Disclaimer: Spooks and all its characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.
Author's Note: This is the closing chapter of Aftermath. I hope it's a little of what people expected from me, and I hope it's a little not.
Please leave a Review, as I love to read them. (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)
Aftermath – Chapter Two
Late afternoon soon became late night. The shadows had grown and twisted around the grid, mocking that one stubborn light.
The car had driven up, just like he'd promised. The driver dressed in a stylish black suit, had waited patiently before climbing out and knocking on her front door. She'd watched from the safety of the living room, peering out from behind the curtains. Deciding whether to get in the car or to crawl back into bed with a dozen sleeping pills, a feeble attempt to block out the last 24 hours. It had been a childish thought, although be it a tempting one, and one that she would only despised herself for later.
From the moment she'd set foot on the grid, tension hit her like a blow to the chest. It hung in the air like a rain cloud, waiting to release a torrent. It was a sensation that she could feel with her hands, almost thick enough to pluck from the air.
The gossip had been just as bad, if not worse. Whispered conversations in the corridors and alcoves of the grid. Their eyes following her, watching her every move with some level of scrutiny. Her skin had prickled, the hair on her arms stood on end under their gaze, almost as if it were trying to crawl away from her body.
She hadn't had a moment's peace all afternoon. Her station had been constantly being bombarded with enemy files, everything from surveillance reports that had no place being looked at by an officer of her status to Special Branch assistance requests. Along with the constant threat of questioning from Zaf, she had just about felt ready to offer her resignation.
As it edged towards home time, things had calmed somewhat. The frenzied hearsay had almost disappeared from ear shot, replaced with talks of much needed drinks at the George. Ruth had buried herself in paperwork, hardly giving herself time to think. She had found it so peaceful being on her own. The harsh greys and blues of the grid seemed softer in the fading light. No more fielding question and giving the same tiresome answers. Nothing to cause a distraction. Nothing except that one stubborn light.
She struggled to remember when she'd first noticed it. Somewhere between the Iranians and the Libyans. The soft glow of white, colour leaking from around the edges of the blinds. A shadow pacing the length of the room.
She smiled in spite of herself. They had taken great pains in avoiding each other. Neither of them had even offered a single civil word, yet there she was staring at his office. She wanted desperately to talk to him, even if it was strictly business. Just something, anything to hear him say her name.
It was the last thing she should have thought about, especial after last night. But there was no one on the grid besides them, no one would know besides them. It was more than her job's worth, but ever so tempting. She had to ball her hand into a fist, driving her nails into her palm to stop herself from doing it.
She stared at the little half moon shaped marks she'd made in her palm. Her hand slick with, not blood, but sweat. Her heart hammered in her chest as she raised her hand to the door. The solid, dark wood trembled as she knocked. Each time sounded like a gun shot in an enclosed space. She fought to keep her breathing under control.
His voice came cool, calm and controlled, if not muffled by the door. With one last glance at her now empty station, she slid the door open just enough to slip into the office.
Harry stood on the opposite side of the office, his back flush against the wall. His eyes scanned the carpet, though she doubted he actually saw it, slightly narrowed. He looked up as she slid the door closed. A look passed over his face, almost as if she'd interrupted his chain of though. His expression softened as he looked at her. "What can I do for you Ruth?"
She smiled a smile that she meant to be a frown. A chill ran down her back, raising the hair on her arms. He could shout her name and it would still give her Goosebumps. And then there was that damned question. He'd asked her it twice in the space of four hours. She had got the distinct impression that if she were to ask anything at all, he might just grant it. Not matter what it might happen to be. She leant back against the wall, rubbing a hand up her arm, absently.
The symmetry wasn't lost on either of them. Both at opposite ends of the office, clinging to the walls. They were about as far apart as they could be and still be in the same room.
She had to clear her throat before she could speak. "I saw you pacing," she said, softly. She almost bit her tongue to stop herself from laughing. "Well, you know, in…a good way."
He laughed, quietly, almost to himself. It was good to hear. He had the most tangible laugh she'd ever heard. A sound she could almost feel. Warm and comforting. "And there I was thinking that there was no good way to pace." His tone was oddly playful. After the comments she'd over heard from the rest of the staff, playful was the last thing she had expected. "Off home are we Ruth?"
"Yes, I just came to…"
He cut her off before she drew enough breath to finish the sentence. "To say goodnight?"
"Yes," she said, her voice somewhat stifled.
"Well then better say it, hadn't you?"
Harry could go from being so warm to icy cold in a matter of seconds. She'd seen it before; usually it was directed at some next to useless fanatic with no scruples of his own. Ruth had never wanted it directed at her.
But it was different somehow. His words weren't cold. They held the kind of warmth that came from anger, or frustration.
She wanted to say something to take that tone away from his voice. Anything to bring back the playful quality. Words failed her. "Goodnight Harry."
He nodded, slowly and stepped away from the wall. He walked around the desk, trailing his hand over the glass top. It would have been far easier to walk around the opposite side of the desk; it was just an excuse to be near her. She inhaled a sharp breath as he brushed past her, his suit jacket passed only inches from her bare arm. "Goodnight Ruth." His voice held a hint of bitterness the way it sometimes held anger.
She looked towards the ceiling, and flexed her fingers. It took her a second to relearn how to breathe. Her throat felt as though it had closed over. It even hurt to swallow.
He said her name, almost so softly that she didn't hear it. For a brief moment she thought she imagined it. She turned, expecting to see him seated behind the desk. He was so close, close enough to make her suddenly feel claustrophobic. Harry took her hand. She didn't know if he had pushed her or if she had taken a step back instinctively. Whatever the case, she felt the wall at her back, cold and hard. She stared up into those clear brown eyes, usually so guarded; they were filled with a warmth that she couldn't even begin to describe. They seemed to hold her; she doubted she could have moved even if she wanted to.
A sigh to hard would have closed the gap between them. Ruth wanted desperately to wrap her arms around him, to feel his lips against hers. Her skin itched with it. Her breath came in choking gasps.
A soft pressure, almost like silk brushing her mouth. The moment he'd brought their lips together, her heart skipped a beat. For that second, she was utterly passive against him. It didn't take her long to find the rhythm. She wrapped her hands around his arms; the scratchy material of his shirt bunched between her fingers. His own hand lost in her hair, fingers kneading her scalp.
He pulled away with a small sigh, and rested his forehead against hers. "Oh Ruth."
"Don't," she said, warmly. A small smile of pure adoration played across her softened features. She rested her fingers lightly against his lips. "Don't spoil it."