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melwilTitle: Ever Rotating Little Red Balls
Author: MelWil
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Basically set after 5.5. Please don’t spoil in the comments past 5.5
Summary: Over 12 hours they wait for the day to begin.
*
3.00 AM
Adam Carter wakes. He is certain he can hear screaming. It takes too many hastily drawn breaths to realise the screams were self-contained.
He stretches out a hand, making contact with the glass half filled with water. He used to drink in the kitchen at times like these, but he was now aware of the disturbance he caused, and disturbances weren’t allowed until six at the earliest.
(They couldn’t see him like this)
As he lifts the glass (he contains the shaking to the fingers) he wonders how long Jo and Zaf kept drinking the night before. He tried to work out how long they’ve been doing that. He tries to apply a quantitative value to how close they’ve become.
He rolls on his side, staring at the spot where the frame used to lay, face down. There’s dust gathering there now.
Adam Carter closes his eyes before the tears can fall.
4.00 AM
Ruth leans against the curve of the stone wall, waiting for the shine to hit the day, waiting for the day to begin.
She’s been thinking names, identities, new starts. The same, old, tired beginnings over and over again. She’s tired of the secret, the hidden, the tucked away.
She’s just tired.
She doesn’t seem to sleep anymore. Night is for plotting, for planning, for drawing up complex diagrams in her mind. If she sleeps, she thinks, she remembers. If she sleeps she can’t get Harry out of her mind.
She turns her head to the side allowing the cool surface of the ancient stone to press against her cheek. She is soothed by the continuity of the wall, the way it keeps on standing there, over and over and over again.
Ruth can’t wait for the day to begin.
5.00 AM
Tom Quinn allows the gate to close behind him. He is comforted by the things he leaves behind, the things he’ll come home to. He can’t remember feeling this way before.
He runs in the dark, clearing away the things he would rather forget. He runs further, beginning to organise the items of his day.
As his breath grows heavier, he remembers the way the cold water once pressed heavily against his chest, the way it pulled at his limbs until he thought he would be ripped to pieces. He shakes his head irritably, and the too familiar feeling dissipates.
He tries to focus his mind on the good, the calm, the stable. He tries to focus on the remnants of his old life that he’s managed to knit and patch together. He tries to keep his focus on the future.
Tom Quinn is sick of being pulled under the water.
6.00 AM
Sam used to prepare her coffee the night before she woke up. She used to lay out her pretty clothes, hoping that each day would be the day that Danny noticed her. She used to bounce on her way out the front door.
Her head feels too heavy to pull off the pillow. She reaches out to silence the alarm and rolls over, burying her head. She doesn’t recognise the morning anymore.
She doesn’t recognise herself anymore.
She imagines what she might do if she could leave the house. She could find Ruth and Malcolm and Colin. They could go for drinks. They could make bad jokes and laugh at the things they knew too well. They could take the time to mourn.
She wonders what they are doing, what they are working on. She wonders if they miss her, if they think of her, if they even realise she is gone.
She knows it was her choice, her decision. She knows she asked for this type of demotion. She knows she should drink coffee and lay out pretty clothes.
Sam buries her head in the depths of her pillow and ignores the alarms.
7.00 AM
Zaf doesn’t wake. It’s not his fault, the alarm is faulty. He intended to go to the gym in the morning, to start the day on the right foot. He intended to have a good breakfast, something that would soak up the last remains of last night’s alcohol.
His intentions tend to be good.
In thirty-five minutes he will be running late. He will grab something too full of sugar on his way to work. He will consume the last bite as he steps through the pods.
He will blame Jo for this oversight. If she moved in with him, then he wouldn’t sleep in. He would be inspired to go to the gym. He would eat much better.
He wouldn’t stay out too late drinking with her.
Zaf moves slightly and continues to sleep.
8.00 AM
Malcolm likes to have the crossword finished by 8.45 in the morning. In the past, in the happier times, there were no deadlines for finishing. He would work on them all day, stretching out each and every clue. There were no deadlines, time stretched out in front of him, endless.
In the past he could always rely on someone else for help.
There is one clue he can’t unravel and he turns in his chair to share his frustration. The face behind him is blank, anonymous. He feels the heat rise within him as he turns back.
He opens his top drawer to put the crossword away; to leave it until later. He closes his eyes briefly, to avoid seeing the MP3 player that still sits there – silent and dormant. He turns back to his desk, back to the computer screen filled with information.
Malcolm looked straight ahead and saw absolutely nothing.
9.00 AM
Tessa smoothed a non existent bump in her hair and pulled her diary towards her. It is full again this week, and she would have to investigate the hiring of new agents. She has successfully navigated the bumps in the road.
She pulls a thin file out of the December section and stares at it, as if burning the information into her mind. The picture on the front is an old one, and for a moment she is flooded by the old memories. Then she opens the folder and the memories return to their own particular compartment.
She is certain that the object of the folder contributed to the fall of Ruth Evershed. She is certain that this fact is eating at Harry from the inside.
Tessa claps her hands together, smiles, and waits for her first appointment to arrive.
10.00 AM
Ellie can’t stand the silence within the house. She avoids the place, leaving as soon as Maisie leaves for school. She wanders around the outskirts of the village, her eyes focused firmly on the ground.
People always jump out of her way first.
Sometimes, when she feels brave, she looks at them. Sometimes she tries to smile. Sometimes they look at her and she feels a chill inside. She wonders what might have been.
Ellie puts her earphones in and pushes open the front door.
11.00 AM
Ros Myers is trying not to be seen. She stands in the bathroom; her palms pressed against the cool tile, and tries to make herself invisible.
They hate her.
She’s used to that, actually. It goes back a long way, to the old days when the other little girls were jealous and she did nothing to dissuade them of this notion. She prided herself on her ice-queen, bitch of the world reputation. It was what made her who she was, it was what gave her that power.
But now . . .
She never expected to hate herself.
It was eating at her, twisting her insides, making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She squirmed a little and avoided her own reflection. She told herself that it was a phase, that it would pass, that she would be over it soon enough.
She nearly didn’t make it to the sink in time.
Ros Myers sits on the floor of the bathroom and tries to remove the taste of pure and utter hatred from her mouth.
12.00 PM
Zoe Reynolds pulls her hat down over her eyes. She ducks around a group of small boys, feeling the dust they kick up settle around her ankles. She knows that her contact will be gone in five minutes time.
She wonders what he will have for her this time, what information he will bring, hidden inside the chunky, yellowing novels. It might be something good, something she needs to hear, after all the despair and horrors. More likely it was more of the same.
She stands in front of the book stall, allowing the sunlight to warm her bare arms. She looks from side to side, while pretending to look at a display of crumbling cooking books. She picks up a battered Jamie Oliver and thinks of home.
It would be cold there, she realises, and she would be huddled inside coat and scarf. She would hurry through crowded streets, another anonymous person. She would be moving with some sense of purpose.
A book slips into her hands, on top the cookbook, and her contact is gone before she can turn her head. She turns to page 34 and scans the page for the hidden messages. She takes the novel and the cookbook to the bored man sitting on an overturned box.
Zoe Reynolds takes her hat off and walks home again.
1.00 PM
Jo stretches her arms above her head and looks around the grid. It’s nearly empty, though she doesn’t know why. As far as she knows there is nothing big going on. Of course, there’s always the possibility that they’re not telling her what they know.
She never thought she’d still feel like an outsider, after all this time.
Zaf steps through the pods and smiles at her. She considers not smiling back, pretending that she doesn’t see him. She’s still angry that he blamed her for his own lateness. She’d still annoyed that he’s continually pressing her to move in.
Maybe she’ll say yes to him, just once, to see what he’ll say. Maybe she will pack up her books and clothing and make the move. Maybe they will annoy each other so much that she will forget that she’s developing feelings she doesn’t quite understand.
Jo smiles back at Zaf, allowing her arms to fall.
2.00 PM
Christine Dale sits in an uncomfortable chair, waiting. She’s not sure what she’s waiting for, or what she wants. There are a lot of things she doesn’t really know anymore. She thinks that’s the way she wants it to be.
There are times when she considers herself a pawn on a giant chessboard. She believes that there’s someone out there, someone moving her from one place to another. She considers herself lucky at this point in time, but has no idea how long it might last.
She resists the urge to swing her legs a little, to act like the little girl who used to wait with her grandmother. She looks at the posters around the wall. She whips her head around as the door begins to open.
The doctor carries a folder, but her face gives away nothing. She pulls out a piece of paper and hands it over. “Ms Dale. Here’s the results of the pregnancy test.”
Christine Dale reaches out and takes the piece of paper in her shaking hands.
3.00 PM
Adam Carter finds himself lying on the harsh ground.
He thinks he might stay here, where the ringing in his ears is dulled, where no one can see his face.
He wonders if everyone else is okay. He wonders if he really cares. He wonders what he is doing here, why he’s not standing outside Wes’s school, with the other parents. He wonders why he’s not swinging Wes up, turning him upside down to hear his giggles.
He wonders why he is lying on the ground with ringing in his ears.
Adam Carter closes his eyes and waits for the day to disappear.
Author: MelWil
Fandom: Spooks
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Basically set after 5.5. Please don’t spoil in the comments past 5.5
Summary: Over 12 hours they wait for the day to begin.
*
3.00 AM
Adam Carter wakes. He is certain he can hear screaming. It takes too many hastily drawn breaths to realise the screams were self-contained.
He stretches out a hand, making contact with the glass half filled with water. He used to drink in the kitchen at times like these, but he was now aware of the disturbance he caused, and disturbances weren’t allowed until six at the earliest.
(They couldn’t see him like this)
As he lifts the glass (he contains the shaking to the fingers) he wonders how long Jo and Zaf kept drinking the night before. He tried to work out how long they’ve been doing that. He tries to apply a quantitative value to how close they’ve become.
He rolls on his side, staring at the spot where the frame used to lay, face down. There’s dust gathering there now.
Adam Carter closes his eyes before the tears can fall.
4.00 AM
Ruth leans against the curve of the stone wall, waiting for the shine to hit the day, waiting for the day to begin.
She’s been thinking names, identities, new starts. The same, old, tired beginnings over and over again. She’s tired of the secret, the hidden, the tucked away.
She’s just tired.
She doesn’t seem to sleep anymore. Night is for plotting, for planning, for drawing up complex diagrams in her mind. If she sleeps, she thinks, she remembers. If she sleeps she can’t get Harry out of her mind.
She turns her head to the side allowing the cool surface of the ancient stone to press against her cheek. She is soothed by the continuity of the wall, the way it keeps on standing there, over and over and over again.
Ruth can’t wait for the day to begin.
5.00 AM
Tom Quinn allows the gate to close behind him. He is comforted by the things he leaves behind, the things he’ll come home to. He can’t remember feeling this way before.
He runs in the dark, clearing away the things he would rather forget. He runs further, beginning to organise the items of his day.
As his breath grows heavier, he remembers the way the cold water once pressed heavily against his chest, the way it pulled at his limbs until he thought he would be ripped to pieces. He shakes his head irritably, and the too familiar feeling dissipates.
He tries to focus his mind on the good, the calm, the stable. He tries to focus on the remnants of his old life that he’s managed to knit and patch together. He tries to keep his focus on the future.
Tom Quinn is sick of being pulled under the water.
6.00 AM
Sam used to prepare her coffee the night before she woke up. She used to lay out her pretty clothes, hoping that each day would be the day that Danny noticed her. She used to bounce on her way out the front door.
Her head feels too heavy to pull off the pillow. She reaches out to silence the alarm and rolls over, burying her head. She doesn’t recognise the morning anymore.
She doesn’t recognise herself anymore.
She imagines what she might do if she could leave the house. She could find Ruth and Malcolm and Colin. They could go for drinks. They could make bad jokes and laugh at the things they knew too well. They could take the time to mourn.
She wonders what they are doing, what they are working on. She wonders if they miss her, if they think of her, if they even realise she is gone.
She knows it was her choice, her decision. She knows she asked for this type of demotion. She knows she should drink coffee and lay out pretty clothes.
Sam buries her head in the depths of her pillow and ignores the alarms.
7.00 AM
Zaf doesn’t wake. It’s not his fault, the alarm is faulty. He intended to go to the gym in the morning, to start the day on the right foot. He intended to have a good breakfast, something that would soak up the last remains of last night’s alcohol.
His intentions tend to be good.
In thirty-five minutes he will be running late. He will grab something too full of sugar on his way to work. He will consume the last bite as he steps through the pods.
He will blame Jo for this oversight. If she moved in with him, then he wouldn’t sleep in. He would be inspired to go to the gym. He would eat much better.
He wouldn’t stay out too late drinking with her.
Zaf moves slightly and continues to sleep.
8.00 AM
Malcolm likes to have the crossword finished by 8.45 in the morning. In the past, in the happier times, there were no deadlines for finishing. He would work on them all day, stretching out each and every clue. There were no deadlines, time stretched out in front of him, endless.
In the past he could always rely on someone else for help.
There is one clue he can’t unravel and he turns in his chair to share his frustration. The face behind him is blank, anonymous. He feels the heat rise within him as he turns back.
He opens his top drawer to put the crossword away; to leave it until later. He closes his eyes briefly, to avoid seeing the MP3 player that still sits there – silent and dormant. He turns back to his desk, back to the computer screen filled with information.
Malcolm looked straight ahead and saw absolutely nothing.
9.00 AM
Tessa smoothed a non existent bump in her hair and pulled her diary towards her. It is full again this week, and she would have to investigate the hiring of new agents. She has successfully navigated the bumps in the road.
She pulls a thin file out of the December section and stares at it, as if burning the information into her mind. The picture on the front is an old one, and for a moment she is flooded by the old memories. Then she opens the folder and the memories return to their own particular compartment.
She is certain that the object of the folder contributed to the fall of Ruth Evershed. She is certain that this fact is eating at Harry from the inside.
Tessa claps her hands together, smiles, and waits for her first appointment to arrive.
10.00 AM
Ellie can’t stand the silence within the house. She avoids the place, leaving as soon as Maisie leaves for school. She wanders around the outskirts of the village, her eyes focused firmly on the ground.
People always jump out of her way first.
Sometimes, when she feels brave, she looks at them. Sometimes she tries to smile. Sometimes they look at her and she feels a chill inside. She wonders what might have been.
Ellie puts her earphones in and pushes open the front door.
11.00 AM
Ros Myers is trying not to be seen. She stands in the bathroom; her palms pressed against the cool tile, and tries to make herself invisible.
They hate her.
She’s used to that, actually. It goes back a long way, to the old days when the other little girls were jealous and she did nothing to dissuade them of this notion. She prided herself on her ice-queen, bitch of the world reputation. It was what made her who she was, it was what gave her that power.
But now . . .
She never expected to hate herself.
It was eating at her, twisting her insides, making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She squirmed a little and avoided her own reflection. She told herself that it was a phase, that it would pass, that she would be over it soon enough.
She nearly didn’t make it to the sink in time.
Ros Myers sits on the floor of the bathroom and tries to remove the taste of pure and utter hatred from her mouth.
12.00 PM
Zoe Reynolds pulls her hat down over her eyes. She ducks around a group of small boys, feeling the dust they kick up settle around her ankles. She knows that her contact will be gone in five minutes time.
She wonders what he will have for her this time, what information he will bring, hidden inside the chunky, yellowing novels. It might be something good, something she needs to hear, after all the despair and horrors. More likely it was more of the same.
She stands in front of the book stall, allowing the sunlight to warm her bare arms. She looks from side to side, while pretending to look at a display of crumbling cooking books. She picks up a battered Jamie Oliver and thinks of home.
It would be cold there, she realises, and she would be huddled inside coat and scarf. She would hurry through crowded streets, another anonymous person. She would be moving with some sense of purpose.
A book slips into her hands, on top the cookbook, and her contact is gone before she can turn her head. She turns to page 34 and scans the page for the hidden messages. She takes the novel and the cookbook to the bored man sitting on an overturned box.
Zoe Reynolds takes her hat off and walks home again.
1.00 PM
Jo stretches her arms above her head and looks around the grid. It’s nearly empty, though she doesn’t know why. As far as she knows there is nothing big going on. Of course, there’s always the possibility that they’re not telling her what they know.
She never thought she’d still feel like an outsider, after all this time.
Zaf steps through the pods and smiles at her. She considers not smiling back, pretending that she doesn’t see him. She’s still angry that he blamed her for his own lateness. She’d still annoyed that he’s continually pressing her to move in.
Maybe she’ll say yes to him, just once, to see what he’ll say. Maybe she will pack up her books and clothing and make the move. Maybe they will annoy each other so much that she will forget that she’s developing feelings she doesn’t quite understand.
Jo smiles back at Zaf, allowing her arms to fall.
2.00 PM
Christine Dale sits in an uncomfortable chair, waiting. She’s not sure what she’s waiting for, or what she wants. There are a lot of things she doesn’t really know anymore. She thinks that’s the way she wants it to be.
There are times when she considers herself a pawn on a giant chessboard. She believes that there’s someone out there, someone moving her from one place to another. She considers herself lucky at this point in time, but has no idea how long it might last.
She resists the urge to swing her legs a little, to act like the little girl who used to wait with her grandmother. She looks at the posters around the wall. She whips her head around as the door begins to open.
The doctor carries a folder, but her face gives away nothing. She pulls out a piece of paper and hands it over. “Ms Dale. Here’s the results of the pregnancy test.”
Christine Dale reaches out and takes the piece of paper in her shaking hands.
3.00 PM
Adam Carter finds himself lying on the harsh ground.
He thinks he might stay here, where the ringing in his ears is dulled, where no one can see his face.
He wonders if everyone else is okay. He wonders if he really cares. He wonders what he is doing here, why he’s not standing outside Wes’s school, with the other parents. He wonders why he’s not swinging Wes up, turning him upside down to hear his giggles.
He wonders why he is lying on the ground with ringing in his ears.
Adam Carter closes his eyes and waits for the day to disappear.