The George was a traditional refuge for MI5 staff after a long day at the office. Staff from the service could often be found there late at night, blending in inconspicuously with the somewhat unappealing décor - finding a little comfort from some cheap drinks with colleagues.

Tonight was no exception. Rosalind Myers, Lucas North, Malcolm Wynn – Jones and Joanna Portman were uncomfortably bunched around a narrow table at a side booth in the bar, laughing and joking amongst themselves.

After Ros had finished sharing with thinly disguised relish a story about the scandalous rumours she had heard from Harry about the unsavory activities the Home Secretary got up to with his Secretary and press secretary behind closed doors, Malcolm rose from the table announcing that he was off for the evening. Ros nodded, "I should go too – I've a meeting with the man himself tomorrow and we all know what happens to employees who don't meet his expectations."

Jo and Lucas laughed as she left before lapsing into a rather muted silence.

"So, how are you finding things back here now?, " Jo enquired politely.

"Pretty well – Britain doesn't have much of a reputation for its food or its weather but I can report that both are a damn site better than in Russia."

Jo nodded, smiling slightly.

"How about you – how are you these days?"

The alcohol was making his mouth run ahead of his brain and he half regretted his question almost as soon as the question after it was out of his lips, knowing that the truth was sure to be unpalatable.

Her smile faded, but Jo by nature was always mindful of the need to observe the conventions of conversation, and over the past few months had become increasingly adept at filling conversations with anything other than what was on her mind.

"Ok," she said briefly. "A bit - tired," she said added slowly.

"Can I get you another drink?' he asked.

She nodded, "that'd be nice," she said smiling gently.

Jo didn't smile often but when she did it illuminated her face like a ray of sunshine after the rain. Lucas paused half way off the bench, momentarily distracted by how pretty she was, then went off in search of the bar.

He returned with two glasses and bottles, planted them on the table and began to pour out some drinks.

"So, I never heard whether there was any juicy office gossip I ought to know from when I was away," he began.

She paused as her mind ticked over, "Well there was Harry and Juliet – did you know they had a sordid little affair some time in the distant past? And then of course, you knew about Tom's disappearance and Ros had a rather colourful time in Baghdad before she joined us, so I hear."

He laughed, "I bet – I'm sure she would be more than a match for many an Arab sheik. I expect she'd give them more trouble than their other four wives put together."

"I expect so," replied Jo laughing, the wine flushing her cheeks a rosy pink.

Jo paused, considering whether there was anything else she could report to him.

The rest of her news was hardly suitable subject matter for a lighthearted conservation – Colin's murder, Fiona's death, Zaf's torture and extended suffering before his eventual death. And Adam – but of course Lucas knew about that. The succession of images this brought to her mind quickly drained the colour from her face and she looked down, silently contemplating her glass and willing herself not to cry.

"Jo – are you alright?" Lucas asked gently, touching her arm softly.

He regretted asking her about her colleagues and suspected that this may have provoked some painful memories but it was increasingly difficult to know what he could and couldn't say to her. Conversation with Jo was a minefield for the unwary – she had sustained so many hurts it was difficult to keep track of them all.

"Come on Jo," he said suddenly, ''it's late, I should take you home I guess," he sighed.

**