A/N: My apologies for the delay in updating - the RW caught up with me and demanded my undivided attention for a while, when all I wanted to do was write! Life can be so cruel…anyway, here's the Next Bit, without any further ado – Airgead ;)

In one of my dreams, Ruth and I are swimming in a warm, aquamarine ocean; the silken tropical water is soft against my skin as, unhampered by my usual wretched lung capacity, I dive down to the white, sandy seabed to pick up a pearl. It is as large as a gull's egg, and about the same shape. It feels heavier than it looks as I swim with it up through the scintillating, sparkling waters to where Ruth floats, her hair adrift on the surface like a mermaid's mane, the deep sapphire sky above us cloudless. We could be in Tahiti, perhaps, or the Seychelles – somewhere hot, and sundrenched, and secluded...somewhere far from the Grid, where no-one knows who we are, nor what we do. Breaking the surface next to her, I gently nestle the pearl between Ruth's breasts as she lies in the water, eyes almost closed against the bright, pure sunlight of the tropics. Her mouth curves up in a smile as she feels the smooth, cool pearl on her skin, then she slowly cracks an eye wider to investigate my offering. She reacts as if I have coiled a coral sea-snake on her chest: both eyes fly open as with a gasp of horror, she seizes the pearl and flings it away, far across the water, before she turns to swim into shore, leaving me filled with bafflement and dismay. I begin to swim after her, but she is too fast; by the time I have gained the shallows, she has vanished from the blindingly white coral sand of the beach, her small footprints the only evidence that she was there at all. Panicky now, I begin to trot after her, following the footprints; I cannot see her, but from somewhere in front of me, I can hear a sharp tapping noise, like the sound of a coconut being opened; or the sound of a fist knocking on wood… The world seems to tip and tilt then, making no sense at all, as in my ear I can quite clearly hear Ruth say, "Malcolm? Malcolm! There's somebody at the door…"as she shakes me awake.

The knocking continues as I roll out of bed groggily, search round for a dressing gown, and stumble to the door, blushing as I remember the events of last night which had their genesis there. Ruth, meanwhile, flees to the bathroom, gathering her discarded clothing as she goes, and as I stare at the back of the door, gathering the courage to face my worst fear (still knocking inexorably, and with slightly more force), I can hear water running behind me. I curl my toes into the carpet to steady myself, take a couple of deep breaths like a free-diver before descending to the depths, and inch the door open a crack, still on the chain. As if a flimsy safety chain is going to save us, I think in despair, and then I stare in disbelief at the face which is revealed on the other side, looking back at me with a distinctly jaundiced eye. Danny?!

So great is my relief and amazement, that for a moment I can't think what to do, nor why Danny is here, as I gape at him like a landed fish, mouth moving soundlessly. Danny rolls his eyes impatiently and says sharply, "Open the door, and let me in. I can't talk to you from out here," and when I continue to stare at him, unmoving, he reaches in, and with a practised move, flicks the chain off the catch and pushes past me into the room. Feeling as if I have woken from one dream only to fall straight into another nightmare, I close the door and follow him.

Standing in the centre of the room, Danny casts a curious eye about, noting the wreckage of sheets, duvet and pillows tumbled about the king-sized ensemble, the trail of my evening clothes still scattered where Ruth dropped them as we moved towards the bed, my overnight bag (Ruth, mercifully quick-witted as ever, seems to have taken hers with her into the bathroom). Now that I'm properly awake, I become aware of the unmistakable musky scent still hanging in the air, and edge over towards a window to let some air in. Danny shakes his head, having come to the exact set of conclusions that any field officer would reach when presented with such a scene, and for a moment his air of urgency and annoyance vanishes as he looks at me with a man-to-man grin, the first he has ever given me. "I didn't think you had it in you, Malcolm. Who's the lucky girl?" I redden to the roots of my hair, and he shakes his head. "No, on second thoughts, don't tell me – believe me, if you can manage to keep your private life private, so much the better for you. There's got to be some part of your life that they don't know about, don't think they can just walk into and rearrange any time they like, right?" and in that sentence, I hear once more the younger man's regret and disappointment over losing Zoe. I pull the dressing gown more tightly around me and finally manage to ask, "Why are you here?" Danny straightens from picking something up off the carpet near the bed, which he is looking at in puzzlement as he turns to face me. I am glad the light from the window is behind me, casting my face into shadow, as I register what he is holding in his hand. A small, square metallic object, gleaming dully in the sunlight…

My first thought is, So that's where it got to, and the next is, What on earth is Ruth doing with our prized Tessina 35 miniature camera, the one Lucas took from a Russian agent, as a junior field officer? Danny holds the tiny device out to me, and stepping forward, I take it and slip it into my pocket, nodding my thanks, striving for normalcy even as my heart batters my ribs and all the fresh air coming in through the window seems to elude me. Frowning, his earlier tone of annoyance returning, Danny answers, "You didn't answer a red flash. Six flagged up something last night from their man in Kabul, some chatter to do with a new terror cell operating out of Baghdad. Six has intel that they might be planning something major here soon, a retaliatory strike, and they've just advised us that several suspected members of the group are en route for the UK – somehow, they let them slip off the watch-list, so now Five has to clean up, as usual. We have to get out of here and back to the Grid ASAP. Harry's waiting – he wants his senior officers on this, not the relief staff. We can't get hold of Ruth, either – she's not answering her phone, and she's not where she said she would be in the off-duty contact register – he already sent a car round, but she's not at home. He's really beginning to worry about her…"

At these words, Ruth emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed in skirt and blouse, the diamond pendant winking at her throat, not a hair out of place, and I have the rare and not totally unamusing experience of seeing Danny Hunter do a double-take worthy of one of the Marx Brothers, while he simultaneously gropes for words to express the enormity of his surprise at this unexpected development. All three of us stand and stare at each other, Ruth blushing under Danny's shocked scrutiny, until she finally says, "Please don't tell Harry," her eyes pleading with her friend. Danny snorts incredulously, before recovering his poise, and his next words are laced with contempt, as he spits out, "So, I see you're making sure that you're not going to end up bitter and broken, then, Ruth." The words have a familiar ring to them, but in the increasingly tense atmosphere in the room, I am finding it difficult to think straight, let alone recall past conversations. There's no point in denying that we spent the night together; the whole room is testament to it, and besides, Danny is sharp when it comes to reading how people are with each other; it's part of what makes him so good at his job.

I realise I am holding my breath as I wait for Ruth to respond; instinctively, I understand that while I am part of the situation in which we now find ourselves, I am not a participant in this particular conversation. Ruth's eyes flick briefly to mine, and in them I read her wish for me to leave them alone for a moment. Nodding imperceptibly, I disappear into the bathroom with relief, carrying my overnight bag with me, just as Ruth begins to speak, her voice pitched too low for me to hear; not so the case for Danny's indignant, "What's going on, Ruth…tell me you're not seriously with Malcolm?!" I inadvertently slam the door in my haste to escape before any more unflattering aspersions are cast my way, and sit down on the edge of the bath, my head reeling from the cumulative effects of the events of the last day, as I struggle to regain some semblance of control over my shaking body and quaking heart. Digging my hands into the deep pockets of the hotel's dressing gown in an attempt to stop them trembling, my fingers close on the tiny, solid weight of the Tessina, only slightly chunkier to the touch than a woman's powder compact, and at once my mind focuses on it as something concrete, something tangible to consider and analyse. Something real…

I had noticed it missing when I did an inventory check a couple of weeks ago, and had quizzed the field staff; no-one had taken it – most of them had never even seen it. A few things have been going missing lately, I muse…this, a couple of small surveillance devices, and most costly of all, one of our three microdot readers…Colin and I will just have to upgrade internal security again, I note resignedly, and then I wonder again why Ruth would even have something like this in the first place. Surely she couldn't have been on an operation last night? Harry, even in his wildest dreams, would never have sent someone like Ruth, unskilled in field work, into the waiting maw of Toad Hall. And what should I do with the camera, now that I have it? I turn the problem over in my mind, looking at it from different angles, but in the end I decide that the only thing to do is to return the camera, and wait to see what Ruth does next.

I see that her oversized patent leather holdall is still hanging from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, and I gingerly take it down, using a towel wrapped around my fingers so as not to leave any prints, then I carefully lift out her dress from last night, still as glossy as a newly cast-off snake's skin (although Ruth may have been dressed as finely as Titania herself last night, I doubt that I was any match in splendour, as was Oberon to his queen) and with the greatest delicacy, wincing in distaste at the task I have set myself, I feel through the folds of fabric until I find the tiny, concealed pocket under the left armhole, and slip the camera back in. It must have fallen out when I undressed Ruth, last night. I replace the garment, exactly as I found it, and hang the bag back up. Doing so is an act of complete trust on my part: I have no idea what Ruth had the Tessina for, or what images she may have captured with it, if any, but when I imagine her reaction at the realisation that she has lost an irreplaceable and unique (and unsigned for) bit of field kit, I cannot bring myself to be the author of such distress. Besides, I've been a spook too long, not to be curious to know what she will do next…Ruth, my love, what are you up to? And why?

Somehow, thinking about, and then returning, the camera has calmed me, and I am able to refocus on the more pressing matter at hand. We need to get going, if Harry's waiting on the Grid. Glancing at the clock on the vanity shelf, I register that it is 1.15pm with amazement. We must have slept the sleep of Morpheus, after the last time we… Turning on the shower, I force my mind back to the present, to the news that there is yet another threat to deal with, yet another mass of ever-shifting intel to analyse and sift through, yet another deluge of data to process, and somehow still come out ahead of the opposition, all within ever-shrinking timeframes; my stomach clenches at the thought, and I dial the hot water up as high as I can bear it, trying to wash away the surging anxiety I feel, not only about the upcoming operation, but also for Ruth and me. I can't imagine how we can escape now that our cover has been blown…

While coming to this conclusion, there are two factors that I overlook, both of which become clear as soon as I step back into the room, ten minutes later, dressed and ready to go. One is the power of Ruth's ability to persuade others to her point of view, and the other is the depth of Danny's disaffection with the Service in general, and his disillusionment with Harry in particular. The two of them are standing by the window, still in conversation, until Ruth hears my footfall behind her and turns around, giving me a reassuring smile, as she removes her hand from Danny's upper arm, where it had been wrapped as she made an emphatic final point; Danny nods abruptly, as if to conclude their discussion, and then looks me hard in the eye. "OK, so whatever you two do in your own time is off-limits, as far as I'm concerned. I don't give a damn who does what with who, as long as I don't have to come looking for you because you missed an alert. As for Five, from Harry right up to the D-G himself, they can all go to hell before I give them an opportunity to wreck anyone else's personal life…" and with that, he walks out of the room, face sullen, shoulders set against the world. Ruth and I look at each other; it seems too good to be true, that we should be emerging, still together, and relatively unscathed, from Toad Hall, and my thoughts must show on my face as Ruth takes my hand, then stands on tiptoe to whisper,

"If we have unearned luck,

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,

We will make amends ere long…"

before I draw her into one final kiss against the door which started it all, mentally thanking Robin Goodfellow and his ilk for our luck, unearned or not. Ruth, breathless, breaks away first, gasping, "Danny…the Grid…Harry's waiting!" And with that, all three of us take our departure; me, driving alone, and Ruth, travelling with Danny, so as not to arouse suspicion if we were to be seen arriving in the same car at Thames House. She and Danny have hatched some cover story about how he finally managed to get hold of her on her mobile while driving back from fetching me at Havensworth; whatever it is, I know Danny is plausible enough to get away with it, and Ruth too, or so it would seem. As I pull out of Havensworth's wide gravel drive, I can't help but think nervously of the final lines which complete Ruth's earlier quotation, which seem to me to have taken on a new and rather more obscure meaning:

Else the Puck a liar call;

So good night unto you all

Give me your hands, if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends.

Sighing, I point the car towards London, and Thames House, and Harry Pearce…all roads do lead to Rome, after all.

A/N: yes, coral sea snakes do exist, and they are extremely venomous; Tessina cameras likewise exist, although the miniature spy camera of choice is, apparently, the Minox (which was the wrong shape for my purposes, but no doubt an admirable bit of kit); all quotations in this chapter are, of course, from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.