4th January 2011 7:12am

Harry groaned as the doorbell woke him. He'd been sleeping in his armchair and his neck was now shooting with pain from the awkward angle. He hurriedly got up as the doorbell rang again. Checking his watch, he wondered what anyone would want with him at seven in the morning.

Opening the door, he found Malcolm standing there. His old friend didn't even say hello. "Why didn't you tell me, Harry?"

"Come in." Harry took his seat again in the lounge and Malcolm looked around critically, the room stinking of old whisky, dirty glasses littering every surface in the room. A fine film of dust was lying over everything except for the armchair and the whisky decanter.

"Why didn't you call me when she went missing?" Malcolm repeated.

"She didn't go missing, Malcolm," he said. "Lucas kidnapped her, then left her to die alone."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know how much you cared for her. She knew too."

"I don't..." he took a deep breath and tried again. "We don't have a body, but… it's been two months. If she's alive, why wouldn't she contact me? If she were alive, she must know how this is driving me insane. It means she can't be. She just can't be."

Malcolm said nothing but his silence was damning.

"This is awful," Harry said. "To know she's dead, to know she died because of her… her importance to me, but to not have her body. To not know how she died. Whether she was in pain. Whether she was aware of what was happening to her. Whether she blamed me." He closed his eyes, unable to voice the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing. "Malcolm… It's torture."

"You need to get up, have a shower, shave and stop drinking whisky. And sleeping in your bed rather than the arm chair or the sofa wouldn't kill you every once in a while."

"Malcolm…" Harry started, shaking his head.

"Do you really think she'd want you to live like this?" he asked firmly. "In the midst of a whisky haze? Unable to even see which way is up?"

"No." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. "No, I know she wouldn't."

"Harry, do you want me to try and find her body?" he asked quietly. "I know I can't imagine what you're going through, but she's my friend too."

"If the grid couldn't find her…"

"They have other things to do with their time," Malcolm said. "They can't spend several weeks focusing on finding one missing agent when terrorists are still trying to blow up the country. And I flatter myself that I'm slightly more talented than anyone you have in Thames House."

"Can you find her?" Harry asked quietly.

"Give me all the information you have," Malcolm said. "I'll do my very best. But Harry, you should have called me weeks ago."

"I know," he said. "I haven't exactly been thinking straight. And I haven't been in to work in… a while."

Malcolm nodded in agreement as Harry brought to hand a memory stick from his trouser pocket. "I look at it everyday, trying to find something we missed," he added at Malcolm's obvious surprise that he had the information on him. "I miss her so much."

"I know," he said.

"Thank you for this," Harry said.

"I'll find her," Malcolm promised. "Get cleaned up." Malcolm looked through the cupboards and took four bottles of whisky he could find before he left the house, hoping that Harry would get himself sorted out. Staying drunk for two months wasn't helping anyone, least of all Harry.


More soon. Thanks for keeping reading and reviewing even though I'm being really mean!