Apologies for the long wait for this chapter - real life really is hectic, but I'm taking advantage of being snowed in today to upload. Hope you enjoy this one. Thank you to the lovely few who reviewed xx

Erin and Dimitri had disconnected the call to Harry and Ruth the instant Calum had sent the sequence to lift the lockdown. Outside the door, they heard a familiar swishing, then a high-pitched churning noise as the Section D pods were reactivated. Next came the lights, which had been dimmed to almost total darkness, save for an eerie red tint that had made it just about possible to see, but had nevertheless kept them all on edge. The colour red denoted anger, blood, death – things that haunted them every day in their line of work, but had never seemed to hang over them like the proverbial Grim as it did now. They all had too much at stake. One by one the lights sprang to life, firstly in Section D, then dancing along the corridor, and finally illuminating the room in which the three officers were currently situated. They all blinked furiously, encouraging their eyes to adjust to the sudden change. Then came the air conditioning, which started huffing vigorously in an attempt to warm up quickly enough to cope with the demands that each Section pressed upon it. They were quite fortunate in that CCTV and computer systems were always the last to come back online. This bought them little more discussion time, and indeed, prevented staff on the Grid from resuming their search for Harry and Ruth. Even just those few precious seconds made all the difference.

"Great." Calum muttered dryly, anxious to fill the overwhelmingly tense silence. "So now we just kick back, relax, and play a few games of 'I Spy' while our fugitive friends save the world."

"Not 'I Spy', no." Dimitri admitted, casting a sideways glance at Erin, whose eyes held that ever-present feisty glint. A half-smile lingered on her face, as if she already knew what he was going to say. The young man vaguely wondered if he and Erin would end up like Harry and Ruth, becoming so in tune with the other's thoughts that they even finished each other's sentences. Oh, if only. "But we have got a game of our own to play." He continued grimly.

"What? Babysitting Bilberry?" Calum tutted, moodily stuffing his laptop back into his bag, along with the large assortment of cables and devices he had used to connect his computer to the mainframe. "Oh, okay, I'll go first, shall I? I Spy with my little eye, something beginning with Blockhead."

"Not the time for sarcasm, Cal." Erin frowned sternly. She and Calum had known each other since training, and had ascended the ranks of MI5 together, each respecting the other's quite different talents. The only difference was that she had risen higher because Calum's heavy sarcastic wit was not always to the tastes of people in the higher echelons of the security services. And, like now, when someone cut him out of the picture and made him feel useless, he could be exceedingly sullen. Erin could not decide if this was because he was genuinely an arrogant (and yet oddly endearing) sod, or because deep down he had insecurities that stemmed from him feeling unwanted as a child. To keep him in line, she had been forced to develop a particularly brutal hard stare that indicated to Calum when he needed to readjust his attitude. She flashed him that same glare now. "We all have important parts to play, whether it's communicating directly with the plane, diffusing the bomb or staying on the Grid. Di needs to keep Towers and Bilberry sweet. Cal, you and I need to convince Bilberry that we're unsure about Harry and Ruth's involvement in all of this"

"I don't think any pretence is needed there." Calum muttered, though he smarted at Erin's ominous glare, and made a great show of hunching over to fasten his bag.

"Good, because it'll look suspicious if we're all suddenly on-board the Harry and Ruth being traitors train." Erin replied firmly, before adding in a gentler, placating tone. "It's the little things in an operation that stop it from falling apart, Cal."

"I know." Calum accepted grudgingly, idly swinging his laptop case from one hand to another as he waited for Erin to fit the microdot back into her false tooth. "But that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it." Releasing a hefty, long-suffering sigh, he caught Dimitri's eye, "And how exactly are we supposed to get you out again should Harry and Ruth need you to diffuse a bomb? Bilberry won't like you going AWOL all the time. I don't think I can wangle another virus happening to attack the system – even Bilberry's not that stupid. And somehow I think someone might notice if we go all Shawshank Redemption and dig a bloody big hole in the wall."

"I'll think of something when the time comes." Dimitri decided, his mind already in overdrive trying to work out exactly how he could play that one out.

Calum consulted his watch and grimaced, "We've got a two minutes till CCTV's back up."

"Good luck boys." Erin said grimly. She started towards the door, however just as she reached for the handle, Dimitri stopped her. "Di?"

"Er…" The young man said, suddenly looking extremely nervous, his eyes dodging hers to rest on the wall behind her. "You're going to really… really hate this but…" He trailed off vaguely and to her absolute bewilderment, the fingers of his good hand landed on the top button of her blouse, which he proceeded undo, albeit with fumbling fingers, before moving lower to unclasp the next.

Rightfully astounded and horrified by his awful timing – not to mention his audacity – Erin's automatic reflexes kicked in and she smacked his hand upwards from her chest, pushing him backwards.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" She snarled, as Dimitri raised the hand that was free of the sling in the air to signal surrender. Calum watched the two of them, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. This had suddenly taken an extremely awkward and unexpected turn.

Dimitri's heavy sigh was almost a moan of embarrassment, and when he spoke, it was almost entirely aimed at the ground. Had Erin not been so startlingly flushed, she might have taken the time to consider that he looked rather like an adorable schoolboy who knew he had just done something naughty and was trying to work out his forthcoming apology.

"Look… Towers asked me to keep you… err… preoccupied, shall we say, by… by…"

Erin suddenly saw where this was going, and she raised her eyebrows expectantly, "Yes?" She asked monotonously, the hard stare she had been giving Calum now aiming at Dimitri. For a man who usually considered himself to be pretty confident around those of the opposite sex, he could not for the life of him work out why this brilliant but altogether frustrating woman reduced him to a bumbling mess with just one look.

"By… well, by doing… err… other things." He continued lamely. "And that was Bilberry's condition for allowing me to take you off the Grid with me. Whilst Calum was fixing the mainframe, I was to… well… you and I were meant to be… you know… and if you come back without seeming a little… dishevelled… it might be suspicious."

His guilty eyes finally met hers, and for a second the poor man looked so contrite and vulnerable, and like someone had kicked his prized puppy that it was almost comical; she had to fight the urge to burst out laughing. Then she glimpsed Calum in her peripheral vision, snickering quietly to himself, and she remembered her station. She was technically still their boss after all, and could not allow the dignity of her tough, take-no-prisoners business façade to be compromised, even if this man did make her go weak at the knees in a way that no man had before. She forced her eyes to narrow dangerously.

"Uh-oh…" Calum muttered warily. He knew that look oh-so well. He put a sympathetic hand on Dimitri's upper arm. "I'd stand back if I were you, Pretty Boy. There's an altogether different bomb about to go off in here, and I don't think you have the right training to diffuse this one."

And as if on cue, the ticking time bomb exploded.

"Oh come on!" Erin spat in disgust, the sheer force in her voice prompting both Dimitri and Calum to take a step. Dimitri suddenly realised just how she had made the person who Calum had deemed 'that idiot who makes the tea', cry during her first week on the Grid. Especially since 'that idiot who makes the tea' was a grown man in his late forties, measuring six foot five and was built like a bathtub. Continuing her tirade, Erin snapped lividly, "I didn't realise we were still living in the bloody Stone Age, where Man has to take Woman to cave to keep her out of Man's business! Precisely what kind of misogynistic, self-serving bastards are you working for?"

"Err, well they're terrorists and politicians," Calum muttered, checking his watch again, tutting as precious seconds passed. "That should tell you all you need to know."

"Shut up, Calum." Dimitri and Erin barked simultaneously. He did, unwilling to keep having his head bitten off for getting involved in their lovers tiff. For a moment, the two officers stood their ground in a battle of wills, daring each other through gleaming eyes to back down.

"Twenty-six seconds." Calum read out pointedly, starting towards the door himself.

In the end, Erin's sense of duty overruled her moral principles. Taking heed of Calum's warning and realising they had little time for heated debate, Erin huffed out a small, "Fine", tearing her gaze away from the man she cared for to carry on the work he had started with her blouse buttons. Almost as an afterthought, she tutted and ruffled her hair messily so that odd strands stuck up statically in different directions.

"Happy?" She hissed, well aware that the tension between herself and the tall, handsome officer in front of her was sizzling dangerously.

"Nearly." Dimitri answered, his expression unreadable. Yet before Erin could even begin to question his enigmatic response, she felt warm hands gently cupping her face and the next moment, Dimitri's soft lips were suckling passionately on hers. She had the willpower of only a few seconds to contemplate that he had done the same thing at the hospital and that these last-minute breath-taking kisses were becoming a bit of a habit, before she threw her self-control completely out of the window and thought no more. Instead, she gave in to her wanton desire and kissed back fervently, allowing herself to revel in the tender feeling of his lips teasing hers; their tongues entwining and dancing a gentle tango together. When at last they were forced to come to the surface for air, Erin pulled back, her breath heaving.

"You… you really need to stop doing that." She breathed when coherent thought finally returned.

"Yeah," Calum piped up from a few metres away. "You really do."

Dimitri and Erin both startled, having been so completely wrapped up in the other that they had managed to forget that they were not alone. They had the good grace to look momentarily embarrassed.

"If I wanted to picture two people eating each other's faces, I'd read Mills and Boon, " Calum griped, sounding most amusingly like a pre-teenage boy who had never risen above the concept of the fairer sex being 'icky'. He started towards the door, however apparently could not resist tweaking the collar of Erin's half-undone blouse, "Perhaps you should just undo the whole thing." He snickered. "That'd really distract Bilberry."

Erin smacked Calum's hand away, shooting him another withering glare, "Calum, I'm trained to act peacefully if possible, but where necessary, I can break arms, legs, and necks. Guess which direction you're heading in."

Calum hastily cleared his throat and yanked the door open, "Aaaand that's time." He said in tone that was noticeably squeakier than usual. Dimitri smirked.

Perfectly on cue, the camera in the corner of the room buzzed, the tiny light at its base turning green to signify that it was now operational. As if someone had just flicked an overarching 'on' switch, the computers swapped easily from static to their home screen. The three officers eyed each other for just a split second, agreeing mutely what they all had to do, before exiting the room.


Harry and Ruth had been forced to sunder their contact with the plane, for fear of Air Traffic Control getting wind of what they had been doing and acting on any suspicions that might arise. In Harry's view, the rather stupid, sentimental plonker who had agreed to patch them through had been taking an enormous risk in the first place. Had he had someone as easily swayed as that in Section D, he would have turfed them out on their ear. However, he appreciated that in this case, it was to their advantage that the man had been a stupid, sentimental plonker, or else they might not have even come this far. Nevertheless, being deprived of any kind of contact with the plane, until Rawle called them back, made the waiting all the more unbearable. The air was fraught with tension, and like a piece of elastic stretched so fine it was fraying in the middle, Harry and Ruth felt their patience being overextended to the point that their nerves too were beginning to fray. Both of their minds had been filled with doubts, anxieties and terrifying images of all kinds of bone-chilling scenarios that might arise should Rawle's attempt to take out Zykov not work. Knowing that he could offer Ruth no honest reassurance when he had no idea what was going to happen, Harry instead squeezed her hand gently and excused himself to make a pot of tea to soothe their nerves.

"It won't be sweet tea, I'm afraid." He smiled, fondly recalling that time in Ruth's kitchen shortly before she was cruelly snatched away from him by the likes of Oliver Mace and his cronies. "But it'll keep us alert. Dehydration leads to poor concentration, and that leads to silly mistakes – "

"Which we can't afford." Ruth finished for him, nodding her understanding and offering him the best smile she could muster.

"Exactly." He replied, easing himself off the sofa. He bent briefly to kiss the top of her head, before stretching his aching back with a whine and a wince, and lumbering off in the direction of the kitchen.

Gritting her teeth and clenching her fists so tightly that her fingernails etched small crescent-shaped cuts into her palms, Ruth counted to ten before she allowed the faux smile to slip slowly from her features. She waited until she could hear Harry pottering around in the kitchen, the chinking of mugs reverberating through the house, before she allowed the on-off waves of agony she had been keeping at bay for the last two hours or so to finally overwhelm her. Ruth positioned one of her curled fists at the entrance of her mouth and bit down hard, releasing a low guttural moan. She had experienced intense backache and Braxton Hicks contractions before. In recent months, they had become increasingly commonplace. Yet despite them being rather alien and occasionally unpleasant sensations, they had never lasting this long or this frequently and they had certainly not been as painful as this. And although she was trying her best to keep it together for the sake of this operation, she was absolutely petrified. The fact that she had little to no control over what her body and the baby were doing, frightened her. In fact, everything about this situation terrified her beyond all coherent thought.

It had been only a short while after she had confessed to Harry her fears about the baby making an early arrival that the pains had started. The slowly strengthening convulsions in her lower body gradually sent a message to the rational part of her mind that the child inside her was actually determined to get out, despite its timing being as appalling as its father's. Yet the anxious, panicked side of Ruth – the same side who had spent months in denial that she was pregnant in the first place – wanted to pretend that it was not happening. In the midst of such a stressful situation with the plane, and with their futures uncertain, she just wanted to make-believe that the baby was safe and content where it was. For the alternative was just too much to bear. Why would the baby be coming now? She still had under a month to go of her pregnancy and from her extensive research, she knew that a common reason for premature labour was that something was wrong. She didn't want to believe that something was wrong. She may have only just become accustomed to the idea of being a mother, but, oh, did she want this child. She wanted it more than she could ever have thought possible. Ruth did not know if she could cope with anything happening to the innocent little life growing inside her.

Yet wanting the child and having it in her arms, physically depending on her in every way, were two completely different things. If she was truly honest, she didn't know if she was ready; ready to bear the responsibilities of motherhood; ready to bring a baby into such a cruel, tainted and unforgiving world. There was so much good, but there was also so, so much hate. That cold, relentless hatred robbed people of their loved ones. She had seen the loss and felt the grief too many times to count. Life had chewed her up and spat her back out with a fear of loving and being loved. It was what had kept her at arms-distance from Harry for so long – the all-consuming worry that if she allowed herself to love him and he to love her, she would only end up losing him. Because there seemed to be something about her that made it so that everyone she got remotely close to ended up dying. So whilst protecting her own heart, she had also been trying to protect Harry's life. She already loved this child fiercely with all her heart, so she knew that it would absolutely destroy her if she were to ever lose it.

Rationally, she knew that she should tell Harry; that it was unfair to keep him in the dark about this. Yet at the same time, she did not want to burden him when he was already so stressed about the plane. Witnessing the man she loved breaking down earlier had broken her already fragile heart and shaken her to her core. Harry had always been the strong one – the pillar, the defender and the fighter who stood unnerving and unmoved at the helm of the great warship that was Section D. Yet most people could not see the lover that hid underneath the tough exterior. The vulnerability that even she sometimes forgot. The dear man had set aside his own grief after her attack to take care of her and the baby and she had already been so selfish in allowing him to do so. Now it was time to devote herself to supporting him, starting with stopping Zykov's bomb. If only the pain would let up for a minute.

Amidst the messy maelstrom of her thoughts, she heard the kettle coming to boil in the kitchen, and realised that Harry would be back shortly. Ruth took several long, deep breaths, and removed her now rather red hand from her mouth. She hid it under the laptop so that the bite marks would not be visible. Wincing once again from another small contraction, she wrapped her other trembling hand around her swollen stomach, hoping to soothe the baby. She couldn't afford to let the true gravity of the situation sink in or she would fall apart completely. Work had always been a great distraction so she tried to busy herself by considering how she and Harry could put themselves into the frame instead of Dimitri. It would be extremely difficult with the limited resources at their disposal; they were hardly equipped to forge photos or documents like they had on the eve of her departure five years ago.

"Ruth." That beautifully soft, silky, reassuring voice suddenly sounded from beside her.

She looked up and jumped, startled by Harry's materialisation. She had been so lost in her head that she had not noticed him coming through from the kitchen, placing the mugs of tea down on the coffee table, and staring at her critically. She loved his eyes… had always loved them. Deep pools of honeyed brown. They made her heart melt and speed up all at once when he stared at her so tenderly. Yet in that moment, she almost couldn't bear his careful scrutiny. It was like those pools of honey could see into her very soul; see the agony she was really in; see that behind the calm exterior she was absolutely terrified of what was about to come.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Harry said, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back as he sat down. He allowed a small gap between them in case she needed that reassuring barrier to gather herself. There was a pause as he continued to stare concernedly at her, opening his mouth once or twice as if thinking of saying something, before ducking out at the last moment. Ruth could not stand it any longer.

"Please don't look at me like that." She whispered, more weary than irritated. She was already so tired and in so much pain.

"Like what?" Harry frowned.

"Like I'm about to shatter into a million pieces."

Harry sighed, gently smoothing out the curled ends of the hair that was splaying across her back. "But I'm worried about you." He admitted, and Ruth wanted to hug him there and then, feeling like the worst person in the world for burdening this dear man when he was already under so much stress. Yes, perhaps it was the right decision to keep quiet for now. She just silently prayed that the baby was okay.

"I'm alright, Harry." She murmured, staunchly refusing to look him in the eye.

"I'm a spook, Ruth," Harry pressed gently. "I know when someone's holding something back."

Ruth curled the hand that was concealed under the laptop into a fist, riding another wave of hot, searing pain. She couldn't… wouldn't lie to Harry. Their relationship had been forged among secrets – such was the nature of the job – but not lies. She could never lie to him. All she could do was brush off his concern and keep him focused on the plane until that bomb had been diffused.

"I'm… I'm alright." She insisted, this time just as much to reassure herself.

"Ruth, I've seen you wincing every five minutes. You're in pain." He emphasised urgently. "Is it the baby?"

"Harry, David Rawle could call back at any moment." Ruth reminded him, trying to retain some semblance of calmness and dignity. "That plane is our priority right now."

"You are my priority, Ruth." Harry argued, becoming slightly frustrated that his concerns were going unanswered. "You and our child. And if something is wrong with either of you, I would like to know."

And with that one endearing statement, which held so much love and earnest, Ruth was powerless to stop the tears which had already been threatening to well in her eyes. Perhaps the cause was rooted in pregnancy hormones and the pain she was in, or maybe it was an intense reaction to the stress they were currently under, or even the absolutely overwhelming thought of impending motherhood. Or perhaps it was a combination of all three which, on top of Harry's softly-spoken declaration, caused a single tear to fall unchecked down her pale cheek.

"Hey," Harry soothed, his voice decrescendoing down into a tender whisper. He drew her into his arms, kissing her temple gently, before glancing down to examine Ruth's frighteningly sickly face where it was half-hidden in his shirt. "Hey, come on, sweetheart."

But the kindness and infinite gentility in his tone only served to make her tears fall harder, until gradually she was sobbing helplessly in his arms, leaving Harry not only extremely worried, but wondering just where it had all gone wrong. Only an hour previously, Ruth had been calm and collected, with that steely determined glint in her eye as she talked Pyotr Sokolov round. Now she was quivering like a frightened child against his chest, leaving him with absolutely no doubt that something was indeed wrong. Ruth's mind began to vacillate rapidly between the two choices – she did not want to put the man she loved under any more strain, but when he was being so sweet and when she desperately needed the support, it was so tempting to just admit that she was convinced she was in the early stages of premature labour; that something was wrong with their precious child. While they were fugitives in hiding. While there was a terrorist threat hanging over them. While they were probably going to have to leave the country to avoid lifetime imprisonment. It was no use. Her resolved slipped completely and she slowly pulled herself back from Harry's embrace, opening her mouth to tell him.

However, fate seemed to have other ideas, because at that precise moment the burner phone began to ring shrilly from the coffee table. Harry and Ruth just froze, both shifting their gazes to stare dumbly at the phone. Harry was the first to recover, and despite knowing that he had to take the call, he could not help but inwardly curse it. Ruth had been about to let her carefully erected walls down and let him in, and Rawle had apparently chosen this moment to call back. Typical. He huffed out an aggravated sigh, eyes sliding back to Ruth. However, she had turned away from him and was quickly scrubbing her hands across her reddening face, studiously avoiding his eyes and looking incredibly ashamed of falling apart. His heart went out to her, and he placed a gentle hand on her knee.

"Ruth – " He called softly, so softly, but she shook her head and he could almost see her reconstruct the walls around her, brick by careful brick.

"It's… it's fine, Harry." She murmured, though she sounded anything but. "Answer it. It'll be David Rawle. Send a message to Dimitri and let him know it's time."

"But –"

"Please, Harry." Ruth whispered, finally meeting his gaze with red-rimmed yet decidedly determined eyes. "Let's just put a stop to this once and for all."

Her hand came to rest on top of his, squeezing with a gentle, carefully measured pressure that only Ruth could get just right. The sheer devotion with which she looked at him almost made him want to start crying again himself. Despite clearly feeling absolutely awful, Ruth was giving her silent vow that she would be there by his side throughout this intolerable ordeal, whatever the outcome.

"Okay." He eventually relented, squeezing her hand in return and reaching with his other for the phone. He accepted the call and paused to allow the person on the other end to speak first.

"Harry? It's done." He could have sighed with relief when he identified Rawle's voice on the other end, and processed exactly what it was that the man was telling him.

"Zykov is immobilised?"

"Yes, for my sins." Rawle replied sounding incredibly heavy-hearted and world weary. Harry could empathise; he knew the feeling.

"David, thank you." He said in earnest.

"You know, I'm not sure drugging a Russian passenger is quite following the ethos of the very Anglo-Russian Partnership that I'm supposed to be supporting." Rawle spoke casually, in an almost conversational tone, however the slight tremor in his voice betrayed how shaken he actually was.

"Yes, but that Russian passenger is a terrorist." Harry reminded him softly, knowing that this would be the only small comfort he could give to a man who was unused to restraining and removing threats for a living.

"Oh yes, I'm only having to remind myself of that every second or so." Rawle replied sarcastically.

"Have you got the bomb?"

"I have the case containing the bomb." Rawle corrected him nervously. "I'm not sure it's such a clever idea to open it."

"You'll have to open it, I'm afraid, David," Harry explained regretfully. "It's the only way we're going to know what type of device we're dealing with."

Over the loudspeaker function, both Harry and Ruth heard Rawle swear and gulp audibly.

"But what if it's triggered to go off when the case is opened?" He asked, sounding nothing short of terrified.

"It's… unlikely." Harry knew it was a bare-faced lie, and he could tell from the sideways glance Ruth shot him that she knew it too, but it was a risk they would all have to take. They could not just leave the case untouched when the bomb was primed to detonate in only a short amount of time. And it would only panic Rawle to know that roughly half of baggage-laden incendiary devices went off when exposed to the oxygen of the air. Perhaps David Rawle knew it was a lie also, because there was a very lengthy pause. However, after a while the politician seemed to regain his sense of urgency regarding the situation, and took the gamble, muttering grimly:

"Alright then. Here goes."

The sound of metal clasps being carefully snapped back reverberated through the phone, and both Harry and Ruth held their respective breaths, clinging to each other's hands as they waited, praying that an explosion would not come. It seemed that their prayers were finally being answered when indeed, no explosion came. They heard Rawle heave an enormous sigh of relief too, only to have his breath catch in his throat as he presumably caught sight of the device.

"Okay… okay I can see it." He said hoarsely, and Harry was impressed at how unfazed Rawle was overall. Braver souls than him would quake in the face of a ticking time bomb. "Oh bloody hell."

"What?" Harry asked, his heart jumping in his throat.

"Nothing specifically." Rawle amended. "Just… bloody hell, I'm staring at a bloody bomb."

"Describe it to me, David." Harry encouraged, in a bid to keep the other man focused so that they could identify the device.

"Cylindrical. It's a metal cylinder, connected by lots of red wires to what looks like a fuse, some kind of battery, and a mobile phone."

Harry frowned, trying to assemble the picture in his head, but unable to do so amidst the pressure he was feeling. Ruth seemed to sense his frustration because after only a beat, she said calmly into the speaker:

"Mr Rawle, does your phone have a camera function?"

"What? Err… yes." "Okay, good. Please take a photo of the device and sent it to this number. We have a man who will be able to identify it and tell us how we can stop it."

Rawle did not respond, but from the other end of the line they heard him fumbling with the phone, and then a snapping sound confirmed that he had taken the picture as requested. Just a beat later, the burner phone Dimitri had given them beeped, and Harry brought up the photo Rawle had dutifully sent. The politician's description of the device had been pretty accurate, but Harry's knowledge of Improvised Explosive Devices did not stretch to newer Russian models, and he knew he would need Dimitri's assistance.

"Alright, hang tight, David." Harry said bracingly. "I'm going to get a message to our man, send him this photo and see what he has to say. I'll call back as soon as I can."

"I'll be here." Rawle sighed reluctantly, clearly not happy about being left to his own devices with a ticking time bomb, even if only for a little while. Harry could not blame him. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."


"Somebody give me something good." Bilberry called, striding purposefully across the Grid from what Dimitri still viewed as Harry's office. "Namely a lead on Pearce and Evershed."

The slimy temporary Section Head ran an oily hand through his already greasy hair, betraying how stressed he actually was in spite of his outwardly calm façade. Dimitri almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He knew all too well the pressure of getting results for Towers and Ilya Gavrik, and could – at least to some degree – sympathise with Bilberry's desire to impress, even if the man was as bent as a cast-iron crowbar. His greying hair had gradually been gathering more and more lacquer as the day progressed and no new leads came in regarding Harry and Ruth. Of course, that probably had something to do with the dozen false paper trails Calum had laid out after hacking into a hefty proportion of Central London's CCTV – something which he wasn't about to let either Dimitri or Erin forget in a hurry, as he had deemed it 'some of my best work'. Every time an analyst grew close to finding the correct trail, one of Calum's diversions had them bouncing off in completely the wrong direction.

"CCTV shows a car with the licence plate matching that described by Ilya Gavrik near Camden at 7:12pm yesterday evening, but after that we have no new leads at present, sir." One young analyst piped up, almost fearfully, from her desk.

She had every right to be scared: only an hour earlier, another analyst had given Bilberry misinformation (inconspicuously fed through by Calum) that led to CO19 storming what turned out to be a community centre, containing fifteen elderly women in the throes of an afternoon yoga session. One of them had a pacemaker and nearly had a heart attack there and then. Bilberry had fired the poor analyst who had produced that information. Thankfully, it seemed the slimy Section Head had managed to reign his temper in slightly since then, because all he did was glower at the young woman before snapping:

"Well keep searching and get me a new bloody lead then!"

He stopped short when he noticed Erin sitting at her desk, pretending to stare dreamily into space. It had been Dimitri's idea, and at first she had been none-too happy about it, but at least it kept up the pretence about what they had been doing in their time off the Grid. Indeed, her acting seemed to be very effective, because Dimitri watched a lewd smirk cross over Bilberry's nasty features. The suggestive look he was giving her, and the way he was eyeing the tops of her breasts which were peeping through her undone blouse, made him want to march over to the older man, give him a right hook to the jaw and shove him in the recycling bin. Unfortunately, that would rather give the game away, and Dimitri knew better than to let sentimentality ruin the operation he had been working hard on for months now. He struggled with himself for a second, quelling the ugly rearing head of jealousy, before twisting his lips into an equally crude smile, just in time to match Bilberry's as he the man inclined his head to meet Dimitri's gaze. However, as his eyes rested on Calum, whose desk was beside Dimitri's, his ugly smile contorted into a nasty grimace. His wonky bottom teeth were visible as he bared his teeth in a near growl whilst approaching the young man's desk.

"Mr Reed, what exactly do you think you are doing?"

There wasn't a great deal Calum could say in response considering he was doing absolutely nothing. He was reclining in his chair, with his muddied shoes up on the desk, throwing a ping pong ball from hand to hand and whistling quietly to himself.

"I'm running a scan on our firewalls." He said, rolling his eyes and speaking slowly in an obvious tone, as one would when communicating with a five-year-old. "Checking to see where the virus slipped through so I can repair it. That way, we can't be hit by any more. Standard MI5 procedure."

Both Dimitri and Calum could practically see the cogs turning in Blockhead Bilberry's mind as he tried to process what had been said, and try to find some sort of fault with it.

"Check the Security Policy if you don't believe me." Calum shrugged casually, throwing his ball up in the air and catching it with ease.

"I don't much care for your attitude." Bilberry snapped, his cheeks bypassing the usual scarlet red and fast-forwarding to an alarming shade of puce. That combined with his ugly mahogany suit made him distinctly comparable to a gone-off cherry. "Fair enough on the scan, but can you not be doing something useful whilst it is taking place?"

"What? Like finding Harry and Ruth?" Calum asked bluntly, direct and to the point as always.

"Yes." Bilberry spat, a piece of saliva flying into Calum's face. "Precisely that. It is what you are paid for."

Calum wrinkled his nose in disgust, wiped his face with his sleeve and stared Bilberry squarely in the eyes. "I didn't realise I was paid to turn in my friends."

"You are when your friends are wanted terrorists."

"I refuse to believe Sir Harry Pearce and Ruth Evershed are terrorists." Calum answered, quite calmly, but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Bilberry slammed his hands down on Calum's desk, shoving the younger man's feet off the surface and snarling, "Well you better start believing it, because it is the truth!"

Dimitri watched the scene unfold with both interest and trepidation. It was touching, really, how loyal Calum had come to be to Harry and Ruth, especially considering how self-serving and arrogant he had been on arrival to the Grid. Of course, he was still unbearably arrogant, but his heart was clearly in the right place. However, Dimitri wasn't entirely sure what Calum was hoping to achieve by winding up Bilberry. Just as he was catching Erin's startled eye, who blatantly had no more clue about Calum's motives than he did, Dimitri felt a slight buzzing in his pocket and withdrew his phone. He snuck a glance at the screen under his desk. It was a text message containing only a few words, but holding very significant meaning.

How much lemon is needed for a Drizzle Cake?

Lemon. That was the code word, which meant that somehow the bomber had been disabled and now the bomb needed to be diffused. Yet the only way he help with that was by getting off the Grid. How was he going to manage that when Bilberry was hardly even letting people out to relieve their bladders, such was his state of frustration?

"The truth?" Calum spluttered loudly. "I'll be the first to admit that I don't exactly know what is true anymore. But I do know that I don't sell out my friends – not like Admiral Pretty Boy, over there."

Dimitri's head shot up as he heard his nickname being mentioned, and he narrowed his eyes to focus intently on Calum. What was the techie playing at? And then he saw it. A meaningful glance flashed his way within half a split second that made everything clear. Calum was, albeit very haphazardly, giving him a way out. He just had to play along and see where this particular trail of breadcrumbs led. Dimitri rose from his seat and approached Calum, looming over the other man dangerously.

"What did you call me?" He demanded in a perilously quiet tone. He felt Bilberry shift nervously beside him. Due to being fast-tracked from desk position to desk position all his life, he was unused to (and apparently uncomfortable with) actual physical, face-to-face conflict. The man really was a weasel.

Calum did not flinch and looked stoutly up at Dimitri, folding his arms complacently across his puffed out chest, "You heard me. Admiral Pretty Boy. All looks, no substance and especially no bloody loyalty."

Dimitri did not know how Calum was anticipating this would turn out, but he followed through with his natural response to seize hold of the other man's shirt with his good hand, pulling him towards his face so that their noses were mere inches apart.

"Harry Pearce is a traitor to his country." He snarled in what he hoped was a convincing voice when his own words made him feel sick to his stomach. "He and Ruth Evershed have gone rogue, whether you choose to believe it or not. Pearce shot me in the bloody arm! Does that describe the actions of an innocent man?!"

The whole Grid had gone quiet, everyone silently watching the exchange. Bilberry was looking increasingly uncomfortable, as if he wanted to break up the conflict, but was not quite brave enough to do it. Calum shoved Dimitri away from him, standing and snapping back with equal fervour, "It describes the actions of a man fighting for his freedom! And perhaps he should have shot you somewhere else. Maybe that might help deflate your enormous ego!"

Dimitri swiftly punched Calum in the abdomen, as softly as he could manage without it looking suspicious, just stopping short of hitting his solar plexus. The other man was temporarily winded, inducing a number of splutters, and causing him to hunch over in order to regain his breath. He did so impressively quickly, so much so that Dimitri was unprepared for the very real and very painful punch to the jaw. He felt his bottom lip burst open as it made sharp contact with his top teeth, and he tasted blood as it gushed into his mouth and down the front of his shirt.

"You bastard!" He roared, this time genuinely meaning the insult. At least he had had the good grace to give the other man a soft punch! It was unlikely Calum would even bruise, so was busting Dimitri's lip open when his arm was already in plaster really necessary? Dimitri swallowed a mouthful of blood and made to lunge at Calum, who actually went wide-eyed with terror. He could talk a good game, but he was no match for Dimitri with his SBS training. Fortunately, the two opponents were saved from inflicting any further injuries by Erin who, having worked out what they were doing, ran forward and held Dimitri back, making a great show of rubbing a soothing hand across his chest.

"Easy! EASY!" She bellowed when Calum made to charge at Dimitri instead. He stopped still, his arms dropping limply by his sides, panting heavily with the exertion of the hit he had just made. "What are you two playing at?! She demanded, whilst Bilberry exhaled in relief, obviously glad not to have to involve himself in the conflict. "This is no time to start scrapping like teenagers!"

"Ask your lapdog!" Dimitri growled, still genuinely a little bit put out.

"Listen Pretty Boy, I'm nobody's lapdog." Calum snarled. "And I just don't like how you've turned on Harry and Ruth."

"They're pulling the wool over your eyes." Dimitri snapped, hoping this charade would end soon; he had a bomb to stop.

Erin stepped in between the two men, softening her gaze and speaking calmly to Calum with words she had rehearsed in her head for at least the last hour. "Look, I don't want to believe it of Harry and Ruth either, Cal. But let's look at the evidence – poor Di was shot, Minister Gavrik and the Home Secretary are witnesses to their own abduction." Calum opened his mouth to object, but Erin pressed forwards. "Look, I'm not saying that they're guilty for sure. I'm saying: let's do our job, compile the evidence and find out the truth." She estimated these to be the right words to say in front of Bilberry: they were ambivalent enough to still be unsure of Harry and Ruth's guilt, but showed an inclination to trust Dimitri's word – after all he was supposed to have buttered her up.

Calum heaved in a heavy breath and exhaled an equally weighty sigh. "Fine." He relented, still keeping up the façade by glaring at Dimitri. He looked moodily at Bilberry, "What do you want me to do?"

Bilberry looked momentarily stunned at Erin's ability to keep the officers in rank, as well as slightly smug that Dimitri had, to at least some lesser degree, turned her.

"Oh," He cleared his throat gruffly. "Oh, I want you to work on the traffic cam footage from Camden, and find me a list of people Pearce or Evershed might know nearby who could be harbouring them."

Calum glared once more at Dimitri, then at Erin, who added warningly, "Do your job, Calum."

Only she, Calum and Dimitri knew that that particular phrase probably meant issuing more false paper trails to lead people away from Harry and Ruth. Slumping in his seat, Calum made a big show of getting up the traffic cam footage, allowing Erin to turn her attention to Dimitri and Bilberry.

"Di, why don't you go to a bathroom and get yourself cleaned up?" She indicated the patches of scarlet on his shirt and sling, and the blood that was still dribbling from his damaged lip. She glanced at Bilberry for support who yielded quickly.

"Yes, go on." He permitted, nodding for Dimitri to step past him towards the pods. The two burly guards still stood there lauding it over the people entering and exiting the Grid. "Let him through." The slimy man called to them, and Dimitri fought to not flash them a satisfied smile as they allowed him to pass between them untouched. He kept his facial features grim and straight until he reached the men's toilets. There, he turned the taps on to create sufficient background interference in case anyone was listening. He shut himself into a stall and checked his phone. In the time it had taken to carry out the unconventional and rather painful escape, he had received another text – an image document. Sucking his sore lip, he opened it up and almost choked:

"Shit!"

Hope that was okay. I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can. Next up - will they manage to diffuse the bomb? Thank you for reading and reviewing. All the best xx