Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC.
A/N: Minor spoilers for 9.8. Christmas with Harry and Ruth – mainly fluff but a bit of angst here and there. I shall try and finish this before Christmas, snow and festive mayhem permitting.
Harry rolls on to his right side and peers at the alarm clock on the bedside table; the red digital display informs him that it is 6.43 am. By a lot of people's standards it's an ungodly hour to be awake for a normal Saturday, let alone Christmas Day. He closes his eyes; he's still not used to having lie-ins despite being in the seventh week of his suspension. The unwelcome thought that he should take advantage of the opportunity to do what he wants whilst he has the chance pushes to the forefront of his mind. The inquiry into his career is moving with surprising alacrity and the chance of a prison sentence is becoming more likely. He sighs; he knows he shouldn't dwell on the idea that that the next ten Christmases might be spent in a jail cell but it's difficult not to be pessimistic. Especially as he's on his own.
-x-
Ruth switches the kettle on and reaches for the teabags and the teapot; today she will appreciate having the time to make and enjoy a pot of tea. She's expecting a phone call but it's still a little too early and, like Harry, she's also trying to push away pessimistic thoughts. In particular, the nagging fear that not only will her plan fail but she'll be found out. Then she will be faced with the prospect of unwelcome visitors, Christmas Day or not.
A distraction is required so, as she waits for the tea to steep, she wanders into the living room and switches the Christmas tree lights on. Beth had been right to insist on getting one; it brightens up a perennially dark corner of the room and brings some seasonal cheer to the small flat she calls home.
Ruth bends down to look at the small pile of presents under the tree. The uppermost one has a post-it note attached to it that reads 'Open me first'. It's Beth's handwriting but Ruth doesn't remember seeing either the gift or the note before. She guesses her flatmate must have added it to the other presents just before she left the previous evening. Smiling, she does as instructed and opens the parcel. It's a CD of traditional carols, sung by King's College Choir, and attached to it is another note that says 'Hope these are the right ones. B x'. Ruth is touched that Beth not only remembered the vague conversation they'd had several weeks ago but has gone to the trouble of finding the CD for her.
As the opening notes of Once in Royal David's City fill the room, Ruth curls up on the sofa with her cup of tea and immerses herself in the pure voices of the choir.
-x-
Having abandoned any hope of going back to sleep, Harry paces restlessly around his kitchen, occasionally sipping at a mug of black coffee. Scarlett stands up in her basket, barks once, and then sits down.
Harry looks at her. "Is that your less than subtle way of telling me it's time for a walk?" he asks.
The dog barks again, gets out of her basket and stands in front of him.
"I'll take that as a yes," he replies, leaning down to scratch Scarlett's ears. The dog's tail starts to wag, vigorously. "Daft puppy," Harry says, affectionately. "All right then. Let's go and see if there are any squirrels in the park for you to chase."
It's cold out, colder than he'd expected but Harry zips his jacket up fully and puts his gloves on. Christmas Eve's snow showers have left a light dusting on the cars and pavements but it has turned icy. He stops at the bottom of the steps and, on the pretext of ensuring Scarlett's lead is firmly attached to her collar, surreptitiously checks to see where his watchers are parked. The surveillance on him, put in place as soon as he was suspended, has been constant but has remained at a distance. Today though, there seems to be no sign of them. Doubtful that he's been granted a Christmas reprieve, Harry starts walking towards the park, discreetly checking all the vehicles he passes.
-x-
Ruth is busy trying to decide between porridge and toast when her phone rings. She grabs it from the worktop and gabbles a breathless 'hello'.
"Hello, this is Santa," states a familiar voice. "Operation Mince Pie is on."
"Funny boy," she replies, relieved.
"I think you mean 'Thank you, Santa'," Dimitri teases.
"Thank you, Santa," Ruth parrots back at him. "You're sure?" she continues, more seriously.
"Absolutely. He's got a free pass for the day."
"What about the souvenir pictures?"
"Don't worry, my little helper has sorted those out."
Despite knowing she shouldn't, Ruth laughs. "Poor boy. I hope you haven't called him that to his face."
"He's too busy being a super-geek to notice."
"Tut tut, Santa."
"He loves it," Dimitri retorts, chuckling. "You all set then?" he asks, his voice becoming more serious.
Nerves prickling in anticipation, Ruth answers, "Yes. All set."
"I hope he appreciates it."
"I hope so too."
-x-
Harry swears as his foot slips on a hidden patch of ice and he's forced to grab a low hanging tree branch to stay upright. "Bloody dog," he mutters, under his breath before shouting, "Scarlett! Come here, now!"
Eventually, he finds her standing in the stream at the far end of the park. Despite being wet, muddy and obviously cold, the dog is more interested in barking at a grey squirrel perched high in an oak tree than getting out of the water. Carefully picking his way through a tangle of brambles and frozen, half-rotten leaves, Harry gets as close as he dares to the icy stream. "Come on, Scarlett. Out, now."
Finally giving in to the realisation that the squirrel has outwitted her, this time at least, Scarlett does as she's told and begins to head towards Harry. Unfortunately, she discovers getting out of the stream is nowhere near as easy as getting into it had been. She yelps as her paws lose grip and she slips back towards the water.
"Stay there," Harry commands, edging closer to the stream. He ends up lying flat on his stomach and slowly inching towards the dog until he's close enough to grab her by the collar and haul her back to him.
Making it back to terra firma on legs that are wobblier than he'd like to admit, Harry sets Scarlett down on the ground. She thanks him by shaking herself, vigorously, splattering him with droplets of cold water, mud and other detritus.
"You're a bloody daft dog, do you know that?" he says, once again picking up the shivering mutt. "It's a good job I love you otherwise you'd still be in that stream." He unzips his coat enough so that he can tuck the cold, grubby dog inside and starts to walk home, holding her close to him and hoping it's still too early for anyone else to be around.
-x-
The taxi is waiting, as planned, two streets away and Ruth hurries towards it as quickly as she dares on the icy pavements.
"Hello, Darren," she greets the driver as she gets in. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Ruth."
"Thanks for doing this. I hope your wife doesn't mind you working today."
"Nah," Darren replies, cheerfully. "I think she was glad to get me out of the house for a while."
Their route is vaguely circuitous but the traffic is light enough for any tail to be easily spotted. There are none, much to Ruth's relief - not that she doubts Dimitri's or Tariq's abilities, but she is still glad to be able to see for herself that their plans are working.
Darren drops her at the park gates, albeit reluctant to leave her on her own in the deserted street. Ruth mollifies him by agreeing to text him when she reaches her final destination. She says her goodbyes and heads into the park.
More soon.