Fic: Something in the Atmosphere
Apr. 8th, 2014 05:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thisbluespiritTitle: Something in the Atmosphere
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lost_spook
Rating: All ages
Word Count: 623
Characters/Pairings: Harry Pearce, Connie James
Notes/Warnings: Slight spoilers for S5/6.
Summary: Harry’s avoiding the subject…
Forparanoidangel42 in the 500 Prompts Meme - Prompt 201. Gazing upon the sky with dampened eyes… - Harry Pearce (Spooks). (One day I may write Spooks fic that is not a stupidly slight ficlet, or a cracky crossover, but today is not that day.)
***
It was only the damp in the air, of course, nothing more. Otherwise Harry had been allowing himself to grow maudlin twice in two days, and that would be unthinkable. He removed his gaze from the river as a boat went past and looked upwards at the sky instead. It was overcast, and clouds were looming, or maybe that was only the metaphors in his head. He thought the world seemed slightly askew, although, come to think of it, it usually was, and so the only question was why that worried him more these days.
His phone rang, and he reached for it, simultaneously glad of the interruption to his pointless musings, and wondering what the hell had happened now. After all, they’d already had plague, death, UFOs and international conspiracy so far this month. It was probably Armageddon this time, he decided. It seemed to be the way this year was shaping up. Anything else would be an anti-climax.
“Harry,” said Connie on the other end, sounding as brisk as ever, “if you’re going to loiter around the Embankment being dismal, you might as well have that psychological and be done with it. At least then you’d be indoors and dry.”
Harry was definitely coming to suspect that MI5 had developed mind-reading powers in Connie’s day that had since been lost, or put aside in favour of the microchip.
“I’m on my way back from a meeting with Bob Hogan,” he said, and then wondered why it sounded like an excuse.
“Twenty minutes ago,” said Connie, in a tone that implied that the excuse didn’t hold water anyway. “For the past fifteen you’ve been moping about by the river. You were late for your rescheduled psychological ten minutes ago, and in five minutes more you’ll be late for the meeting with the Home Secretary that you scheduled to get out of the psychological. And now there’s something else.”
Harry had already started walking towards the Houses of Parliament. “Don’t tell me: all four riders of the apocalypse have galloped down the Mall and want to stable their fiery chargers in Buckingham Palace, or possibly St Paul’s?”
“I really think you ought to have that psychological,” said Connie, suddenly turning up beside him. She switched her phone off and gave him a quick smile. Harry put his own away without glancing at her. He’d guessed she must have been somewhere nearby at the twenty minutes remark. Either that, or it really was mind reading. Or merely by means of Malcolm and microchips, of course.
“And no,” Connie said, in answer to his question. “No riders. Only me.”
“So, what manner of doom do you carry in your scroll?”
Connie passed him a file. “An update you’ll need before you get to that meeting. You’ll see.”
“And for your information,” said Harry, tucking the file away inside his coat, “the Home Secretary asked to see me. I did not –”
“Say that the only possible time you could make it today was coincidentally the point your psychological was scheduled for?”
Harry fell back on pointing out that she should be more respectful to a knight of the realm, a remark which Connie didn’t dignify with an answer.
“Read it,” she said. “In the mean time, I’ll reschedule that appointment for you. Make sure you keep it this time.”
He shook his head, as Connie turned to go. “Ruthless, Connie, ruthless.”
“Me?” she said, before heading away from him, back towards Thames House. “I always thought you were.”
Harry continued on his way, preparing to confront the dragons of British government in their den, while wondering again if that was more evidence of mind-reading, or just coincidence.
Either way, he should be more careful.
***
Author:
lost_spookRating: All ages
Word Count: 623
Characters/Pairings: Harry Pearce, Connie James
Notes/Warnings: Slight spoilers for S5/6.
Summary: Harry’s avoiding the subject…
For
paranoidangel42 in the 500 Prompts Meme - Prompt 201. Gazing upon the sky with dampened eyes… - Harry Pearce (Spooks). (One day I may write Spooks fic that is not a stupidly slight ficlet, or a cracky crossover, but today is not that day.)***
It was only the damp in the air, of course, nothing more. Otherwise Harry had been allowing himself to grow maudlin twice in two days, and that would be unthinkable. He removed his gaze from the river as a boat went past and looked upwards at the sky instead. It was overcast, and clouds were looming, or maybe that was only the metaphors in his head. He thought the world seemed slightly askew, although, come to think of it, it usually was, and so the only question was why that worried him more these days.
His phone rang, and he reached for it, simultaneously glad of the interruption to his pointless musings, and wondering what the hell had happened now. After all, they’d already had plague, death, UFOs and international conspiracy so far this month. It was probably Armageddon this time, he decided. It seemed to be the way this year was shaping up. Anything else would be an anti-climax.
“Harry,” said Connie on the other end, sounding as brisk as ever, “if you’re going to loiter around the Embankment being dismal, you might as well have that psychological and be done with it. At least then you’d be indoors and dry.”
Harry was definitely coming to suspect that MI5 had developed mind-reading powers in Connie’s day that had since been lost, or put aside in favour of the microchip.
“I’m on my way back from a meeting with Bob Hogan,” he said, and then wondered why it sounded like an excuse.
“Twenty minutes ago,” said Connie, in a tone that implied that the excuse didn’t hold water anyway. “For the past fifteen you’ve been moping about by the river. You were late for your rescheduled psychological ten minutes ago, and in five minutes more you’ll be late for the meeting with the Home Secretary that you scheduled to get out of the psychological. And now there’s something else.”
Harry had already started walking towards the Houses of Parliament. “Don’t tell me: all four riders of the apocalypse have galloped down the Mall and want to stable their fiery chargers in Buckingham Palace, or possibly St Paul’s?”
“I really think you ought to have that psychological,” said Connie, suddenly turning up beside him. She switched her phone off and gave him a quick smile. Harry put his own away without glancing at her. He’d guessed she must have been somewhere nearby at the twenty minutes remark. Either that, or it really was mind reading. Or merely by means of Malcolm and microchips, of course.
“And no,” Connie said, in answer to his question. “No riders. Only me.”
“So, what manner of doom do you carry in your scroll?”
Connie passed him a file. “An update you’ll need before you get to that meeting. You’ll see.”
“And for your information,” said Harry, tucking the file away inside his coat, “the Home Secretary asked to see me. I did not –”
“Say that the only possible time you could make it today was coincidentally the point your psychological was scheduled for?”
Harry fell back on pointing out that she should be more respectful to a knight of the realm, a remark which Connie didn’t dignify with an answer.
“Read it,” she said. “In the mean time, I’ll reschedule that appointment for you. Make sure you keep it this time.”
He shook his head, as Connie turned to go. “Ruthless, Connie, ruthless.”
“Me?” she said, before heading away from him, back towards Thames House. “I always thought you were.”
Harry continued on his way, preparing to confront the dragons of British government in their den, while wondering again if that was more evidence of mind-reading, or just coincidence.
Either way, he should be more careful.
***
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-09 01:41 am (UTC)A couple of days ago, one of the fandoms I wrangle on AO3 produced the tag "Londoners avoiding dealing with their emotions near bodies of water". I ended up dumping it in No Fandom, but I was seriously tempted to offer it to you for Spooks.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-09 07:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-15 11:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-09 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-09 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-15 11:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-15 01:24 pm (UTC)Some of my other ficlets were angsty (Spooks is Spooks) but... I, um, might be a tad more prone to writing fic where Clyde Langer goes to the grid on work experience (and learns about the importance of biscuits), it's true... :lol: