A request from Gazelle1 which I've left very close to the deadline. My apologies that it's not that great.

His eyes opened.

He was still there.

The world was still there.

With no joy and no spirit he got out of bed and wearily walked towards the bathroom.

The cereal tasted of nothing, in fact he couldn't actually remember eating it. The tea was warm and wet. He didn't know when he'd last really tasted anything.

He pulled on his coat, straightened his collar and stepped towards the door. He looked down at the post on the mat and wondered if deliveries had been getting earlier, or if he had failed to notice it lying there when he came in late last night. He was always late. It was easier that way.

He was about to step over it when a handwritten envelope caught his eye. His head tilted curiously, he bent, he opened it. Puzzled, he hesitated, looking at the card in his hands.

He couldn't remember when last he'd had a Valentine's card.

There was a single red heart on a plain white background. It was tasteful. He might have chosen it himself. If there was anyone for whom to choose it.

Inside were only two words:

To Harry

One small cross;

X

And a singe initial;

R

He felt the burst of adrenaline release within. He felt the breath in his chest. He felt the sting of his sweat glands. He felt the hammer of his heartbeat.

And as they all ebbed away, he felt angry.

He stepped over the remaining post on the floor, the door banging closed behind him.

"Morning," Dimitri said as the pod doors opened.

"Is it?" growled Harry.

Dimitri glanced across at Erin. They watched him cross into his office and bury his head in a pile of paperwork.

Neither spoke, there was nothing to say.

Two hours later they were all sat in the meeting room having worked through the latest threat levels from several new extremist splinter groups.

"Anything else?" asked Erin.

Harry said nothing.

"Right," she said to the team, accustomed to his silence, "let's get on with it."

But before they had chance to stand something landed on the table. It was the card.

"I want you to look at that," he said to Callum.

"I didn't know you cared, Harry."

Callum really wished he'd learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Check it for prints, I don't know, anything really."

Callum's hand froze before it and using his pen he opened it.

"I want to know whose sick sense of humour this is," declared Harry roughly and strode from the office.

Callum turned the card towards Dimitri and Erin. And they understood why this was not going to be an easy day.

Sitting at his desk Harry watched Callum. He watched his intense concentration as he gazed at his computer. He watched the muscles in his face slowly began to sag as his jaw began to drop. He watched his eyes widen and he saw the hand raise and rub slowly across his mouth.

Erin saw it too and moved over to Callum's terminal, her hand resting upon his shoulder.

"Cal?"

He didn't answer her but Harry saw him point to the computer screen and then he watched Erin. Watched her face fall. Watched her look up from the screen to his office and met her gaze.

He got up and without losing eye contact with her he stepped through onto the grid.

"Fingerprint matches …" she said simply, "… there's only one."

Callum turned the screen towards him. Half the screen was filled with a large image of a print. The other with a photo. It was a familiar photo and beneath it a familiar name. Ruth Evershed.