Thank you to all my reviewers. To be honest not much happens in this chapter but I thought a little backstory plus a few loose ends picked up was in order. Not sure when the next will be up as personal circumstances mean not much time to write.

Adam arrived home, preparing to spend his last night for at least a week, more likely ten days, with his wife and son. During the course of their married life he and Fiona had spent nearly as much time apart as they had together. A situation they had learnt to live with, possessing the side advantage of every homecoming feeling like a honeymoon, but now that Wes had reached an age where stability was vital Adam had been hoping that his recent angling for a post in Five had succeeded. Still formally attached to Six, he'd grabbed with alacrity the opportunity to work with Harry Pearce as the precursor to achieving this ambition. Now he had to break the news to Fee that in support of this scheme he had volunteered her to escort Ruth around the various fashion houses that insisted upon by Ros, despite his protests that Fiona needed no advice on the art of dressing expensively. He should know, he had the bills to prove it.

As a matter of policy Adam had taken only a minor role in the Briefing Room discussions. Unlike Ros Myers he preferred to exert some tact when dealing with established staff. As a consequence he was sending up thanks for his prudence. With the possible exception of Harry, Adam judged that Ros had managed to set up the backs of just about everyone around the table. Malcolm had hidden his irritation well, but Adam had noticed a flicker on annoyance at being addressed as if he was an office boy, while Zoe and Danny were clearly stung by the idea that Ros would be top dog, although given that she had unearthed the Intel that was inevitable. She could however have made an effort to be a little more emollient, after all they did all have to work together. Even worse she'd topped off that arrogant attitude by insulting the analyst. And there was another conundrum – few people ever argued with Harry Pearce and yet Ruth Evershed had dared to rebuke him, and in public. Not only had he failed to combust, Adam had noticed that Ros' implied criticism of Ruth's fashion sense had sent a very brief flicker of anxiety across the face of Harry.

Since his own volunteering of Fiona had been an impulse, designed to avoid unpleasantness and spare Ruth being dragged around London by Ms Myers, whom she had obviously taken in dislike, it was possible that Harry had been inflicted with the same concern but …. While this was subject to rumour Adam did recall the various hints and gossip surrounding the sudden removal of Giles Bamford- Smythe from the service. Engineered it was said by Harry Pearce with hints that Ruth and Malcolm had also been enmeshed with whatever had taken place. While kitting Ruth out to be the new bestie of Aaisha Adam wondered if it was just possible that Fiona, warm hearted but devious with it, might manage to worm a few confidences out of the analyst. This wasn't spying, not really, it was simply trying to get the bearings of the web of relationships within his new colleagues.

Hearing Fiona coming down the stairs having put Wes to bed he stood up – as ever she took his breath away with her beauty – and kissed her before whispering into her ear, "Fiona about tomorrow can you…."

In a different part of the town Zoe and Danny, having collapsed in their flat, complete with a carryout and a little light reading, consisting of a huge wad of documents detailing the operational situation, their cover stories, the staff manual for Havensworth and the hotel schematics, were now testing each other, interspersed with conversation about the day, with particular reference to Blond and Blondie. Now off the Grid, with no chance of being overheard, it fell to Danny to say what they both were thinking, "Adam seems okay but who on earth thought the Ros Myers would be acceptable given what her father tried to perpetuate!" Zoe while in agreement produced a reason, "Harry may not have been given a choice by the DG, and anyway you know Harry's motto, "Regnum Defende" whatever the personal cost."

Ruminating on this Danny nodded, "Probably, and true. I've often wondered if Harry has it tattooed on his backside." With the chaser, "Perhaps we could ask Ruth about that?"

"Danny! Ruth's had enough to deal with today."

" – especially Ros Myers' personal comments about her clothes."

"Yes, but much as I hate to admit it Ros probably was right – and at least Ruth isn't lumbered with a uniform. It'll be like being back at school."

"And with Ros as the self appointed head girl."

Malcolm would almost certainly have agreed with that last comment. After the two traumatic months taken to expose Giles Bamford Smythe as a risk to the nation, with the added piquancy of a stalls seat in the Harry and Ruth courtship disaster, he'd much prefer to remain on the Grid with his head buried. Perhaps he could concentrate on developing an algorithm in which the binary of 1 and 1 somehow managed to equate to a 2 that was a 1. This was obviously not a suggestion he made to Harry when at the end of the day they alone of the senior team remained on the Grid. With Ruth for once having left on time, saying little with her lips but darting fury from her eyes, Malcolm had braved Harry's office to suggest that he be excused Havensworth, a notion that had produced a near snarl from Harry, "Why should you alone be exempted from suffering this operation."

"It's just if all the senior team are absent and with Tom still at Tring I…"

Malcolm hadn't been given time to finish, although his reasoning made Harry relax a little, before informing his unusually obdurate techie, "I share your concern but the DG is adamant and has arranged the secondment of Christopher Mathers from C Section to cover as Section Chief for a few days – he's regarded as a promotion prospect so the experience will be good for him."

Malcolm knew better that to argue, especially since he could imagine Harry's private protests to the DG on the matter, although he did remind Harry, "And instructions to cover for my mother.."

"The usual – already in place." With a wry twist of his lips Harry added, a touch unnecessarily in Malcolm's opinion, "And this time your absence really is due to work."

Damping down his private irritation at that comment with consoling thought that Harry was actually envious, Malcolm was still stuck with the problem of explaining an absence yet again to his mother. Having recently sneaked a couple of weekends away with Sarah the prospect of a more prolonged period with Ros bossing everyone, combined with Harry and Ruth biting chunks out of one another lacked appeal. Never mind guarding the wedding guests, it might possibly be the rest of the team who needed to run for cover.

In yet another part of London Ros Myers was also mulling over the day's events. Enclosed within its comfortable surroundings, minimalist to the point of almost sterility, she had discarded the Ice Maiden persona at the front door, from where it would be donned again tomorrow morning, along with her coat, as she headed out to Havensworth. At present, having changed into casual clothes, she was slumped on her sofa, staring at a blank TV screen while sipping a large glass of correctly chilled white wine. A form of self medication with which to dull the remaining stress at the end of a horrendously difficult day, the basic root of which lay in the political tsunami created by the right wind antics of her now imprisoned father.

At the time when he and his playmates had launched their abortive coup she'd been working undercover in Pakistan, ostensibly attached to the embassy as part of a fact finding entourage, while covertly building up a network of assets and contacts. During those turbulent days while her father was trying to circumvent democracy Ros had been in the far flung north of the host country, involved in a mission so delicate that not even the suspicion that she might have been implicated in her father's actions had allowed the Internal Investigations unit to intervene, until she had returned with the delegation to the British Embassy in Islamabad. Hardly had she set foot in the building before she was summoned to the Ambassador, flanked and isolated by two members of the said unit to be advised of events. Aghast she had managed to retain enough poise to inform them, "I had no idea – as you know I've been out of England for the last few months, but I'll submit to an investigation." Whereupon she'd formally surrendered the keys to her rented apartment and mobile phone.

The next few weeks had been unpleasant, spiced by a natural concern for her parents, warring with fury at her father for dumping her in this position. Ros, used to being on the other side of the interrogation table when grilling suspects, was all too aware that ignorance was not a defence, even when it happened to be true. As the details of what her father had attempted were gradually thrown at her she could only hope that her shock was seen for what it was, genuine and appalled. Had it not been for what could euphemistically be described as 'a situation' kicking off in one of the internecine struggles up country, the settling of which had required access to her exclusive contacts and assets, even now she debated whether the outcome of the investigation would have been different. Whatever the reason, after some consultation with the London Headquarters, her superiors had advised her that although she was cleared for work, it was felt that in the interests of her career within the service, while feelings continued to run high over the attempted murder of Harry Pearce - whose Houdini like luck had once again saved him to fight another day - she would remain in post in Pakistan until her father had been brought to trial. An event that Ros well aware would take years as she reconciled herself to placing an online order for industrial quantities of sunblock. And so it might have been until last month, when an asset had smuggled out the information regarding the health of Rashid senior, which the MI6 analysts judged had the potential for a further upheaval inimical to Her Majesty's interests. Conclusions that had resulted in her recall to London and an interview with the DG.

At least Dolby had greeted her warmly, "How are you Ros? And thank you for that information."

Wary of this bonhomie, which implied to Ros's suspicious mind that she was being softened up for something she would hate, her reply was strictly professional with just a touch of bite. "Only doing my job. When I was finally allowed to return to it."

The DG nodded before answering in a voice infused with what may or may not have been a spurious sympathy, "It was in your interests that no one could throw mud, especially with the next operational stage due to the Intel you have provided."

A statement that was as clear to Ros as the mud he'd just referenced. So she settled for silence, on the basis that he would presumably explain in his own time.

"We need to monitor this marriage and since it has implications for Six but is taking place in Five's sphere a joint operation will be undertaken to ensure that no incidents arise either here or later when the couple return to Pakistan." Pausing to allow her to digest this he continued, "So I'm seconding you, with Adam Carter – I believe you are acquainted him?"

Oh God, Mr Smooth and Charming, the golden boy of MI6. "Very slightly."

"Good. You will both be attached to Section D for the duration of the operation."

What…..not Harry Pearce's section, of all the Section Heads….. Silently screaming Ros was thankful that over the years she'd disciplined her face to the express the feelings required, rather than those she actually possessed, otherwise she'd been stuttering with horror. Perhaps she hadn't quite succeeded as the DG reassured her, "Not ideal I know considering, er… recent events but Harry Pearce has extensive past experience in Six and I can assure you that he is not a man who puts personal considerations before the nation. "

Ros, while trying to hide her scepticism at the notion that she and the man who her father had attempted to eliminate by a particularly gruesome method, could work together didn't have time to voice her apprehensions before the DG's phone rang and she heard him state, "Send him in. " Followed by the immediate appearance of the man himself.

The DG wasted no time in performing the introductions, "Ah Harry I believe you haven't met Ros Myers."

An appraising stare that Ros recognised would have matched her own in similar circumstances preceded the wry statement, "I've had the pleasure of dealings with her father."

With that over Dolby had wasted no time in dismissing them, "Very well. Adam Carter is waiting below and I've put a room at your disposal so Ros can expand on the Intel available."

The meeting that followed had been conducted on strictly professional lines although Ros was conscious of Harry Pearce constantly trying to assess and judge. He didn't need to say a word to make her realise that she was strictly on trial here. To be fair though he hadn't seemed to favour Adam Carter either, and the questions he asked were the ones she had expected would be posed. After that it had been onto the Grid and the meeting with the rest of the team where, whatever reservations Harry Pearce possessed about having her pitchforked into his department, were concealed behind an aura of public support. Overall at the conclusion of the briefing Ros had been forced to pay tribute to Harry Pearce's staff selection and his ability to weld such disparate individuals as Malcolm, whom she pegged as a middle aged loner, the double act of Zoe and Danny keen but still slightly raw around the edges, and the hippy, slightly shabbily dressed Ruth into a close knit team. No wonder her father had considered him dangerous prospect. With his unswerving loyalty to the crown combined with that indefinable charisma he could well have mounted a formidable opposition to the projected dictatorship.

In some ways thought the man was a puzzle. How did he do it? He was balding, overweight, sarcastic and yet his team clearly admired him – the only person in the room who had showed any inclination to argue with him being Ruth. And that was the further riddle, why did he expend on her a degree of tolerance in a situation in which many a more forceful personality would have quailed or been alienated for making the same objections? And what of the Giles Bamford-Smythe affair referred to and hastily shut down by Harry Pearce? What bearing did that have on the Grid dynamics? At least that provided a more satisfactory puzzle to sleep on, rather than wondering if she would ever manage to regain the trust of the service that her father had tried to neuter. Along with the more immediate poser to be faced tomorrow of how she could work alongside a team who had clearly taken her is dislike, while showing clear signs of fawning around Adam bloody Carter, who had produced his trophy wife as a trump card, earning gratitude all around, while she remained pilloried and mud slung, thanks to the efforts of her father.

The woman whose relationship with Harry was a source of much puzzlement and off grid debate was sitting in her own flat in a pose almost mirroring that of Ros. The main differences being that Ruth's environment was littered with books and papers, some of which had been scattered onto the floor by the prowling of her cat, the aptly named Fidget. Like Ros her thoughts were far from restful as her mind replayed that meeting, the conclusion of which had left her feeling humiliated and furious with Harry for placing her in the position of being criticised by Ros. That he had expressed the view that in general he found her office clothing acceptable was no comfort, not when he had then supported Ros in agreeing that she should be tricked out like an upmarket hooker on the excuse of operational necessity. And for what? So she could pass on personal confidences on the excuse that she was protecting her long ago friend. Contemplating this she sought wisdom in wine – not Harry's preferred tipple of whisky - damn the man could she never forget him? And that wisdom told her that for the first time she was being forced to confront the actual reality of being a spy. And just six months ago she'd been eager to join Section D! Thinking about her short career within those private walls she wondered if these strains affected everyone – what had years in the service done to Harry…..giving herself a shake she pushed away that thought. Harry was well able to manage such pressures. If she doubted that she just had to recall how he'd seduced her, lied to her, proclaimed his love while sleeping with another woman, and then had the nerve to expect her to continue their relationship, capping those offences by blackmailing her into remaining in Section D. And what was the point of that? Sheer bloody mindedness at being thwarted? So she assumed since he'd never tried to cajole her out of her hurt, although she was well aware of his frequent glances towards her from his office because of the occasions when their eyes met as she looked up at him – purely by accident, she did have to lift her head up from her desk occasionally. Regnum Defende and damn the boss - why did his eyes have to be so mesmerising? While she knew he was over her, otherwise surely he'd have made an approach during those evenings when they alone were on the Grid, she was certainly over him. How dare he publicly dump her for that bitch Ros Myers while forcing her to accompany him into the field - the only good part being that she would have several opportunities to demonstrate how much she hated him.

The Harry himself was, despite the late hour sitting in his glass walled office, with, as anyone who knew him well could have guessed, a half consumed glass of whisky. His ostensible reason was the need to double check Ros's Intel. His staying late had never been a particularly unusual practice, but had become more frequent occurrence since his return from the black operation that had seen his introduction to Ruth. Those few days when they had been lying low, almost literally in his shag pad flat – he'd had a reminder of the world he'd been a stranger to for years, that of something resembling a normal domestic life, other than the minor fact that Ruth had been utterly unaware that she was sleeping with her boss. It had been good, until the full truth had been revealed and Ruth, most unreasonably, had been unable to accept that he'd had good reason not to trust her. Since when, if it was possible to send one's superior to Coventry and other points north while doing her job with a superb level of efficiency, she'd managed to pull off that trick, as effectively as during her weeks of ignorance she'd managed to pull off his clothes. Since Ruth the overly conscientious tended to hang back, often late into the night, he'd begun to wonder if she was doing so deliberately, and more than once, desperate to restore some form of companionship he'd considered suggesting a drink in the hope of at least establishing some form of entente cordiale – in fact he'd settle for an evening that concluded with the existing entente uncordiale if meant the chance to communicate without several interested pairs of eyes and ears observing their interaction. Just one hint of softening on her side would have done - but no - when their eyes met she either looked away instantly or glared. It was only today, when she seemed to have mistaken his politeness to Ros Myers for something more intimate, that he'd begun to wonder whether deep down she was regretting her decision to terminate their relationship. Something he would have capitalised upon, if it were not for the need to remain professional during the next few days – which reminded him - he'd have to text her the address of the cattery in which to immure the feline he understood she'd recently acquired on which to lavish her misdirected affections. God! Had he descended to being jealous of a bloody cat! And when he remembered the feel of Ruth's fingers stroking his body he knew the answer to that one. Unlike the song that proclaimed things could only get better he was dubious. The one thing he hadn't shared, even with Malcolm, was that with Tom unlikely to return to the service Ros and Adam may well be joining Section D permanently. Locking away his papers he prepared to depart, with the intention of grabbing a few hours sleep, in anticipation of the next few days during which as an aside to the main operation he'd also be arbitrating between the Queen of Ice, Ros Myers, who in displacing Ruth's claim to that title had transformed the latter into the Queen of Fire. Not what he normally meant when considering whether all bases had been covered.

Thanks for reading and as ever a review would be appreciated if you have the time.