Today was going to be a battle, Ruth realised. Everyone had been tiptoeing around her all morning, starting with Harry's tentative suggestion that she shouldn't go back to work. She'd insisted she was fine; that she could hardly remember the terrors that had sent her howling into the abyss last night. That, of course, was a lie. She could recall all too vividly the attack of seven years ago – only this time, she had also been shot and left to burn alive amidst rabid flames.
Honestly, she was furious at her subconscious for its betrayal. Rationally, she knew she couldn't help the nightmares. But they hadn't hit her that hard in years – and certainly not in full public view of Catherine, Calum, and poor Lottie. To fall victim to them shortly after returning to work only fuelled the fire of Harry's frustrating inclination to believe her 'fragile'. She hated the concern, the pity, in his eyes. More so, she hated the nagging fear that maybe he was right. Maybe she wasn't as strong as she prided herself in being.
Lottie had been very subdued, and was currently staring at her with wide, owl-like eyes across the kitchen table. Harry and Catherine weren't much better. Ruth felt her cheeks heat, and pointedly nodded to her daughter's untouched toast.
"Lottie, finish your breakfast."
"Mummy?" Lottie asked timidly, taking a reluctant nibble of toast. "Are you okay?"
No.
No, I'm not okay.
It had taken all of her courage to get out of bed that morning. Her hands were still trembling from last night's assault, and her heart was beating so fast she was slightly afraid she was on the verge of some kind of heart attack. But she couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now. And she definitely couldn't admit to her fear. So she smiled and bit numbly into her own toast.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about last night – Mummy was just having a nightmare."
"About the bad man?"
Ruth's heart nearly broke to see the anxiety in her little girl's face. Oh, what kind of a living hell had they dragged her into?
"No, not about the bad man. About…" Ruth cast around the for the most mundane thing she could think of – anything to make her daughter smile again. "Marshmallows."
"Marshmallows?"
"Mm. I dreamt I was being chased by a gigantic one."
Lottie frowned, "But marshmallows aren't scary."
Ruth stuck out her tongue and widened her eyes in a grotesque expression of horror, "If you were being chased by a big squishy thing the size of the Empire State Building, you'd be scared too."
Finally, finally, Lottie smiled.
"Plus," Ruth added truthfully. "Marshmallows are disgusting."
"Marshmallows are delicious!" Harry swooped in. He knew what she was doing, and it was a relief to know that despite his concerns, he would always be there to back her up.
"They taste like sugary polystyrene."
"Eaten a lot of polystyrene, have you?" he teased.
"Marshmallows are delicious!" Lottie argued. "You can have them in S'mores. Jamie and his brother made them when I slept over."
"Well then, next time I'm being chased by a giant marshmallow, you can both save me by eating it."
Lottie giggled and took a much larger bite of her toast. In no time at all, she had polished it off and appeared much cheerier.
"Can I go get ready to see Gray and Jane?"
"Go on then," Harry nodded, collecting the breakfast things and walking towards the sink. "And don't forget to brush your teeth."
Lottie grinned and slid off her chair. She looked set to dash off down the corridor, but stopped suddenly.
"Lottie?" Ruth frowned.
Without warning, the little girl bolted towards her and threw her skinny arms around her neck.
"Aww," Ruth crooned, dropping her toast and scooping her daughter up onto her lap. "My gorgeous girl. What is it? What's the matter?"
"Nothing," the child mumbled into her shoulder. "Just thought you needed a big girl hug."
Ruth smiled and rocked her baby against her chest, "I'll always need a big girl hug."
Lottie stared up at her with big, earnest eyes, "I'm sorry you get nightmares, Mummy."
Ruth had to try very hard not to cry, "I'm only sorry they scare you so much."
"I wasn't scared. Just... next time you dream about the giant Marshmallow, tell them... tell them it's a bonehead, okay?"
Ruth let out a watery chuckle, "What have I told you about using that word?"
"Daddy says it all the time."
"Daddy's a bonehead."
"Hey!" Harry cried indignantly from the kitchen.
Lottie giggled and allowed her mother to kiss her cheek.
"I love you, my beautiful girl," Ruth whispered, stroking a hand through Lottie's chestnut hair. "To the moon and back."
"Love you too, Mummy."
Ruth eased the little girl down from her lap and watched as she sped off down the corridor to her room. Her meagre smile faded as she ran a hand over her tired eyes and allowed her heavy heart the credence it craved.
"Ruth?"
She jumped, surprised to find Harry standing there. He'd evidently finished the washing-up and was now staring at Ruth with marked concern. She knew immediately what he was going to say.
"Don't, Harry."
"Are you sure… about going back?"
"Yes," she muttered, unable to hide the hint of impatience in her voice.
They had already had this conversation three times in the last two hours.
"The state you were in last night…"
"I'm fine."
He eyed her sceptically, "Are you?"
"Yes."
Her hands curled tighter around her coffee mug so that he couldn't see them shaking.
"The job's not worth it if it takes a toll on your mental health."
"It takes a toll on everyone's mental health, Harry. That's the job. You know that."
"But you don't have to do it anymore."
"Yes, I do," she replied, certain of that fact, if nothing else.
"Ruth…"
"How many times do I have to say, 'I'm fine'?!" she snapped.
Harry's mouth, which had been ready in retort, shut abruptly, his lips drawing into a thin, tight line. His jaw twitched as it always did when he was upset, and the hurt in his eyes made her heart squeeze.
You idiot, Ruth.
Arguing with Harry made her stomach churn. It felt wrong; unnatural, like the world had been kicked completely out of orbit. And yet, when she felt like her credibility, her capability was being questioned, she let the walls come up. Harry knew the act well enough, and for all her wild pretence, could undoubtedly see how shaken she was. His concern for her didn't deserve to be met with anger.
She rose from the kitchen table and went to him, soothing a gentle hand over his heaving chest.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know it's because you care. And I love you for it. But I need to do this. I don't think I realised how much until yesterday. I get to do one last op without me fizzling out and being carried down from the rooftop of Thames House like a madwoman."
"You weren't mad. And you didn't fizzle out. You were unwell."
"Harry…" Ruth sighed, glancing up at him with pleading eyes, willing him to understand. "I need to do this. And not just for me. For all of us. For Catherine and Jane."
Harry stared at her, his resolve crumbling bit by bit until he pressed his forehead against hers, "I just can't stand seeing you like that."
"I know."
Truly, she did know. When the roles were reversed and it was she who woke to his harrowing screams, it felt like her heart was splintering into billions of irreparable pieces. The sheer helplessness at not being able to do anything other than hold him; soothe him through the nightmares and pray that he wouldn't remember the horrors in the morning was enough to send her sobbing with him.
"I'm sorry," she added, angry at herself for snapping at him; for making him worry.
"Stop apologising."
It was true. She'd done rather a lot of that this morning. Harry sighed and jerked his head to concede his understanding.
"If you change your mind. If you need me to –."
"Come get me like a weepy schoolgirl?"
"Ruth…"
"Sorry. Yes. I will call you if it gets too much."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Harry gazed down softly and stooped to plant a gentle kiss on her lips.
"Daddy!" Lottie's voice echoed down the corridor. "I can't find my other shoe!"
The kiss grew messy as they descended into a fit of giggles. For a bright child, there were moments when their daughter could be remarkably scatterbrained. Harry groaned against Ruth's lips and kissed her once more before backing away to join the search.
"What do we think? Under the bed?"
"In the wardrobe?" Ruth suggested.
"Yesterday, it was on top of the dresser," Harry chuckled before strolling off down the corridor.
Ruth watched him go with a slightly sad smile and returned to the table to finish her coffee. Catherine was also sitting there, silent as ever, nursing a glass of water. For a split second, Ruth considered asking how she was feeling. Regardless of her shame, she hadn't failed to notice the younger woman's sickness again that morning. Like clockwork. She was almost certain she was right about the symptoms now, and wasn't sure how to broach the subject.
"I get them too, you know," a voice penetrated her thoughts.
Ruth blinked, searching for the source of the voice. Then she realised that it was Catherine. She blinked again, trying to override the shock at Catherine electing to say more than two words to her.
"Nightmares," Catherine clarified, obviously thinking Ruth had misunderstood. "Memories of things I've seen in Syria – and Afghanistan. They… get to you."
Unsure of what had triggered this sudden tête-à-tête, Ruth nodded, frowning, "They do."
There was another long pause. So long, in fact, that Ruth thought the moment had ended. Then, just as she was about to get up and rinse out her mug, Catherine continued:
"Calum told me what… happened to you."
Ruth's breath caught in her throat, "What?"
"Don't be angry with him. He didn't want to tell me. I make documentaries. I know how to push people."
Ruth exhaled shakily. She supposed she couldn't really be angry with Calum after she'd pushed him herself over Dimitri and Erin. Poor man. He had really been through the ringer yesterday. She reminded herself to be gentler with him today.
"I just…" Catherine stuttered. "I just want you to know… I think I get why you and Dad left now. Or at least… partly why. And I'm not… angry. Not anymore."
Ruth sat there, dumbstruck. She didn't know what to say to that. She was pleased that Catherine was talking finally talking to her, but did it really have to come at the price of her knowing about the event Ruth had worked so hard to put behind her?
"I know I've been a bitch. I've been awful and mean… and selfish. And I'm… I'm sorry. Seeing how mum was with you the other day… the way she is with most people…" Catherine swallowed, an earnestness alighting her eyes as she looked – really looked – at Ruth for the first time. "I don't want to end up like her. She's been through a lot, but that doesn't excuse how bitter and horrible she is with it. And it's like I'm… urghhh!" she groaned, swiping a hand frustratedly over her eyes, in much the same way Harry did when he couldn't articulate how he was feeling.
"Catherine –."
"Can I just…?" The blonde asked stiffly.
Ruth nodded and motioned for her to continue.
"You've been so kind to me – from the minute you found me on that beach. And all I've done it throw it back in your face."
"I think I might understand. I'm not a child of divorce, but I think it's still a rite of passage to dislike your mum or dad's partner – at least for a bit. My dad died when I was eleven, and when my mum remarried, I was furious. I hated my stepdad."
Catherine snorted, "I can't imagine you hating anyone."
"I'm not a saint. And teenage Ruth was… complicated."
Catherine smiled – the first genuine smile Ruth had seen directed at her since the blonde discovered her identity.
"I don't hate you, Ruth. I think you're pretty bloody brave actually. And… I hate admitting when I'm wrong but… you're good for dad. He's always been so harsh and stiff upper lip. You bring out his softer side."
"All he's ever wanted is to love you," Ruth told her quietly. "The job got in the way before, and maybe he wasn't always good at showing it – but he loves you and Gray so much."
Catherine nodded, "I get that now."
There was another lengthy silence, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn't completely uncomfortable.
"So…" Ruth said tentatively. "It's nice to be talking."
Catherine shrugged, finishing her water.
"Do you think… possibly…, there might be a prospect of us being… friends in the not-so-distant future?"
Catherine scrunched up her nose, "I'd say there's a good chance of being… 'not-enemies' in the not-so-distant future."
Ruth huffed out a small laugh, "I'll take that."
She offered a small smile and rose to wash up her mug. Before she could go however, Catherine held out her hand for the cup.
"I'll do it. You go say bye to Dad and Lottie. Calum'll be here any minute."
Ruth blinked, astounded and slightly touched, "Are you sure?"
Catherine rolled her eyes, "It's just a mug, Ruth."
The older woman smiled. Perhaps today wouldn't be so bad after all.
Ruth watched the rush hour traffic crawl by. She hadn't missed the bumper-to-bumper traffic of inner-city London, much as she had once enjoyed taking the bus. It had been one of the few peaceful moments of her day – a rare opportunity to settle to a quiet bit of reading. But the heaving crowds had often been stressful – a stark contrast to the gentler, easier trips around Beechworth.
Calum was sat in the driver's seat, his knuckles drained white as they gripped the steering wheel. They had barely exchanged more than a few words, and Calum seemed distinctly uneasy. From what Catherine had said, it didn't take a genius work out that Calum had heard everything last night. She couldn't help but feel guilty. The troubled man was going through enough without the added pressure of worrying about her. She glanced over at him, her fingers picking nervously at the frayed edges of her cardigan.
In the end, she decided she couldn't stand the silence any longer.
"Calum?"
"Hmm?"
"About last night… What you heard…"
"It's none of my business," Calum ruled quietly.
Ruth hesitated, tugging at a string of acrylic running loose from her sleeve, "I know you told Catherine."
Calum froze. His whole being turned white, and if possible, his fists curled tighter around the steering wheel, "I – I didn't mean to –."
"It's fine. Not that I want to whole world to know, but… I get why you did."
A little colour flooded back into the young man's cheeks.
"I just want you to know that… you don't have to worry about me. I'm okay. The nightmares… they happen sometimes."
An idiot driver swerved dangerously into the lane ahead of Calum, and the curly-haired man honked his horn rather more aggressively than necessary. He let out a heavy sigh, mumbled something under his breath and briefly turned to catch Ruth's eyes.
"I get them too," he admitted eventually. "I guess I just hoped – what with you being out of it for years…"
"I'm sorry."
Calum's head whipped round to stare at her incredulously, "What are you apologising for?"
"I just feel like I should."
"Well, don't."
There was a long awkward silence. Ruth ducked her head and continued to pick at her sleeve. She knew exactly what Calum had hoped, for she herself had hoped it upon leaving England. That with a little distance, the nightmares, the memories would go away. They didn't. They faded with time, often into mere insignificance, but they never went away. The scars would be forever imprinted upon her mind and body. And for some reason, she couldn't help but feel like she had let him down in not being able to tell him otherwise.
"Do you…?" Calum asked hesitantly. "Do you still think about... it?"
Flashes of horror pounded against the armoured defences of her mind.
"No," she replied softly. "At least… I try not to. It's only at night when I'm not in control…"
Calum nodded.
They sat in silence for a while longer, weaving in and out of traffic, before Calum bottled up the courage to ask, "Are you sure you're okay going in today?"
Ruth groaned, "I swear, if one more person asks me that, I'm going to do some serious damage."
"Whoa!" Calum exclaimed, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Take it easy, Mama Bear! I never pegged you as the violent type."
"You've never seen me whack a crossbow-laden madman with a tree branch."
The car came to an emergency stop behind a line of traffic. Calum turned to gape at her.
"Or shoot a French assassin."
Calum's mouth widened still. Then, suddenly, he began snorting with poorly concealed laughter, "It's always the quiet ones."
The corners of Ruth's lips quirked, "Seriously, Calum. I'm fine. I can take care of myself."
"I'm beginning to realise that."
"Let's just focus on finding Rafiq and leave the past in the past."
"Okay. Got it."
The traffic began to move, and Calum set the vehicle into motion once more. Ruth turned to stare out of the window, smiling slightly at the sight of a young mother bouncing a toddler on her hip.
"So…"
Ruth glanced once more at Calum, who was side-eyeing her with a sly, fox-like grin.
"A tree branch, eh?"
Ruth sighed. Why had she mentioned that? To Calum, of all people. She was never going to live it down.
"No Catherine?" Malcolm asked, popping his head out of the kitchen as they arrived.
Harry shook his head, "She was exhausted this morning. Said she wanted to stay behind and rest."
"Exhausted?" Gray frowned, pottering down the hall towards them. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine. We just had a bit of a rough night."
"Mummy had a nightmare," Lottie supplied sadly.
Despite perking up earlier, she had been dreadfully downcast since Ruth left to go to work. Harry could only begin to wonder how hard this new routine was for her. She'd watched Ruth go to work countless times in Beechworth, but it had been in an environment Lottie knew, and the little girl had always had school to distract her. This was a strange new world and one that Harry feared Lottie wasn't adjusting to quite as well as she made out.
Malcolm must have caught wind of this too because he stooped down and smiled kindly at the child, "I don't suppose you're feeling helpful, Lottie? I've some sandwiches that need making."
Lottie glanced up eagerly, keen to have something to do, "I'll help!"
"Good. Let's just let your daddy take your coat and we'll crack on."
Lottie tossed her coat to Harry, who caught it with a chuckle.
"Wash your hands, Squirt!" he called after her as she disappeared into the kitchen. He smiled gratefully at his old friend. "Thanks, Malcolm."
The retired techie merely nodded, his forehead wrinkling in worry, "Ruth okay?"
Harry could only offer a sad smile. Malcolm's frown deepened; his concern plain to see. Still, he offered an encouraging nod to Harry, as if to say, 'She's strong. She'll be alright'. It was a rather bland attempt at reassurance, but Harry appreciated it all the same. He nodded back as Malcolm re-entered the kitchen.
Gray pulled her baggy jumper tighter around herself, hovering nervously, as if not quite sure how to greet him. Hugging had never come easily to them. But, as Harry had resolved this past week, things were going to change. He opened his arms and she smiled, falling easily into his embrace.
"How are you doing?" he asked, squeezing her gently.
"Fine. Just... waiting for this to be over."
Harry nodded his understanding, and the pair pulled back slightly, "How's your mum?"
Gray shrugged, "She's eating now. Bits, at least. And she'll speak to Malcolm. Probably just as well Cat didn't come though."
Harry sighed. There wasn't much more he could do than keep leaving Jane subliminal hints that Catherine wasn't to blame for Mikey's murder. He hoped, as with many things, that time would heal the rift.
"Mum wanted to plan a funeral," Gray continued sadly. "But we're still not allowed contact with the outside."
Harry nodded, knowing full well what the protocol was, but feeling guilty all the same.
"Then Malcolm told her that Mikey's parents had been told, and they'll be planning the funeral instead."
Harry nodded again, helplessly, feeling rather like one of those nodding dogs one saw on car dashboards. The loss was devastating enough, but to be denied the right to help give her lover the send-off he deserved must have been the final straw.
"She's in her room if you want to talk to her," Gray offered quietly.
Harry smiled sadly, patted her arm once and set off down the hall to find his ex-wife. He prayed that the day would be slightly better than the last.
"We have a location on Rafiq," Ruth exclaimed triumphantly, bursting into Dimitri's office, Calum hot on her heels.
"Did no one ever teach you to knock?" Dimitri grumbled, though he turned away from his computer to listen.
"No. Though Harry did once threaten to have me fitted with a cowbell."
Calum smothered his laughter with a supremely unconvincing cough.
"A cowbell?" Dimitri repeated, nonplussed.
"Mm. So he knew when I was coming."
Calum guffawed into his hand, "She's full of surprises. Wait till you hear about the tree branch."
Ruth felt like clapping Calum around the side of the head, but just about managed to refrain. Dimitri sighed impatiently and gestured for her to continue.
"Intel from Six is that Rafiq's no longer living in Syria."
"So where is he?"
"Here. In London. For the last three years, he's rented a small flat in Hackney, and works as a taxi driver for Star Bright Cabs."
"Taxi Driver," Calum nodded. "Smart choice. He can pick up impressionable targets, turn them, and have secret rendezvouses without people batting an eyelid."
"Any evidence he's been recruiting on our soil?"
"Not yet."
"So we can't bring him in," Dimitri assessed grimly.
"I'll keep digging."
"I'll send out Yassin and Liv for surveillance. Keep tabs on him. Calum – make sure they have the right address."
With a curt nod, he motioned for them to leave. Calum exited almost immediately. Ruth was slower to go. She reached the door and hovered, her hand gripping the smooth wood with unusual trepidation. This was one of the rare moments she had found herself alone with Dimitri and she didn't want to waste it. That being said, she had no idea how she was going to keep her promise to Calum. How could she fix things when she didn't even know what to say to her friend?
"Dimitri…"
"That'll be all, Ruth."
Ruth almost smiled. He'd sounded just like Harry then. She didn't doubt that that particular dismissal had been taken directly from 'The Book of Harry' itself.
"I just… wanted to say…" she persevered, taking a few tentative steps towards him. "If you ever want to talk – ."
"I don't."
"But if you do… I'm here."
Dimitri froze, his eyes locking onto a fixed point on his computer screen. He offered no reply. Ruth waited a few moments more. Then, once she was sure no answer was forthcoming, she turned to exit.
"Calum told you, didn't he? About Erin."
Dimitri's voice was cold and toneless, and yet Ruth could hear the underlying heartache in his words. She didn't respond, reluctant to drop Calum in it. Perhaps her silence was as good as an admission though, because Dimitri continued bitterly, "He had no right."
"We're all worried about you, Dimitri."
"I'm fine."
Ruth smiled wryly, "You know, I've already said those words today, and I suspect you mean them just about as much as I did."
Dimitri inclined his head, just slightly, towards her, a flicker of concern in those dull grey eyes, "Are you… okay?"
Ruth raised a testy eyebrow, "I'm fine."
Dimitri tutted and turned back to his computer, "Get on with your work, Evershed. It's what we're paying you for."
Ruth had to blink at that. Honestly, she'd quite forgotten what the logistics of being employed here entailed, "I wasn't aware you were paying me."
"Of course we're paying you," Dimitri replied exasperatedly. "I wouldn't make you work for free."
"How – ?"
"For the moment, your salary will be paid into the bank account of Rebecca Knight. When this madness is over and you and Harry can settle back down, you'll have the opportunity to re-open an account in your real name."
"What do you mean, 'settle back down'?"
"Move back. Officially. Don't worry – I've already got people working on passports. It's surprisingly easy to resurrect people from the dead. Harry will even get his Knighthood back."
"Wait – Dimitri," Ruth stuttered, more than a little overwhelmed. "Harry and I don't even know if we're moving back. Like we said days ago… we had a home in Beechworth… a life."
"As Henry and Rebecca Knight. Wouldn't it be nice, wherever you go, to not be living a lie? To be you?"
Ruth had to admit that he was live as themselves, without having to hide – it would be a weight off their shoulders. Life in Beechworth had been idyllic, and yet there had always been some level of insecurity that, one day, someone from their old life would waltz in and call out their fraud.
"Plus… I kind of assumed that by coming back here, you were leaning towards… staying."
"Harry and I agreed this was temporary," she told him. "Just until the Horsemen are brought to heel."
Dimitri stiffened, his face growing even colder and more impassive. Ruth watched him close off, unable to shake the feeling that she'd just hurt him very deeply, "In that case, you'd better get on with it. Wouldn't want to keep you here any longer than necessary."
"Dimitri…"
"Off you pop, Evershed. Time's ticking."
With a heavy heart, and very much afraid she might have just made things worse, Ruth left.
"Jodie, do you have that report on Rafiq's on online activity?" Ruth prompted, but the younger woman seemed quite distracted by the Grid's sudden arrivals.
Dimitri had just welcomed two men in smart Savile Row suits. One was reasonably young, with jet black hair, and an intelligent face; the other, slightly older with sandy hair and the posture of an Eton-educated gentleman. Ruth frowned. Now that she got a closer look, she thought she recognised the latter.
"Calum?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the two men, who, after a round of shaking hands and old-school social etiquette, had followed Dimitri into his office. "Who are those men?"
Calum looked up from his cubicle.
"One of them is that bloke from the NDA Dimitri was wittering on about. The other is Tim Howard, the DG."
Tim Howard. Of course. The little lightbulb in Ruth's head came to life. She hadn't known him very well – hardly at all, actually – but he had been one of Oliver Mace's followers, back in the day. He'd worked in the slimy man's office, and she herself had been briefly questioned by him the day Cotterdam blew up. She could only hope that a decade on, he'd learned to put his faith in people more wisely.
"Everything okay?" Calum's voice filtered through her distant thoughts.
"Hm?" Ruth shook herself out of her reverie. "Yes. Fine."
"Yo! Cal!" A familiar Brummie voice called over the hubbub of the Grid.
A pack of gobstoppers came flying over Ruth's head – again, caught one-handed by Calum.
"Cheers, Bart."
As if on cue, Caractacus Bartholomew appeared, wheeling a trolley of refreshments.
"Morning, Ruth. Want any tea or coffee?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "There're biscuits for Bossman's meeting, but I don't reckon he'll notice if you nick a few."
Ruth chuckled, "I'm alright, Bart."
"Jodie?" He offered.
The girl blushed and looked away, "I'm fine."
Bart shrugged and continued on his way to Dimitri's office. He knocked once and entered.
Through the glass, the three of them watched Bart cheerfully offload a mound of biscuits and three cups of tea. On his way out, his large, lanky form clumsily intercepted the plate of biscuits on the edge of Dimitri's desk. The plate, and its contents, went crashing to the floor.
Dimitri immediately lost his temper – a very uncharacteristic move for the light-hearted young man Ruth had waved goodbye to six years ago. The sight (and sound) of him hurling vitriolic remarks at Bart made her swallow uncomfortably. She could only watch in horror as Bart shot down onto the floor, scrambling to pick up the shards of pottery and broken biscuits.
Calum cringed, "That would be why I used to call him 'The-Idiot-Who-Makes-The-Tea'."
Ruth remembered all too well how clumsy the younger man could be, but did Dimitri really have to be so harsh? She rose from her station, unwilling to bear witness to Bart's humiliation any longer.
"We should help him."
"Don't," Calum called softly. "You'll only make it worse."
Ruth looked back at Calum incredulously, but any argument she might have formed died on her lips. She understood suddenly how marching in there would only embarrass Bart and Dimitri in front of senior personnel. Heaving a heavy sigh, she turned and watched the scene with ignited fury. During his time as Section Head, Harry had been known for his temper – hell, it had been channelled her way more than once, especially in the early days. But he'd never have left her cowering at his feet, scrambling to pick up ceramic shards that might've cut her fingers to ribbons.
They watched Dimitri finish his furious diatribe before he shook his head and stalked over to the safe in the corner of the room.
"What's that?" Jodie piped up softly as he opened it up and drew something out.
"The USB Catherine brought back," Calum said. "We've made copies, but that's the original."
"Shouldn't he have logged that in Evidence?" Ruth frowned.
"He doesn't trust leaving it in Evidence. Not until we know who the mole is."
Bart swept up the last of the crumbs and hurriedly wheeled out of the room. Dimitri paced up and down, clutching the USB, before suddenly catching sight of them through the window. He hastily shut the blinds, hiding the meeting from view.
A red-faced Bart joined them, "Don't suppose you didn't see that."
"Don't worry, Bart," Ruth placed a comforting hand on his elbow – the highest place she could reach. "To be clumsy is to be human. I think I broke practically every angle-poise lamp on the Grid, my first year here."
"Yeah, I remember," Bart smiled, his spirit rekindling slightly.
"Wait," Calum gaped. "How long have you worked here?"
"Since I was twenty-one. Ruth and I joined the same year."
"You've been making tea for fourteen years?!"
Bart shrugged, "Yeah. So?"
Calum's shook his head, dumbfounded. Then, slowly, his expression brightened. "So... if you've been here all this time, you'd remember Ruth hitting a bloke over the head with a tree branch?"
Ruth groaned, "Oh God…"
"Oh, yeah! Adam Carter, the Section Chief at the time – she saved his life. And he told everyone. It was the talking point of the Grid. She hit the bloke once with the branch, stunning him. Then she wanted to hit him again."
"I didn't want to hit him again!" Ruth spluttered, her cheeks flaming. "I just asked if I should."
"Oh, Mama Bear," Calum sing-songed affectionately. "You so wanted to."
"I'll want to hit you with a tree branch in a minute."
Calum smirked, "Not gonna lie, I like this new, violent Ruth. Just you wait, Jodie – it's always the quiet ones. Give it a few years and you'll be whacking psychopaths with tree branches too."
Jodie, whose eyes had still been on the meeting room, turned to stare at Calum in alarm.
"Don't listen to him, Jodie," Ruth soothed, shooting Calum a fond glare. "He's just being an arse."
Calum smirked.
"Best get on. Catch you later, Cal," Bart fist-bumped the older man before wheeling his trolley away.
"Yeah. Have a good one, Bart."
Ruth returned to work, flicking through the report Jodie had just given her on Rafiq. She became acutely aware of a pair of eyes drilling holes into her skull.
"Yes, Calum?" She asked, without looking up.
"So we've heard the tale of the tree branch. What about the French assassin you shot?"
Flashes of maudlin horror; pictures of Keith Deery lying traumatised in a hospital bed, and a cold, calculated killer collapsing with six bullets in his body assailed Ruth's senses.
Her expression darkened, "We're not talking about that."
Calum's smirk faded. He studied her intently for a moment, then squeezed her arm once, very gently, and turned to get on with his own work.
"Okay, Mama Bear."
And he left it at that.
"Eat."
"I don't like ham."
"You love ham."
"Not anymore."
Harry sighed. It seemed Jane had reclaimed some of her fighting spirit, but it also meant she was being more difficult than ever.
"Lottie made that specially."
"I'm not eating something touched by grimy little fingers."
"Jane…"
"The human hand carries about 150 different kinds of bacteria. Children inevitably carry more."
Harry wanted to remind her that she'd once been a teacher, and therefore open to all kinds of bacteria, but thought it prudent not to. Instead, he calmly said, "I told Lottie to wash her hands."
"I'm not eating that."
Harry couldn't help but let forth an exasperated groan.
Jane, as always, was quick to retaliate, "I'm sorry if my grief is so frustrating for you!"
Harry sucked in a breath and heard Ruth's soothing voice in his head telling him not to be baited, "I'd just like to see you eat something, that's all."
"I'm not hungry. Breakfast filled me up."
"I don't see how. A few bites of cereal hardly constitute breakfast."
"Stop nagging me!" she snapped, flinging the plate onto the bedside table with so much vigour, it came within inches of crashing to the floor. The sandwich, however, lost its battle with gravity and fell limply onto the carpet.
A deafening quiet befell the room. Harry was once again hit by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. His chest tightened and his heart quickened with that familiar cry of I don't know what to do! His marriage had ended with that same helplessness, that same irremediable knowledge that, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't get anything right. Not with Jane.
"If I'm nagging," he said slowly, carefully, reaching down to pick up the fallen sandwich. "It's because I care about you. I don't want to see you get ill."
Jane said nothing. She avoided his pointed stare in favour of glaring out the window. Elsewhere in the flat came the dull ring of a mobile phone.
"Okay," Harry sighed, changing tack. "If you don't like ham, what do you like? I could –."
"Did they tell you?" Jane asked suddenly, turning to stare at his shirt collar. "About the funeral?"
Harry hesitated, setting the dusty sandwich back onto the plate, "Yes."
"We were together for years. He was going to propose… And now it's like that doesn't even matter."
"I'm sorry, Jane."
Jane shrugged, her anger fading into an awful, hollow numbness, "Sorry doesn't bring him back."
Harry reached forward and patted her leg, concealed by the hefty winter duvet, "I know."
Another wave of silence followed. Harry frantically searched for something, anything, he could do or say to help.
"Honey on toast!" he suddenly found himself exclaiming.
Jane finally met his gaze, her dull eyes quickly switching from incredulity to recognition.
"You used to love honey on toast," Harry recalled, offering an encouraging smile.
"I ate it all the time when I was pregnant with Catherine."
"How about it?" Harry coaxed, seizing the carpet-fluffed sandwich, and inclining towards the door. "Honey on toast. I'll make it if you like?"
Jane arched an eyebrow, "Harry Pearce in the kitchen? Will wonders never cease!"
"Well?"
Jane picked almost shyly at the duvet, "That'd… be nice."
"Alright then," Harry nodded, possibly with more exaggerated cheer than strictly necessary. "I'll be back soon."
He was just rising to leave when hurried footsteps sounded on the corridor. The door was promptly flung open and Malcolm came bursting in. He had an iron-clad grip on his phone and his face was bleached white.
"Malcolm, what's –?"
"I just had an alert from Leo."
"An alert?"
Malcolm swallowed, "We'll find her, Harry. I promise we'll find her."
"Find who?" Harry asked urgently, the icy hand of dread shooting out and seizing his windpipe.
"Catherine. I'm sorry, Harry. Catherine's gone."
Calum was just persuading Ruth to grab some lunch when he got the call. It was Harry, asking to speak to Ruth. The tone of his voice brooked no arguments, so Calum simply passed the phone over and watched. All trace of colour drained from Ruth's face, and she swayed slightly on the spot. Calum was rather terrified she might faint. Before he could drag her to a chair however, she rang off with a small promise of, "I'll be there soon."
"What's going on?"
Ruth turned to him, blinking as if she'd forgotten he was there, "Leo called Malcolm. Catherine's gone missing."
Calum's swore he stopped breathing.
No.
Not this.
Not her.
"He thinks she was taken?"
"No. Catherine asked him to change the lightbulb in her room. She claimed she couldn't reach. When he came back out, she was gone. She got past the flat security too."
"Why?" Calum spluttered. "Why would she…?"
"I don't know. But if she's found by the Horsemen…" Ruth swallowed, casting aimlessly around her for her bag. "I need – I need to get back there."
"I'll drive you."
Ordinarily, Calum suspected Ruth would have refused, stating something along the lines of not wanting to be a burden. She didn't, and he was glad. She simply nodded quickly, gratefully, and hurried towards the pods.
She stopped midway and glanced, harangued, at Dimitri's empty office. The DG had invited the Admiral to lunch at his club, and the younger man clearly hadn't wanted to refuse such a rare request.
"Dimitri. We should tell him."
"We can ring him from the car," Calum replied firmly, snatching up his laptop from beneath his desk. He was already planning overhead reconnaissance using the Greater London speed cameras.
He spotted Jodie, staring at them confusedly from the other side of the room.
"Jodie! Ruth and I need to go. If we can't get hold of Dimitri, tell him Catherine's disappeared."
"Okay," the girl agreed. "I hope you find her."
Calum nodded his thanks, grabbed his keys and followed Ruth out of the pods.
Oh, Catherine. What have you done?
Lunch with Howard had been nice, the food rich and plentiful, and the drink even more so – not that Dimitri indulged much whilst dining with his boss. However, the occasion had been a glimpse of how the other half lived, and Dimitri wasn't sure he liked it much. He was still a soldier at heart, favouring the simple life. Even with the pay rise that came with Section Head, he lived a modest life in a tiny flat, with only pictures of Erin and Rosie adorning the walls. It was the way he liked it. A tiny, ungrateful part of him couldn't help but resent men like Howard for their fortune. Desk bound 'yes men', whose positions had been handed to them on a plate by fellow former desk-bound 'yes men'. Their groundwork consisted of mingling; getting leg-ups from those at the top of the pyramid. They hadn't seen things from the other side – war-torn countries ravaged by hate, colleagues, lovers destroyed by field work.
And yet, Dimitri knew he shouldn't complain. Howard had always been perfectly civilised towards him. He was a pompous yet otherwise kind man. A family man, who had spent most of lunch talking about his wife, and the childhood exploits of his adult son.
Still, as he ventured through the pods, he was looking forward to the renewed quiet of his office. He was perturbed by his phone call with Ruth a few hours back, and prayed that Catherine would be found safely. She and Calum were apparently checking out speed cameras, and Dimitri had been on the phone instantly to instruct his other techies to follow suit.
They'd find her.
They had to. Or…
No. He wouldn't go there.
Jodie approached him as he strode towards his office.
"Calum said to tell you –."
Dimitri raised a hand to silence her, "I know about Catherine. Any news from CCTV?"
Jodie shook her head sadly, "No sign of her."
"She can't have just vanished."
Jodie hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Dimitri took pity on her. In many ways, she reminded him of a younger, shyer Ruth, "Thanks for letting me know. Your midday report…?"
"It's on your desk," Jodie confirmed. "But…"
"But what?"
Jodie hesitated, "N-Nothing."
Dimitri frowned. Ordinarily, he would have pushed, but right now he had bigger things to deal with than Jodie's inarticulacy, "Carry on with Rafiq for now."
Jodie nodded, ducked her head, and scuttled off.
Dimitri quickly shut himself in his office and leaned against the door with a heavy sigh. The days were getting longer, he was sure. Right now, he was thankful that the blinds were closed. He didn't want his team to think he was struggling. He wasn't struggling. He just allowed himself the odd moment of weakness.
He took a few seconds to breathe, then set off for his desk. It was then that something caught his eye. It was just a niggle; something that most probably wouldn't even notice. But Dimitri was ex-SBS; always on alert. And he couldn't help but notice that the door to his safe was slightly… off – not ajar, but not… closed.
His heart started to pound.
No.
His heart pounded faster, hard and painful in his chest.
No, no, no, no, no!
He hurried towards the metal box and seized the handle.
Shit!
It was open. How was that possible? He remembered locking it during his meeting with Howard and Keng.
He rifled through its contents, desperately seeking the one thing he knew in his heart of hearts would be missing.
It was.
Shit, shit, shit!
It was gone. The flash drive Catherine had carried all the way from Syria… was gone.
A/N. Oh no! What's happened to the flash drive?