I tried to make this chapter a little lighter. No promises that this will continue though...
Thanks for reading & reviewing, I really appreciate it!
The air in London was gorgeously cool, with a gentle drizzle falling. Zaf couldn't remember the last time when he had experienced an afternoon that wasn't swathed in uncomfortable warmth. It was about 3pm, and the sky had darkened to a sluggish grey, a tiny shard of sun shining through the thinner sections of cloud. Zaf and Lucas weaved through the crowds and the cars, dodging stray children and haphazardly-wheeled suitcases to meet Ros.
Ros was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the car. It didn't bother Zaf that she was smoking. He had smoked for a bit when he was about seventeen and so it didn't repulse him, but he'd never seen her smoke before. Then again, Zaf had been gone for years – it would be foolish to expect everything to be the same.
Zaf noticed Lucas also looking at Ros, almost as if he couldn't believe it was actually her. Zaf wondered why this must be, his eyes scanning over her. She was still kitted out in mostly black, with dark jeans and boots. Her hair was shorter than Zaf had remembered, smooth blonde strands brushing her neck.
When they reached the car Ros dropped her cigarette and ground her heel into it, turning her attention back to Lucas and Zaf. Zaf was hesitant. Should he say something funny? Or sincere? 'It's great to see you' sounded oddly formal and would probably provoke some sort of mocking reaction from Ros.
She looked at Zaf for a second before speaking: "Hello Zaf." Cool and casual.
"Hello Ros," Zaf returned, smirking.
"I'm afraid this car doesn't really compare with that convertible of yours." Ros gestured to the shoddy vehicle.
Zaf smiled. "My convertible? How is she?"
"She's fine," said Ros, raising an eyebrow at the way Zaf had personified his car, especially as he had opted for a female pronoun. "I drove it to a carwash."
Zaf's initial reaction was one of worry: "No scratches?" he asked.
"None," Ros assured him. "Get in." Ros opened the door for him. Zaf hopped in gratefully.
That had been... fine. Ros wasn't one for awkwardness. And Zaf had found it sweet that she'd actually taken care of his car.
He watched through the window as Ros and Lucas shared a comment, nothing more. It seemed cold.
Lucas got in the back seat next to Zaf, leaving Ros isolated in the front. She smoothly started the car, gliding away from the busy cabs scattered around the airport.
"So," said Ros, spinning the steering wheel effortlessly, "I hear Istanbul's beautiful this time of year." Ros had spoken breezily and Zaf knew she was joking. He wondered whether he would feel hurt at someone making light of his capture, but he took it in good spirits. Besides, Zaf was a lot more comfortable with casual banter than serious conversations.
"Really? Well, I didn't exactly get the guided tour," he quipped.
"Maybe you should book a holiday there sometime," Ros suggested coolly.
"Y'know, for some reason, I'm not in a hurry to go back," Zaf replied with a smirk. He caught Ros' smile in the wing mirror. She was impressed. Zaf wondered who her partner in banter had been whilst he had been gone.
"Harry's been asking after you," she continued. "A couple months back we had a ruthless accountant in need of some dirty tricks. He felt your absence."
"You've either got the knack or you haven't," grinned Zaf, turning to tell Lucas the story of when he famously swapped a politician's order of washing powder to lobster. But Lucas was staring out of the window, watching raindrops chase each other across the cold glassy window. He returned to Ros.
"So what have you been up to then?" asked Zaf.
"Oh, the usual. Had two funerals."
"I never received my invites," said Zaf in mock-hurt.
"Must have got lost in the post," replied Ros.
Zaf's easy smile remained on his face until the car lurched down the familiar road and his eyes caught the splendour of the towering building. Zaf swallowed a lump in his throat. It had been great catching up with Ros, but he knew that from now on things got more serious. He'd have to have official interviews for the files, giving details on his capture and torture. Zaf shuddered at the thought of reliving those memories.
Ros parked the car efficiently. Lucas snapped off his seatbelt swiftly and jumped out, seemingly relieved that the journey was over.
Ros led the way, although Zaf remembered the route exactly. When they reached the building, they were halted by a couple of security guards, all of whom looked disapprovingly at Zaf. He ducked his head, realising how tattered and unworthy he must look compared to the smart suits of the other workers.
"Ros Myers, section D. Lucas North and Zafar Younis, also of section D," Ros introduced impatiently.
"May we see your identification passes please, gentlemen?" one guard asked.
"They've been undercover, of course they don't have ID," Ros scoffed, tapping a heel.
"I'm afraid I can't let you in without ID," the guard insisted.
"Look." Ros squared her shoulders. "I have been specifically instructed by Sir Harry Pearce to bring these two gentlemen back here immediately, particularly as Mr Younis has an urgent appointment at the medic centre, which you've probably already established on account of your gawking." Zaf raised an eyebrow in amusement at Ros' response, watching the guard lower his gaze from Zaf's dishevelled state back to Ros.
"Now, you wouldn't want to see Harry get angry, would you?" Ros continued. "I can tell you from first-hand experience that it's not a pretty sight."
The guard shifted, breaking eye contact from Ros' steely glare. Lucas also focused his eyes on the guard menacingly. Zaf looked up from under his eyelashes, shifting uncomfortably on his leg and readjusting his crutches.
"If you'd like to go on through," he said quietly.
"I'd have liked it more six minutes ago when I first asked," Ros said sweetly, marching ahead. Lucas exchanged a raise of eyebrows with Zaf and followed.
Zaf kept his gaze to the floor, ignoring the glances that he attracted at his injured state, walking across the floor he knew to the Grid. But he almost bumped into Lucas' back when Ros stopped suddenly; gesturing to two small rooms that Zaf had never noticed before.
"There's a change of clothes in there. You might be bugged." Zaf edged forward to one of the doors, but not before Lucas cut in: "Maybe it would have been wise to kill bugs before we entered the prestigious MI5 headquarters?"
"Maybe it would have been wise to not pick up any bugs in the first place," said Ros, a little smugly. The look Lucas gave her was one of pure loathing as he pulled his rucksack from one shoulder, barging into a room.
Ros must have noticed the worried look on Zaf's face as she added, "If you've got bugs, killing them in our territory will send a message. These people can't outwit our technology. You know that."
Zaf nodded, heading into the other room and shutting the door. There was a snug black t-shirt and a pair of jeans on the table, but other than that the room was bare.
His skin was healing now, but there were scars that would never fade completely. Zaf winced as he pulled on the new jeans, noticing how they were loose around his waist where he had lost a significant amount of weight.
Grabbing his crutches, Zaf shuffled back outside. Lucas was looking rather angry, wearing a salmon button-down shirt and some jeans that were a little too tight. Zaf's gaze passed subtly to Ros and knew that she had something to do with his incriminating change of clothes.
"This way," she said smoothly, her heels clicking against the marble floors.
Zaf stepped as confidently as he could into the pod on the right, savouring the slick sound it made as it spun round, leading them to the Grid.
Strangely, it was silent. Zaf moved forward on his crutches, searching for his desk, Adam's desk, Jo's desk. But each work station looked completely unfamiliar. There were no Top Gear magazines perched amongst paperwork on the desk where he used to sit. There was no photograph of Wes in Adam's territory. The chair behind Jo's station was missing her coat. He glanced over to the forgery suite, longing to see Malcolm plugging away at a new invention, but instead Zaf's eyes were met with only empty chairs.
"Zaf." The authoritative but friendly voice greeted him. Harry offered a nod to Ros and Lucas. "Would you all like to step into my office, please?"
Zaf meant to reply with a polite 'Of course' but his throat had dried up. He walked unsteadily, leaning on his crutches.
He hadn't been in Harry's office much – only to deliver a file or to poach the odd bit of stationary. It was pretty cosy, and Harry gestured for Zaf to sit on one of the chairs opposite his desk. Ros leant against the glass partition. Lucas folded his arms and stayed standing by the door.
"How was your flight?" Harry asked, sitting down behind his desk and resting his hands on some paperwork.
"Fine, thanks," said Zaf, trying to make eye contact.
"That's good," said Harry simply. Then he leaned forward. "As relieved as we are to have you back here, Zaf, I'm afraid the next few days will be somewhat... well, they won't be... ideal." Harry grappled for words that he didn't want to have to say. Zaf nodded. "I understand."
"Good," said Harry, nodding to himself. "We have accommodation here at Thames House – I've booked you a room. You'll have a visit from some doctors later to assess your health."
"Okay," said Zaf as steadily as he could, scraping as much of the office air as he could into his lungs.
"I'll get Ros to show you to your room now. Lucas, I'd like a word." Harry broke his eyes from Zaf's face, indicating the conversation was over. He rose, opening the solid sliding door of the office and smiling sincerely at his colleague as he passed.
"Good to have you back," commented Harry.
"Thank you," said Zaf, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. He dropped his head abashedly and hobbled out of the door, listening to Ros' heels connecting with the slick floor trotting ahead of him.