thisbluespirit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thisbluespirit) wrote2010-03-06 06:11 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote2010-03-06 06:11 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Work Experience (Spooks/SJA)
Written after a discussion on the back of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
boro_girl's entry in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
who_like_giants ficathon (See HERE) in which she suggested Clyde working for MI5.
Therefore this is hastily written nonsense, but hopefully will amuse.
Story: Work Experience
Author:lost_spook
Rating: All ages
Word Count: 1429
Characters/Pairings: Clyde Langer, Ruth Evershed, Harry Pearce, Lucas North, Ros Myers, Tariq
Warnings: None, except for flippancy inappropriate to S8 Spooks.
Summary: Spooks/Sarah Jane Adventures. Clyde Langer manages to wangle work experience in Thames House, Section D.
***
“Ruth,” said Harry. “Please. Remind me again: we are a top secret government organisation, responsible for the nation’s security, are we not? In particular, in this section, we deal with counter-terrorism. The safety of Britain depends upon us, terrifying though that is to imagine when I reflect on current staff shortages. I haven’t found myself in a parallel universe in which we are solicitors, or accountants?”
She hugged her files to her. “No. Actually, I was hoping that if I ever woke up in a parallel universe, it would be more interesting than this one, not less.”
“Yes,” he said. “How about a tea shop in Devon?”
She flickered a smile. “Oh, no. A second-hand book shop at least.”
“All of which is completely besides the point,” he said, returning to his theme, even though that had been a more hopeful exchange than most they’d had lately. “What I’m asking you is since when did MI5 become an appropriate placement for a secondary school pupil on work experience?”
Ruth said. “Well, there seems to have been some sort of administrative error. We’re keeping him to the Grid, obviously -.”
“Ah,” said Harry. “One of those. Wonderful. Can’t we send him back? Or at least, failing that, over the river?”
The lights went out.
“Clyde,” said Tariq, in the eerie glow of the emergency lighting. “I did say I was only showing you that if you promised not to touch anything.”
Another, even more youthful voice said, “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
*
“This is the briefing room,” said Lucas, pulling back the door so that Clyde could see inside.
Ros had allocated this duty to him. She’d reminded him that he was the one who seemed to have a knack for mentoring teenage boys, and then pointed out that he was not to take this one out on an operation, or get him shot, or injured in any way. Being Ros, she added the rider: not unless he caused any more trouble than he already had this morning. Then he could get him killed if he really wanted, provided he didn't make too much mess or expect her to collaborate in an elaborate cover-up operation afterwards. “This is where we make important decisions. It’s also where we hold the ongoing tea-and-biscuits debate.”
Clyde looked it up and down. “Cool. I like the logo on the wall.”
“Yes,” murmured Lucas, glancing over at the government crest. Out of all the things he was permitted to show Clyde, he’d already done the corridor and the water-cooler and since he wasn’t supposed to take him outside, he couldn’t even show him the Bench on the Embankment. He attempted to prolong the moment, but small talk wasn’t his strong point. “Harry prefers the chocolate ones, but Ruth claims the caterers don’t stock them, because she feels they’re not good for him. Ros tends to smuggle in custard creams, but that doesn’t help, because Harry doesn’t believe in biscuits you can’t dunk in your tea.”
“So where d’you keep the weapons, then?”
“If I showed you that,” Lucas said, deadpan, “I’d have to kill you.”
Clyde folded his arm. “Between you and me, mate, I’ve probably saved the country more times than you have. Hey, the world, actually. You can trust me.”
“And if I didn’t,” returned the officer, “Ros would kill us both.”
He shut up.
The boy wasn’t stupid, reflected Lucas. There were grown men who had taken too long to learn that particular lesson. People were still retrieving the pieces, whether literal or metaphorical in many cases.
Clyde said, “I’d have chocolate biscuits, too, but sticking them in tea only ruins them.”
“Well done,” said Lucas, rewarding him with something that might almost have been a smile.
He said, “Have you ever, you know, killed someone?”
“Do you want to know the answer to that?”
Clyde looked at Lucas again. “Let me guess: you eat annoying teenagers for breakfast?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t start everyone on the breakfast cereal issue again,” returned Lucas with a glint in his eye. “That one got - well - heated, shall we say?”
“So, here I am, in the heart of Britain’s security services and you’re telling me the only thing you can talk to me about is biscuits?”
Lucas paused. “I was going to show you the gents, as well. Thought you'd probably like to know where they are.”
“I might as well have gone to the florist’s,” said Clyde, sounding gloomy. “Is that it?”
He turned. “A florist’s? Doesn’t sound a bad alternative to me.”
“Yeah, right.”
Lucas shrugged. “Spend years in a Russian cell and working with flowers suddenly doesn’t seem that terrifying any more.”
“Are you saying you …?” Clyde’s voice trailed away. “Seriously?”
“It’s only a turn of phrase.”
Clyde folded his arms. “Yeah, right. So what biscuits are you into?”
“I’ll take anything I can get,” said Lucas. Then he did smile. “Provided it’s not the kind with the raisins in.”
“Dead fly biscuits,” agreed Clyde. “I’m right there with you.”
*
“You know,” said Clyde. “Finding out all your information like this must take ages. What you need is a really brilliant alien supercomputer. I bet if you asked S – someone I know -.”
Ruth turned her head and then gave a slight smile. “Oh, I already have, in a manner of speaking, thank you.”
“Erm, you have?” said Clyde. “What is this, like, a government conspiracy? Wow. I knew it.”
She typed busily on her keyboard. “No, I thought it didn’t sound like a bad way of describing my brain. I suppose it’s not very modest.”
“Eh?” He backed away. “You’re an alien?”
She frowned at him. “Well, no. I could be, though. How would you know?”
“Well, they often come with a zip and you don’t look -.”
Ruth surveyed him carefully. “I may seem slow to you, Mr Langer, but I’m quite good at finding things out. This sort of error in admin and security seems a bit much to me. There seem to be some anomalies regarding your placement here. I’ve got Tariq checking things out right now, in case someone very intelligent has managed to hack into our system and find a way to get you access. An alien supercomputer wouldn’t find it too much of a problem, I’d say. And you’ve got friends whose names make regular occurrences in our files.”
“Now I’m impressed,” said Clyde. “If you are an alien, you can tell me. I know you’re not all bad.”
She frowned at him. “You still haven’t explained yourself.”
“Look,” said Clyde, “it was work experience, right, and you try to do something cool and all they do is stick you in the local flower shop – and I was desperate to get into MI5. All I did was ask a favour of a friend to get me here.”
Ruth had a worried look on her face. “I don’t know. I should tell Ros.”
“No, don’t do that!” he yelped. He then attempted to regain his cool, but she’d successfully panicked him. Ros had that effect. “Look, I didn’t mean any harm. I just really want to be a spy one day. I’ve got loads of great experience. If you know so much, I bet you can look up Sarah Jane Smith -.”
Ruth said, “I don’t need to. I recognise the name. She’s got a nasty habit of turning up where she shouldn’t be. One of these days we might have to have a word with her.”
“Er. Does this count as treason?”
She smiled suddenly. “Clyde, as I said, I know a lot about you. I may not have a supercomputer, but I do have your school records, your mother’s bank details, a rather large file on Miss Smith, and I've logged every call you made on your mobile in the last three days, so I’m willing to believe you.”
“Thank God for that.”
Ruth grinned, then and he was alarmed to see there was a dangerous light in her eyes that wasn’t so unlike Sarah Jane once she was on the trail of something big. “Besides, I understand. I was so desperate to join MI5 that I did something worse. Come on. I’ll do what Harry suggested and show you the fire exits, and then I’ll talk to you about EERIE exercises and some other things. Tomorrow, I’m afraid, you’d better go back to the flower shop.”
“Right,” said Clyde. “It’s a deal.”
“And,” she added, “next time you try to get into MI5, do it the usual way. You can find application forms online.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go away, Clyde -.”
She shook her head. “Seriously. If you can do this; you’re exactly the kind of person we’re after. Just don’t tell Harry I said so.”
Clyde was still wearing the ridiculously wide grin when he left Thames House that afternoon.
***
boro_girl's entry in the who_like_giants ficathon (See HERE) in which she suggested Clyde working for MI5.Therefore this is hastily written nonsense, but hopefully will amuse.
Story: Work Experience
Author:
lost_spookRating: All ages
Word Count: 1429
Characters/Pairings: Clyde Langer, Ruth Evershed, Harry Pearce, Lucas North, Ros Myers, Tariq
Warnings: None, except for flippancy inappropriate to S8 Spooks.
Summary: Spooks/Sarah Jane Adventures. Clyde Langer manages to wangle work experience in Thames House, Section D.
***
“Ruth,” said Harry. “Please. Remind me again: we are a top secret government organisation, responsible for the nation’s security, are we not? In particular, in this section, we deal with counter-terrorism. The safety of Britain depends upon us, terrifying though that is to imagine when I reflect on current staff shortages. I haven’t found myself in a parallel universe in which we are solicitors, or accountants?”
She hugged her files to her. “No. Actually, I was hoping that if I ever woke up in a parallel universe, it would be more interesting than this one, not less.”
“Yes,” he said. “How about a tea shop in Devon?”
She flickered a smile. “Oh, no. A second-hand book shop at least.”
“All of which is completely besides the point,” he said, returning to his theme, even though that had been a more hopeful exchange than most they’d had lately. “What I’m asking you is since when did MI5 become an appropriate placement for a secondary school pupil on work experience?”
Ruth said. “Well, there seems to have been some sort of administrative error. We’re keeping him to the Grid, obviously -.”
“Ah,” said Harry. “One of those. Wonderful. Can’t we send him back? Or at least, failing that, over the river?”
The lights went out.
“Clyde,” said Tariq, in the eerie glow of the emergency lighting. “I did say I was only showing you that if you promised not to touch anything.”
Another, even more youthful voice said, “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
*
“This is the briefing room,” said Lucas, pulling back the door so that Clyde could see inside.
Ros had allocated this duty to him. She’d reminded him that he was the one who seemed to have a knack for mentoring teenage boys, and then pointed out that he was not to take this one out on an operation, or get him shot, or injured in any way. Being Ros, she added the rider: not unless he caused any more trouble than he already had this morning. Then he could get him killed if he really wanted, provided he didn't make too much mess or expect her to collaborate in an elaborate cover-up operation afterwards. “This is where we make important decisions. It’s also where we hold the ongoing tea-and-biscuits debate.”
Clyde looked it up and down. “Cool. I like the logo on the wall.”
“Yes,” murmured Lucas, glancing over at the government crest. Out of all the things he was permitted to show Clyde, he’d already done the corridor and the water-cooler and since he wasn’t supposed to take him outside, he couldn’t even show him the Bench on the Embankment. He attempted to prolong the moment, but small talk wasn’t his strong point. “Harry prefers the chocolate ones, but Ruth claims the caterers don’t stock them, because she feels they’re not good for him. Ros tends to smuggle in custard creams, but that doesn’t help, because Harry doesn’t believe in biscuits you can’t dunk in your tea.”
“So where d’you keep the weapons, then?”
“If I showed you that,” Lucas said, deadpan, “I’d have to kill you.”
Clyde folded his arm. “Between you and me, mate, I’ve probably saved the country more times than you have. Hey, the world, actually. You can trust me.”
“And if I didn’t,” returned the officer, “Ros would kill us both.”
He shut up.
The boy wasn’t stupid, reflected Lucas. There were grown men who had taken too long to learn that particular lesson. People were still retrieving the pieces, whether literal or metaphorical in many cases.
Clyde said, “I’d have chocolate biscuits, too, but sticking them in tea only ruins them.”
“Well done,” said Lucas, rewarding him with something that might almost have been a smile.
He said, “Have you ever, you know, killed someone?”
“Do you want to know the answer to that?”
Clyde looked at Lucas again. “Let me guess: you eat annoying teenagers for breakfast?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t start everyone on the breakfast cereal issue again,” returned Lucas with a glint in his eye. “That one got - well - heated, shall we say?”
“So, here I am, in the heart of Britain’s security services and you’re telling me the only thing you can talk to me about is biscuits?”
Lucas paused. “I was going to show you the gents, as well. Thought you'd probably like to know where they are.”
“I might as well have gone to the florist’s,” said Clyde, sounding gloomy. “Is that it?”
He turned. “A florist’s? Doesn’t sound a bad alternative to me.”
“Yeah, right.”
Lucas shrugged. “Spend years in a Russian cell and working with flowers suddenly doesn’t seem that terrifying any more.”
“Are you saying you …?” Clyde’s voice trailed away. “Seriously?”
“It’s only a turn of phrase.”
Clyde folded his arms. “Yeah, right. So what biscuits are you into?”
“I’ll take anything I can get,” said Lucas. Then he did smile. “Provided it’s not the kind with the raisins in.”
“Dead fly biscuits,” agreed Clyde. “I’m right there with you.”
*
“You know,” said Clyde. “Finding out all your information like this must take ages. What you need is a really brilliant alien supercomputer. I bet if you asked S – someone I know -.”
Ruth turned her head and then gave a slight smile. “Oh, I already have, in a manner of speaking, thank you.”
“Erm, you have?” said Clyde. “What is this, like, a government conspiracy? Wow. I knew it.”
She typed busily on her keyboard. “No, I thought it didn’t sound like a bad way of describing my brain. I suppose it’s not very modest.”
“Eh?” He backed away. “You’re an alien?”
She frowned at him. “Well, no. I could be, though. How would you know?”
“Well, they often come with a zip and you don’t look -.”
Ruth surveyed him carefully. “I may seem slow to you, Mr Langer, but I’m quite good at finding things out. This sort of error in admin and security seems a bit much to me. There seem to be some anomalies regarding your placement here. I’ve got Tariq checking things out right now, in case someone very intelligent has managed to hack into our system and find a way to get you access. An alien supercomputer wouldn’t find it too much of a problem, I’d say. And you’ve got friends whose names make regular occurrences in our files.”
“Now I’m impressed,” said Clyde. “If you are an alien, you can tell me. I know you’re not all bad.”
She frowned at him. “You still haven’t explained yourself.”
“Look,” said Clyde, “it was work experience, right, and you try to do something cool and all they do is stick you in the local flower shop – and I was desperate to get into MI5. All I did was ask a favour of a friend to get me here.”
Ruth had a worried look on her face. “I don’t know. I should tell Ros.”
“No, don’t do that!” he yelped. He then attempted to regain his cool, but she’d successfully panicked him. Ros had that effect. “Look, I didn’t mean any harm. I just really want to be a spy one day. I’ve got loads of great experience. If you know so much, I bet you can look up Sarah Jane Smith -.”
Ruth said, “I don’t need to. I recognise the name. She’s got a nasty habit of turning up where she shouldn’t be. One of these days we might have to have a word with her.”
“Er. Does this count as treason?”
She smiled suddenly. “Clyde, as I said, I know a lot about you. I may not have a supercomputer, but I do have your school records, your mother’s bank details, a rather large file on Miss Smith, and I've logged every call you made on your mobile in the last three days, so I’m willing to believe you.”
“Thank God for that.”
Ruth grinned, then and he was alarmed to see there was a dangerous light in her eyes that wasn’t so unlike Sarah Jane once she was on the trail of something big. “Besides, I understand. I was so desperate to join MI5 that I did something worse. Come on. I’ll do what Harry suggested and show you the fire exits, and then I’ll talk to you about EERIE exercises and some other things. Tomorrow, I’m afraid, you’d better go back to the flower shop.”
“Right,” said Clyde. “It’s a deal.”
“And,” she added, “next time you try to get into MI5, do it the usual way. You can find application forms online.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go away, Clyde -.”
She shook her head. “Seriously. If you can do this; you’re exactly the kind of person we’re after. Just don’t tell Harry I said so.”
Clyde was still wearing the ridiculously wide grin when he left Thames House that afternoon.
***
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