'm truly sorry.
Goodnight."