Written for Kassy's songfic challenge, and dedicated to her for giving me the inspiration (and the first line). It's based on Aqualung's Strange and Beautiful, an amazing song. Check it out.
Other things: I still don't own Spooks, I'm sorry this is a bit whimsical and OOC, reviews are, as always, gratefully received, and most importantly, Happy Halloween, everyone!
"Costume Drama" by mollyina
She was annoying when he first met her. Trying to talk him into all kinds of strange disguises, film stars and animals and items of food. Bright and perky on minimum wage and with seemingly no regard for his dignity. But, he had to admit, what they'd finally settled on wasn't too bad.
More than anything, it feels deeply strange to be wandering round barefoot in the posh hotel ballroom. Irreverent, like swearing in church. But Adam and Zaf had taken one look at the costume, pirate hat, striped shirt, ragged waistcoat and trousers, with his polished black Church brogues, and burst out laughing. And as Adam pointed out, this was a strange night, both historically and in the very current sense.
"Harry."
"Juliet." She's in full vampire regalia, bloodstained fangs and long black cloak, wrapped tight around her so as not to get caught in her wheels. "My favourite bloodsucking fiend. You decided not to dress up?"
She glowers at him and he wonders what higher power had to intervene to get her here and in costume. Probably the Prime Minister himself.
"Come on, Harry, don't pretend you like this any more than I do. A roomful of awkward middle-aged men standing round and ogling at every woman in the room, all three of us."
Harry assumes she's being sarcastic, but on closer inspection, there are, in fact, only three females present, at a ratio of about one for every ten men. Ros is leaning against the wall in an extremely skimpy devil costume (he tries not to think it appropriate), and there's a pretty redheaded analyst dressed as a fairy, surrounded by hopefuls, but that's it. The Grid is generally a masculine environment, but it's not normally this bad.
He moves away from Juliet and towards Adam and Zaf, stood by the food (peeled grapes and jelly worms) and murmurs "Anyone heard from Ruth or Jo?"
"Upstairs" Zaf replies "getting ready. For five hours. When I left, they were in the middle of a twenty-minute debate over nail varnish. Hey, does anyone know the name of that analyst?"
Adam adjusts his wide-brimmed cowboy hat (Harry pushes a Lone Ranger reference to the back of his mind and wonders at the incredibly apt costuming) and sighs. "Natasha Dillon."
Zaf moves off and Harry picks up a grape to look like he's doing something. An unfortunate coincidence of events, Halloween and the mandatory annual Joint Intelligence conference, had led some young upstart to believe that a party would be a good idea. Forty supposedly decorous people trapped in a hotel together and forced to play dress-up. What could possibly go wrong?
Mind wandering, he misses the silence that settles over the room, but he notices when Adam's head (and, in fact, every head in the place) turns towards the door.
Ruth is stood in the doorway, and all he can actually notice is the incredible neckline on her dress, which is black and tight and very, very low. His senses rearrange into some sort of coherent form and he notices that she's dressed as a witch, hat and cloak and broomstick, and that Jo is beside her in a black catsuit and pointy ears. And that every other woman in the room looks mighty pissed off, and every man is standing with a look of slack-jawed amazement Harry imagines is reflected in his own face.
He waves, and then realises she probably can't see him through the small crowd gathering around her. He starts to make his way over, stops, notices Juliet smirking at him with her fangs out, grabs two glasses of blood-red wine from a passing tray and forges on.
There's now an almost impenetrable barrier formed around her; he waves again, holds up the glass of wine and waits for her to extricate herself. As she smiles and slips out, the circle closes on Jo, and Harry notices with amusement that both their nail varnish is plain black.
Ruth takes the glass from his outstretched hand as he tries to manoeuvre her away from the cluster of eligible bachelors.
"Nice hat" she grins, and he smiles back.
"You, too."
Another man, this one with bolts through his neck, eyeing her up; Harry pulls her away again and out into the corridor. Here, the noise from the party is muted, low bass barely audible.
"Remind you of anything?" she asks, and he hesitates, not sure how to react. Havensworth ranks on both his triumphs and terrors; the triumph being political, the terror being entirely Ruth related. Eventually, he just nods.
"So" she starts, mouth dry "a pirate?"
"Yes, well, according to my rather irritating shop assistant, I left it a bit late. It was either this or a Christmas fairy."
She laughs. "You're strange."
"You're beautiful" he murmurs, before he can stop himself.
She tugs uncomfortably at the dress. "Jo's idea. To be honest I think she just wanted an excuse to go out in a catsuit. Every girl's dream, you know."
He raises an eyebrow but mercifully lets it go.
"What's your room like?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Wardrobe, desk, a bed…" and there, that sudden awkwardness. She keeps talking "You, being vastly important, are up on the top floor in one of those ensuite monstrosities, yes? So at least I have the advantage of less stairs."
"And you don't have to share a corridor with Juliet" he reminds her.
She nods. They've finished the wine, and now Harry is trying to drink her in, absorb her image, her manner, through his hand where it still rests on the bare skin of her elbow, under her cloak.
He shifts his palm ever so slightly and feels something sharp poke against his fingers. She smiles wryly and withdraws a makeshift magic wand from the folds of the cloak, a silver sparkly star attached to a length of pipecleaner.
"Jo's idea?"
"No, actually, this is mine. From when I was a child." Her smile lights up the dingy corridor, speeds his heartbeat. "When I still believed in magic."
He meets her gaze. "I still believe in magic, Ruth."
Something in the moment changes. Suddenly they're back at Havensworth, except she has the chance to live it all over, to do it better. Do it right. Hand shaking slightly, she holds the tip of the wand against his chest.
"I could put a spell on you."
Harry reaches out and takes her wand hand. The trinket falls to the floor as he pulls her close and kisses her, mouth warm, smearing witchy crimson lipstick everywhere. Her arms wrap around him and his hands reach up to cup her face, smoothing strands of hair behind her ears as he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers and whispering,
"Ruth, my darling, I think you've already done that."
"Well, that was a complete and utter waste of time."
"Not entirely" Adam grins, pointing to Zaf and Natasha as they ascend the giant staircase.
"Oh, so Zaf got to have his James Bond moment. I really don't think that makes the whole evening worthwhile. Don't blame Harry for packing it in early. If it hadn't been for the lovely lovely open bar, I'd have done the same thing."
Adam has his arm linked through Ros', more through necessity than choice. He searches desperately for Jo as his best source of aid and locates her bent over something in the foyer.
"Jo!" He yells as Ros stumbles against the banister, giggling like a madwoman. "Some help, here?"
She looks up, smiling broadly, and skips up the stairs towards them. He notices she's clutching something in her hand, a bent silver pipecleaner with a star at one end. He's about to ask when Ros slips again. Instead, he grabs one arm and waits as Jo shoves the pipecleaner up her sleeve and takes the other, still smiling.
He doesn't want to wake her, he really doesn't. He's aware that they're living in a tiny, fragile moment, that everyday life could break them apart. But they're already late and he doesn't want Adam or Zaf to come knocking. He leans over and touches her bare shoulder and whispers "Ruth?"
"I lost my wand." She mumbles, drowsily.
Harry slides an arm around her waist and smiles lazily. "Good morning to you too."
"But I suppose" she continues philosophically, turning to face him "there are other kinds of magic."
She leans up for a kiss, and he happily obliges. Waking up together, like this, it just feels right. Sometimes you have to wait for the things you want most; Harry knows this better than anyone.
"I love you, Ruth." He murmurs, and she is both strange and beautiful, sprawled against the sheets like some pre-raphaelite muse. "I've loved you for a long time."
"I know" her voice strengthens "and I like that you love me. I love that you love me. I love you."
Another kiss; this one deeper, more passionate. Loving. When they finally break apart she is giddy and short of breath. Ruth falls back against the pillows and whispers "magic" and he smiles.
"Happy Halloween, my love."