CHAPTER TEN
Ruth closed the door behind her and, as expected, the flood started. Not just tears, but sobs so loud that she had to ruin a perfectly good pillow with mascara in order to silence them. She felt broken into little pieces and scattered to the wind, as if she no longer existed, which was not only indescribably painful, but frightening to her as well.
Why had she started this? This was what she kept asking herself. Life had been less exciting before she thought to go to Harry's that night, but at least they had each other in some form, they had a friendship. Now that was gone too, because she felt betrayed, and used.
Miserably, she comforted herself with the thought that at least she hadn't slept with him. But she had been so close. And now she knew that was probably why he had stopped her in the alcove. He might not have told her the truth about Juliet, but at least he hadn't gone so far as to use her in that way.
Juliet. How does one compete? Paralysed and powerful. When Ruth put herself next to that combination, she felt small as a mouse. And as the sobs began to subside and had moved into just noisy hiccoughs, Ruth could step back a bit. Did Juliet need Harry more than she did? Was she being selfish? But I love him so much, he's my heart, my soul, my soul mate. How do I let him go?
From her purse, Ruth's mobile rang. She crawled to the end of the bed where she'd thrown it, and pulled it out. Harry. Of course it was Harry. She was curious about what he would say to her, but she was still crying and couldn't bear the thought of hearing his voice right now. She couldn't turn her phone off completely, because she had to be reachable by the team, so she just rejected the call and it stopped ringing.
No sooner had she put it back in her purse when it rang again. Harry. Well, he wasn't giving up. She sighed and rejected it again. Three more times, then four.
Then a knock at the door. She dragged herself quietly across the room with the pillow still to her face, catching the tears and stifling any noise she might make, and looked through the peekhole in the door. There he was, in the strange fisheye lens, and he looked still ten years older than when she had last seen him in the lobby. She could just barely hear him.
"Ruth. Ruth, please. Please open the door. I only have a few minutes. I have to meet the Foreign Secretary … " He put his hand on the door and she stepped back as she felt it thump softly on her side. Then she put her hand on the door, too, where she thought his might be. So close, the two of them, and with a universe between. "Please talk to me. I need to explain. What you saw … " He stopped as she saw the shadow of someone walk behind him.
What you saw. So he knew. And not so much what I saw, Harry, but what I heard. What Ruth saw was bad enough, but it might be explained away. She had replayed it over in her head countless times, and the more she remembered of it, the more she thought Juliet had been the one to kiss Harry, rather than the other way round.
But what he said. "Juliet, I'm in love with you." Each time it was a fresh wound. The words Ruth had dreamt of, had believed might be true. The perfect words, but with the wrong name at the start. The words that made every moment of the last ten days a lie. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered sweetness, now a lie.
"Ruth … " The door thumped again, this time because Harry was leant against it, as if he needed to be as close to her as he could get. Now he stood up, and looked directly into the lens, directly at her. "I have to go. But I will keep calling, and I'll keep knocking on this door. You can't avoid me forever, my Ruth." He touched the door once more with his hand, then kissed his finger and touched it to the lens. And he walked away.
My Ruth. Oh, her heart hurt. She went in and turned on the water to draw a bath. And now she felt strong enough to call Adam and let him know she was here. He told her where the laptop was in the room and let her know she wouldn't be needed for an hour or so. Ruth undressed, still sniffling, and eased herself into the warm water. I am strong. I will survive this. But something is broken in me now. I can feel it.
Harry walked away from the door and willed himself into control. He felt split directly down the middle. Right now, all he wanted was to stand at Ruth's door until the end of time if needs be, to wait until they were both old and decrepit if he must, but to never let her see the light of day without seeing him first.
He knew he couldn't do that, and his training told him that there would be time. There would always be time. Was the goal of the Havensworth Summit more important than his love for Ruth? What a question to have to ask, like a mother choosing which of her children to save from some horrible catastrophe. And in his heart, he knew how passionate Ruth was about the aims of the Summit. He knew that she wanted him to do his job.
They would sort this out. He tried to put himself in her position. Tried to imagine the view from behind the glass, looking in at Juliet's hospital room. Tried to imagine how he would feel if he saw the same thing, Ruth with that damned Fortesque or some other bloke, locked in a kiss. And his blood boiled.
Harry understood how she felt, and it made him all the more anxious to hold her, to reassure her, to tell her what he had told Juliet. I'm in love with Ruth. He had blurted it out so suddenly, but as he said it out loud for the first time, every part of him thrilled with the truth of it. And he wanted so much to tell her. Already felt the betrayal of having told Juliet something he should have told Ruth first.
So Harry was the one who had suggested to Adam that he bring Ruth into the hotel operation. In his mind he had a fuzzy plan of sorts, to show up as room service. Some soppy romantic thing with champagne, leaving the trackers in a toilet somewhere if he had to, and tell her. Finally tell her what he'd heard in his head for longer than he had even recognised it. I love you, Ruth.
Well, that plan was all bollocks now. Damned Juliet, that woman had plagued him for too long. A man makes a mistake when he's young and it follows him like a rabid dog nipping at his heels to the end of his days.
Harry pushed the button for the lift, and leant against the wall with one arm. Christ, I'm tired, he thought. His day with Ruth in Henley-on-Thames came back like a breeze off the Irish sea. He smiled, with his eyes closed, and felt her in his arms, saw her laugh about his silly Grand Tour. Then how she looked as she told him about his locked door and the EERIE exercise. Did he even deserve a love so pure?
Harry opened his eyes, and watched as the numbers climbed. Then and there, he decided. He wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. And once he had convinced her of that, he would never again take a chance that something could separate them. Baffled, Harry wondered what that meant. He couldn't even form the word in the privacy of his own head. And as he did it anyway, he thought, Bloody hell, haven't I told myself that is absolutely never an option in my life, ever again?
The lift bell sounded, and the doors opened, just as Harry's mobile rang. He stepped in to the lift and stood a little taller, hearing the DG's voice. "Yes, sir, yes. Oh, I see. Well, that's a disappointment, sir. Thank you for letting me know." He clicked off and called Adam. "Meet me for coffee," he said simply, giving him the code word for their safe meeting place by the river.
Harry spoke as he walked up to Adam under the large tree next to the water. "I've just had a call from the DG about Ros' father. My request for leniency's been turned down. They've decided to make an example of him."
"How many years did he get?"
"Twenty, minimum."
Adam exhaled loudly. "He'll be over eighty when he gets out, she'll be devastated."
"Keep it to yourself," Harry said. "We need her focused on this operation."
Adam's mobile rang, and Harry considered the words he'd just said. He wondered if he was capable of focusing himself. But he realised in that moment that everyone is split down the middle, really. Did he think that his crisis with Ruth was more important that Ros' father going to prison, possibly to die there?
Harry sighed, and placed Ruth firmly in the back of his mind. Adam finished up the call, and pressed a number to make a call himself. Harry heard him say, "Ruth, what do you have on Trainor Styles and ice hockey?" He listened to her answer, and then said, "OK, get me everything on them. Oh, and Ruth, I need twenty black kids to go to the back entrance of the hotel at midday. We need to put pressure on the French."
Adam closed his mobile and looked over at Harry, smiling. "That woman is amazing, Harry. She can do anything. I think I could ask her to bring Jesus Christ round to the Grid and she'd show up, smiling, with him on her arm."
Harry laughed. "I believe you're right, Adam."
So much for putting Ruth in the back of my mind, Harry thought, as he headed off to his meeting with the Foreign Secretary.
~~~~~
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It had been a long day, and Ruth was irritable, to say the least. And now, to top it all off, it was just after 2:00 a.m. and the music from down the hall was so loud it could be right in the room with her. She had managed, actually, to spend most of the day in her room, taking meals in, and working from the phone and the laptop. Since the MI5 presence was meant to be somewhat under the radar, it had worked out well for everyone.
Everyone but Harry, that is. He had left messages for her all day. She had been so fragile, she'd simply listened to the first few words of each, and then deleted. She didn't want to hear any explanations, didn't want to be swayed by the sound of his voice, by excuses. She had seen what she'd seen, and she'd heard what she'd heard. Facts were facts. It's like trying to explain the moon away, while it hangs full and bright in the sky as it did out her window tonight.
His last call had been about 10:00 p.m., and she had listened to that one, because she couldn't stop herself anymore. She listened with large tears rolling down her cheeks, holding the phone with both hands as if she were cradling his face. She was ashamed to think that she'd listened to it five times, and had not yet been able to delete it.
His voice was soft and gentle, as if he were holding her and whispering it in her ear. "Ruth. I'm only calling to say goodnight, and to say that my mind is filled with you. I wish you sweet dreams, my Ruth."
Did she have any more tears? As the music pounded through the bathroom wall, she peered in the mirror at her face. Tired, drawn, blotched, old. And so sad, the face that stared back at her. This day had started with her wanting so much to see Harry, and at that time she could never have imagined it would end with her running from him. "But there you are," she said quietly to the Ruth in the mirror, "nothing ever stays the same."
She looked up at the rack on the wall, and fascinated, watched as the towel on it actually shook with the music. "Oh, this is just too much!" she said to herself in the mirror, and went to find her shoes.
She opened the door gingerly, almost expecting Harry to be camping out there. But the space in front of her door was empty. The music was even louder now, and she searched for its location, looking left.
And there he was. Almost like the dream she had convinced herself he was. He stood in the white shirt he had worn all day, open at the neck, looking so tired, and so very sad. The same look she had seen in the lobby, but he'd worn it for longer now and it was etched into his face.
For a moment she thought of running back to the safety of her room. But she had spent the day thinking about how she would reconcile what had happened between them with the job she loved and knew she was so good at. She couldn't run forever, and for the sake of her pride and of Harry's authority, she had decided that they would simply agree that the past ten days hadn't happened.
They would go back to their life on the Grid. And really, she had reasoned with herself, they had done that for more than three years, whilst this new Ruth and Harry had only lasted for a little over a week. She had told herself that she would get over him in time, although she knew she would love him forever. Ruth almost fancied herself one of her Jane Austen heroines, or maybe even Jane herself, who had loved once and then lived her life out alone, remembering.
But after a day of reasoning and planning to be rational, it was such a shock to see him suddenly like this, that Ruth almost gave in. For a moment the hours since the hospital drained away from her, and she felt a compulsion to simply walk down the hall and take him in her arms. To feel his heartbeat under her ear again, and feel his warm arms go round her, feel his lips kiss the top of her head.
But that moment passed, and she saw him again with Juliet. The memory snapped her back to hearing the sounds coming from the door behind her. "Uh, music woke me. " He was walking slowly toward her, the same expression on his face. Inexpressibly sad. It threatened to draw her in again, so she said something light and inane. "Never really gone in for Euro-Pop."
Harry wasn't buying it. "It looks like you weren't sleeping at all." His voice was so soft, she almost didn't hear him over the music, "Nor was I." His eyes never left hers. She could tell he was struggling with what to say, what he could say that would allow them to stay in this hallway, that would keep her from going back to her room. She read his thoughts as if he were speaking them, and she read them all through his eyes. Time for more inanity, Ruth thought, or I'll simply take his hand and lead him into the room myself.
"The Italian Trade Minister. He's apparently a bit of a party animal. Caused a scandal at an EU conference last year by insisting on dancing to the Macarena at the last night banquet."
Oh, his eyes. Had he been crying? The lines in his face, so deep. He was boring straight through all of her resolve and into her soul with those eyes, and she saw it again. Love. No! I won't let this happen! He doesn't love me, he only feels regret, perhaps that he's hurt me and he knows it. But sympathy is not what I want from Harry, I want all of him, forever, and I can't have him.
Get yourself out of here, Ruth, now. "I'll get the management to ask him to turn it down."
As she turned, she heard it. Her name, spoken in an impossibly soft, almost animal wail from him. Spoken with a question at the end, "Ruth?" as if he was asking her so many questions in that one word. She couldn't answer any of them, so she ran.
"G'night, Harry." And she was gone. Harry stood in the hallway, seeing part of his life go with her.
In the surveillance room on the Grid, Malcolm watched. Ruth's green square moved quickly back to her room, while Harry's red one made its way slowly back to his.
"Oh, Ruth," Malcolm says, shaking his head slightly. "Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."
Malcolm bitterly regretted the teasing he'd given Ruth about Harry, and hated to think he might be the cause of this missed opportunity. Ruth would be so good for his old friend, and Harry would be so good for her.
Harry heard the door close behind him. He walked to the middle of his room, not seeing anything in it. He stood there for a time, just feeling the weight of his breath, the heaviness of his head on his shoulders, the restless way his hands moved at his sides. This was helplessness. Something he vowed, every time he felt it, never to feel again.
Every time someone died, he felt this. And now, it felt as if someone had died. If Ruth could stand in that hallway, nattering on about the Italian Trade Minister while Harry laid himself open to her with his eyes, she was really gone. And if she was really gone, Harry wasn't quite sure how to take a step from the middle of this room into the rest of his life.
He looked at the clock on the table next to the bed. 2:23. Harry had a knack for remembering numbers. When Ruth had knocked at his door on that night ten days ago, he had looked at his watch. And it had been 2:23. Well, he didn't need to be hit over the head with this one. And now he knew he was not going down without a fight.
Harry quickly took off his shirt and changed into another, a casual one. He replaced his trousers with jeans. Sitting down on the bed, Harry considered. For him to be out of touch in the middle of an op was practically a breach of national security. All he needed at this point was an all-out search for the missing Head of MI5. He would need to take someone into his confidence. Ruth would be angry, perhaps, but what did he have to lose at this point? Harry picked up his mobile and punched in one number.
"Malcolm?"
"Harry? Something wrong?" Malcolm was on duty, so it was his job to watch the comings and goings of everyone in the hotel. Boring job at this time of night, really. Most of them were fast asleep in their beds, except for the Italian Trade Minister's suite, which seemed to have a lot of little boxes milling around.
"Nothing wrong, Malcolm. I just wanted you to know that my mobile, my tracker and my pager will be in my bed for a time, and I will not. I am forwarding my mobile to yours. Should it ring, which is highly unlikely, please make whatever excuse you can."
Malcolm smiled and answered without a pause. "Well thank God for that. Glad you two have finally come to your senses."
Harry laughed for the first time since early this morning. "Christ, are there no secrets to be had, Malcolm?"
"Not where you and Ruth are concerned, old friend. We see it. You don't. The proverbial forest for the trees."
Harry held the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he pulled on his shoes. "I need you to keep this one just between us, though. Ruth … well, we …. want to keep it to ourselves, not have it be the talk of the water cooler, yes?"
Malcolm was quick to reply. "My lips are sealed, Harry. I've learnt my lesson. I was afraid I'd botched it for you. Glad to know I didn't."
Harry stood up and sighed. "Well, the jury's still out, Malcolm. Wish me luck."
"You don't need it. She loves you more than you deserve."
"My friend, in that we are in absolute agreement. Thanks."
Ruth's tears were beginning to subside when she made the fatal mistake of listening to his message again. What was this desire of hers for torture? She told herself it was better to get it all out at once, but she had to admit there was a masochistic deliciousness about it, this sharp pain in her heart. Her life hadn't had much of that before she met Harry Pearce, and it was a blessing to feel alive, which right now, she very much did. Wretched, but very alive.
She had called the front desk to complain, but the music was still blaring. Oh, what the hell, I wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway. For a moment, she thought about just going next door and joining in. Have a few drinks, make a fool of herself, and have a real reason to feel terrible in the morning. As opposed to just feeling terrible.
She couldn't get his face out of her mind. His eyes, especially. They were haunting her now, as she listened to his message still again, sniffling, and catching the tears on the same pillow, which was now a complete disaster.
When she finished the message, she forced herself to put down her phone. The music did have a beat, didn't it? Euro-Pop? Where in hell had that come from? She had behaved ridiculously in the hallway, and now was re-living every word, including her favourite one, Macarena. No wonder he loves Juliet, she thought miserably, I'm a proper idiot.
Ruth looked over the offerings of small liquor bottles at the bar in the room. She wasn't much of a drinker, but maybe she could help herself sleep with one of these. As she picked up the tiny Glenfiddich single malt bottle, she remembered what she'd done for Harry's birthday, years ago. She'd stolen into his office early that morning and hidden four bottles of thirteen-year-old malt in the top drawer of his desk, after carefully writing the letters R, U, T and H on them. He had liked that.
The tears started slipping down her face again, and Ruth snapped open the bottle and drank it all at one go. Probably sacrilege, but the burn felt good as she felt it move down her throat. She would have to account for this in her expense report, and it probably cost a fortune, but right now, she didn't care.
Suddenly, along with the beat of the music, Ruth heard a loud bang at the door of the room. She put down the empty bottle, threw the pillow on the bed, and went to look through the lens. By the time she got there, there had been three more loud bangs. She was either under attack, or someone had got the wrong room for the party. She thought it was the latter, but if she didn't stop them soon, they'd wake up the whole hotel.
Ruth put her eye up to the lens and there was a finger on it. Pink and red, pressed hard there, so hard, she could almost read the fingerprints. The banging continued, and Ruth looked around her for a weapon, just in case. A clothes hanger in the closet was the nearest she could find, sturdy and wooden, with a metal hook.
She unlocked the door, leaving the chain latch across it. She held the hanger up behind her head, as a threat. Later, she would reflect on how silly this was, but for now, it felt appropriate.
She opened the door, and there he stood. His face was bloodless and flushed at the same time, and had she not loved him so much, he would have been quite frightening. "Let me in. Now, Ruth." It was Harry from the Grid. It was Harry, telling her she was late for a briefing. Harry, pushing the files off the desk in anger. Her obedience response kicked in, and she pushed the door closed, unlatched the chain, and opened it again.
He strode past her. "Ruth. A word."
Honestly, she was relieved to see him this way. So much better than the haunting eyes that drilled their way into her soul. This Harry she could face without tears. She knew she had to stand up to this one.
Harry stood between the bed and the desk. Now that he was here, he seemed not quite sure what to say. Getting into her room had been much easier than he thought, and he was at a bit of a loss.
Ruth still stood by the door, which had closed on its own. She was determined to be civilised about this, because she was determined that things would go back to the way they were. It was more important to her right now than her broken heart, so she vowed to set that aside and make things right between them.
"Would you like to sit down, Harry?"
"No. Thank you." He didn't know why he wanted to stand there, but it just felt right. The conversation, such as it was, had become quite surreal, however. This day had taken him through nearly every emotion he had in his repertoire, and he was really rather exhausted. Her calm had dissipated the anger that got him up to and through the door, but as he felt it retreating, his heart started to ache again.
It showed in his face as he looked at her, and Ruth felt herself slipping again. His eyes.
"You've been avoiding me all day, Ruth. You haven't answered my calls. I know why, and I want you to know what happened."
Now that the adrenaline had left his system, it was replaced by sorrow, and everything he said expressed it. He looked just as he did in the hallway. Both of them simply stared, and both had the same desire in that moment. To stop talking and hold each other. To turn back the clock 24 hours and be on Ruth's sofa, watching Fidget do nothing more dramatic than clean her long, sleek fur.
Harry would gladly have taken that step, but as he moved almost imperceptibly toward it, Ruth flinched and walked around to the window. "I know what happened, Harry. I saw it." Her voice was still calm and steady, but she felt the tears coming again, and willed them away. Just for now. Later you can cry.
"No, you don't. You saw something, but it's not what you thought." Harry kept his voice calm as well, and he kept his distance from her. She was like an animal in a cage, measuring her level of comfort by the space between them. This space seemed to be enough, so he left it at that.
Harry was so grateful that he was here, finally talking with her after this long and uncertain day. As she stood by the tall windows with their sheer curtains, the moonlight streamed in, turning her face to white marble. She was so beautiful it squeezed his heart, and he decided maybe it was a good idea to sit down. He dropped himself slowly into the desk chair, not wanting to startle her.
"Ruth, can you tell me what you saw?" Harry hated that he was using interrogation techniques here, in this most important moment. But it was all he knew. And he knew she would probably see through it.
She did, but was grateful for the structure. At least they both knew what they were doing. No shouting, no unchecked emotions. She would listen to him, tell him how much her job meant to her, and make a pact with him that the last ten days would fade from both of their memories. Then they would go on as they had been. It was her only hope for sanity.
She answered his question as if she were in his office after an op. She simply gave him information. She knew if she felt it, she would fall into all those little pieces again. She spoke not to him, but to the bright moon. "I saw that Juliet was crying, and you took her hand. She reached up and pulled your sleeve, and you sat closer to her on the bed. Then … " Ruth paused here, debating with herself, and decided to continue her exact interpretation. "Then, she kissed you."
Harry sighed, glad of her correct view of who kissed whom. He stood and moved slightly closer to Ruth. "That's accurate, all of it. Do you know how I was feeling while this was happening, Ruth?"
Ruth shook her head, her composure beginning to crack. No, Harry, don't ask me about feelings. Only facts. She sat back on the window sill, and her breath started to come in short bursts. She felt herself falling over the edge, but was too exhausted to stop it. She was aware that her reserves of control had just depleted. There was no more left.
Her eyes misted, and Harry was suddenly in the blur of her tears, coming toward her, very fast. So fast, she didn't have time to react, and then he was there, his arms around her, feeling, oh God, so good. Smelling so good, his chest heaving as hers was, the sound in his throat the same as hers, both of them breathing their pain into each other.
She pulled back to look at him, and there were tears on his face, too. She touched one of them and looked at it, disbelieving. After all her tears today, Harry cried for her. It was the sweetest gift she could imagine, and before thinking, she leant up to kiss his cheek, to taste them. He turned and caught her mouth with his lips and they held there, suspended, not moving. Harry was afraid to move for fear of breaking the spell, and Ruth was simply floating, now unaware of, or unwilling to face, reality. But then it came.
Harry felt the change, and steeled himself for it. Ruth pulled away, saying, "No!" as she put her hands up to keep him from moving toward her again. "Don't do this!" She backed up to the wall, looking fiercely at him. "I know what I saw, Harry, and I know what I heard."
He tilted his head, truly confused. "What you heard? What did you hear?"
Her eyes were accusing him, and if they hadn't been so deeply hurt, they would have been almost triumphant. "You told her you loved her, Harry. I heard it!"
"I … what? You were outside the window, how could you hear anything? I don't love Juliet, how could you hear me say it?"
Ruth's anger was subsiding again, overcome by her tears. She began to struggle with her words, choking them out rather than saying them. "You t-took her hands and h-held them, and you said, 'Juliet, I'm in l-love with you.' I-I heard it, Harry. I heard it t-through the w-window." Ruth put her face in her hands and leant up against the wall. She lost her strength completely then, and slid down the wall until she was sitting with her knees up in front of her. Her head fell forward, and she sobbed into her arms, crossed over her knees.
Harry wanted to go to her, but first he had to figure out what she had just said. He stood for just a split second, although it felt like longer, before he understood, finally, the depth of Ruth's pain.
He moved to her and pulled her to her feet, gently. She had no more desire to fight him, and she hung almost limply in his arms, still crying in soft hiccoughs. His arm firmly around her, Harry walked Ruth to the bed, sat her down, and sat to face her.
Taking her face in his hands, he used his sleeve to dab away what tears he could, although they continued to fall, somewhat fewer now. Her face was raw, red, as were her eyes, still filling, even as he looked at her.
"I'm going to tell you what I said to Juliet. What you misunderstood, my Ruth." His voice was so soft, so full of tenderness, that Ruth actually tilted her head a little at the sound of it, as if it were some wonderful rich cloth caressing her cheek. She had no more defences, and she simply waited, listening.
"I took her arms from around my neck, as you saw, because the only person I could think of at that moment was you, Ruth. The only arms I wanted around me were yours." Harry cupped her chin with his hand, speaking even softer. "And I said, 'Juliet, I'm in love with Ruth.'" Harry leant in and kissed her, brushing her lips just once, and pulling back. "I love you, Ruth. Only you. Always you."
For a moment, she couldn't believe what she had heard. You. Ruth. How similar those words seemed to her now, as she remembered the muffled sounds coming from beyond the window. Still holding Harry's eyes, she replayed the memory in her head, and it sounded different this time.
A small smile played on her lips. "Say it again, Harry."
"I love you, Ruth."
She threw her arms around him, and suddenly the whole world made sense. Nothing that she had felt all day had made sense, but this felt real and true. Not just because she wanted it to be, but because it was. Harry was laughing now, and so was she, both of them kissing each other, on the neck, eyes, cheeks, until finally, their lips found each other and they calmed, quieted into a tender kiss, with no sound in the room but their breath, sighing.
Ruth pulled away and looked at him. "The music's stopped."
Harry looked back at her, a question in his eyes. "Why do you taste like very good scotch?"
They held each other for a long time then, Ruth's head on Harry's shoulder, him stroking her hair. The exhaustion they both felt allowed them to simply dissolve into each other. After long minutes, Harry lifted her head and kissed her again, and pulled away so that he could look in her eyes. She knew it was exquisite torture for him, but she held his look, not speaking. Then she ran her thumb across his cheek, smiling. "Do you want to hear it, Harry?"
His eyes were so full of love she thought she might just melt into them. "I'm patiently waiting, Ruth. I'm a very patient man."
"I love you, too, Harry. So much. And have done for so long."
Malcolm picked up his mobile and looked at the time. 3:30 a.m. "Harry. How did it go?"
"All clear, Malcolm. I'm taking off the forwarding. Thanks for your help."
"Glad to do it, Harry." Malcolm watched as the red square moved down the hall and into Ruth's room. It blinked for a moment all on its own, and then settled, almost on top of the green square. "Ah, Harry?"
Harry was whispering. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Malcolm. I'm setting my mobile on the table next to Ruth's. Mind your own business."
Malcolm could hear the joy in his old friend's voice as the phone clicked off. Sitting all alone on the Grid at this ungodly hour, Malcolm gave a not-so-quiet shout to the heavens. "Well, Halle-bloody-luia!"
Harry looked at Ruth, her face still swollen and full from her tears. She looked angelic, sound asleep after a day that had drained almost every bit of life out of her. But she was smiling. Dreaming of him, he hoped.
She was fully dressed, and so was he. He took off her shoes, gently, and laid them on the floor at the end of the bed. Then he took his off, and placed them next to hers. For a moment, he looked at them, and decided he liked the way they looked.
Harry crawled around behind her and formed his body to hers. Ruth snuggled in to him as he curled his arm around her. He had waited so long to say it, and now he couldn't say it enough. He moved his lips next to her ear and whispered, "I love you, Ruth."
She was almost asleep again, but her voice was clear as she whispered back, "Ummmm, I love you, too, Harry."
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWELVE
Harry woke out of a deep sleep to the sound of his mobile buzzing. He'd left it by Ruth's on the side table, right next to him.
He and Ruth were in exactly the same position as they had been two-and-a-half hours ago when they fell exhaustedly asleep. His arm was still about her waist. Neither of them had moved.
Harry pulled his arm from around Ruth and turned to pick up his phone. It was 6:02 a.m.
"Harry!"
"Malcolm?"
"Time to separate the little boxes, Harry!" Malcolm was half whispering, half shouting, a hard combination to achieve.
"The boxes? What boxes, Malcolm?" Harry clearly wasn't quite awake yet, because this was not making sense to him.
"Yours and Ruth's! Jo is here to take over, and your little boxes are on top of each other!"
Now Harry understood. "Ah, the boxes, yes." He sat up, rubbing his eyes until they opened completely. "Thanks, Malcolm. Where is Jo now?"
"I sent her out for coffee whilst I all but sat on the console. She should be back in about 5 minutes."
Harry smiled. "You're a good friend, Malcolm. I will take my box and go home." He pushed the button on his phone, and leant over to kiss Ruth on the cheek. She was stirring slightly.
He moved from her cheek to her neck, murmuring, "Time to get up, Ruth. I have to go back to my room before we cause a scandal."
She rolled over and looked at him, beginning to wake. "Oh, Harry." She smiled an sleepy smile. "I thought I dreamt it." Ruth brought her hand up and touched his lips. "Say it again so I'll know I didn't."
"I love you, Ruth."
Her smile widened. "Oh, thank God." She rolled over and snuggled into the pillow. "I love you, too, Harry." She started to fall asleep again. " … oh, feels so good to say that out loud … "
Harry kissed her once more on the cheek and pulled himself off the bed. "I'm going … but we have a briefing in an hour ... breakfast … " He was putting on his shoes as he talked to her, "…will you be able to get up?"
Ruth sighed, and rolled over to face him. Her eyes were open, but it was taking an effort to keep them that way. "Yes. Absolutely. I'm practically out the door."
Harry was halfway across the room when he turned to look back at her. She was watching him with a softness in her eyes and the sweetest smile he could ever remember seeing. He had to turn back. He leant over the bed and touched his lips to hers lightly, before he nuzzled his face into her hair near her ear. "I'm very happy this morning, Ruth."
She rubbed her face against him like a contented cat. "And we didn't even do anything naughty last night."
He pulled back and looked at her, chuckling. "I suppose we can now say we have slept together, however."
She laughed and kissed him on the nose. "Go, Harry, before you get us in trouble."
He blew her a kiss at the door, and was gone.
Gratefully, Malcolm watched as the red box made its way back up the hallway and entered Harry's room. Just as it did, Jo sat down next to him, handing him his hot coffee.
"Anything exciting happen last night?"
Malcolm sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, God, no. Monumentally boring."
Day two at Havensworth started quickly, and was definitely not made better for Ruth by lack of sleep. In the hour she'd had to get ready and get downstairs for the briefing, she had attempted to make her eyes look as if they hadn't cried for the entire day before, which she thought she accomplished with limited success. The shower helped, as did the two cups of coffee she made and drank in the room. But her body and head couldn't have felt worse if she had actually gone to the Italian Trade Minister's party and shamelessly danced the Macarena.
Now her heart, that was a different story. Her heart was filled to its capacity, and Ruth couldn't remember ever feeling the happiness she felt this morning. It was a joy of such intensity that there was a small bubble of laughter just waiting at her throat to escape and embarrass her at any moment. Her eyes were in danger of glistening with tears for no reason, and the corners of her mouth utterly refused to stay on an even keel.
The combination of the two, heart and head, managed to disorient Ruth almost to the point of distraction. She sat, nibbling on a croissant as Harry described the news that the Japanese were now planning to pull out of the agreement, and all she could think of was how his lips felt on her neck this morning, how his voice sounded as he told her he loved her, and the feel of just the slightest scratch of whisker on her cheek.
"Ruth." She looked up with a bit of a start. And in the split second she and Harry looked at each other before he began talking again, she saw a warning. She had always been good at reading his thoughts, but the two of them seemed to have joined some new synapses as they slept so closely for those few hours in her large bed. Because what she saw and almost heard was, Don't let me lose you to this. I'm feeling it too, but not here.
It wasn't harsh, and it was anything but cold. She felt from him the kind of love that said he wanted this to last and it could only last if they kept themselves separate here. It jolted her awake, took her away from the disorientation, and brought her, full force, into the present. She thanked him for it, silently, with her eyes.
Whether anyone else around the table felt this exchange, Ruth didn't know. In truth, she couldn't imagine that they saw anything any different than the usual tension Ruth and Harry showed to their colleagues. In any case, she looked back at him, expectantly, and was now fully in the room.
"Ruth. You said Styles was on the Board of the Kansas City Flamers, correct?"
"Yes, he has quite a passion for them."
"We need to get Ros into his room and on to his laptop. How would you suggest we do that?"
Ruth frowned slightly as she thought, working it through. "Well, the Flamers went to the Stanley Cup finals in 1985 and won. He's been watching re-runs of games. Ros could take a DVD as a gift perhaps?"
Adam shook his head. "He'll just play it in the DVD player. That won't get us on his laptop."
Ruth said quickly, "No. It will be an American DVD. They don't play on British players. They don't sync. If he wants to watch it, it will have to go into his American laptop. He'll know that."
Harry looked at her. "Good. How quickly can you get one?"
"Very. I have a source." Ruth's eyes were now sharp, and she felt the excitement of doing a job and doing it well.
"Of course." Harry said this with the tone that was familiar to everyone around the table. Cynicism mixed with respect for his quirky analyst. Ruth and Harry both gave an inward sigh of relief.
All was the same. What had happened early this morning had changed them in almost every way imaginable, but it had not changed this. And like two people stepping out on a tightrope wondering if their balance was intact, they found that they felt on familiar footing in the midst of the exquisite feeling of their new connection. Ruth knew she had bobbled a bit, but Harry had put out a hand to steady her.
The meeting dispersed soon after that, and Ruth was in the downstairs command centre for the rest of the day. Truth was, now she was very glad to be here instead of doing the surveillance back on the Grid. She was needed here, and God, she loved this job. The fatigue moved through and out of her, and adrenaline replaced it.
Ruth remembered a conversation with Harry, one she would never forget, in which he talked about "adrenaline withdrawal," the feeling after an operation, after the job was over. That conversation had stuck in her mind for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the crackle of something almost visible in the air between them. He had stood so close to her that she could feel his heat, coming in waves and washing over her.
Up until then, she had known she loved him, but after that charged conversation in the hall, she also wanted him. He had called her a "born spook," and no piece of praise from anyone, ever, had made her feel the way those words did. It resonated within her, as if she had finally found a space in the world that she fit into perfectly, in every degree. A born spook. And standing next to Harry Pearce.
Remembering, Ruth looked up for a moment and stole a glance at Harry, deep in conversation with Adam. It had been real. It had always been real, although she had tried so many times to imagine it was just her own fantasy. The thousands of moments she had felt it since the day she first set eyes upon Harry, whatever the visceral connection was that reached out from him to her and back again. From across rooms or across cities, through fear and worry for each other's safety, respect for each other's intelligence, care for each other's sorrows, empathy for each other's pain, it was real. She knew that now. Even if they had both tried to rationalise it away. It was real.
And yes, this day too would end with "adrenaline withdrawal." Made especially so because of their lack of rest. They would both lie exhaustedly asleep at some point tonight, and Ruth wondered if it would be together or apart. And again, for the thousandth time, she wondered what it would be like to take that visible heat between them and give it free rein.
Ruth knew the "clean white sheets and locked door" should not be at Havensworth. She hoped neither of them would allow it to happen in the middle of an operation, because the operation was too important. But there was something else, too. It was too significant a step to be taken as secondary to something else. They had waited so long, and had already pulled back from the brink once.
Not here. Not now. But in Ruth's thoughts, it was no longer "what if." Now it was "when."
Ruth knew that Harry's day had been much harder than hers. While she sat comfortably at her computer, he had been all over the grounds in meetings with Foreign Secretary Allen, preparing information to be given to the Prime Minister's Chief of Staff, and making the usual impossible decisions with the weight of their outcome squarely on his shoulders. And he had done it all on two and half hours of sleep. She could only imagine how exhausted he was.
At 9:00 p.m., Harry had finally, mercifully, loosened his tie. The team stood together in the command centre as he wrapped up his summary of the day, "Well done, everyone. We've done everything we can." He began to walk toward the door, his fatigue beginning to show in his voice. "In the meantime," and here, he spoke to the air above Ruth's head as he passed her, "I suggest we all get some sleep." With that he moved out into the hall, soundly closing, almost slamming, the door behind him.
It felt to Ruth like such a personal moment in such a public place. The release of the night before, the sleeplessness before they finally talked, the raw emotion Harry and Ruth shared in the corridor, and in her room after, the almost non-existent rest they managed to steal before the day began, all came back to her. Ruth knew that Harry had wanted to say it dispassionately, but "I suggest we all get some sleep" seemed to have all of that attached to it, and a good dose of anger as well. She knew she wasn't the only one in the room who had felt it.
She understood what he was feeling, because she felt the same way. Last night and this morning had been not only the culmination of years of silence, control and denial for the two of them, but it felt like the beginning of their future together. And it had been firmly placed on the back burner, when both of them wished it could be front and centre, to enjoy in luscious detail every word and touch that came with it. But they couldn't. They were still in the self-denial mode that the operation required of them.
Yes, Harry was a little angry, and, if she admitted it, so was she. Ruth watched him leave the room with concern. When she looked over at Ros and Adam, she saw them exchange a smile that told her what they were thinking, and they were wrong. Ruth was no longer the doe-eyed innocent with a crush on her boss. She was a full-grown woman who had stood toe-to-toe with him, who was his equal, and she and Harry were in love. Ruth would have enjoyed nothing better than to tell them so, but that would have been self-indulgent. Instead, self-control and self-denial, Harry. I can do it too, my love.
She stood up. "Well, as the Italian Trade Minister's dreadfully loud party kept me awake most of the night, I am going to take Harry's advice." She managed quite well, she thought, to keep her tone even, although she suspected there were more snide smiles crossing Ros' face at present. "See you all in the morning."
In the lift, Ruth felt her mobile buzz. She pulled it out and read the text message. "Box will be delivered to your door in half hour. Please keep in safe place until morning. H." In 30 minutes, there was a soft knock on her door. After he stepped inside, they stood and held each other for a moment. Harry rested his tired head on her shoulder, and she kissed him gently on the cheek.
"Come to bed, Harry. You're exhausted." They walked to the bed with arms around each other, for both contact and support. "So am I."
Harry turned to face her. His eyes were almost closed already. "I want to ravish you, Ruth, but I fear that's an impossibility. In addition to it probably being a bad idea, considering where we are and what we have to do here." He moved his lips close to her ear as he held her. "I just didn't want to sleep without feeling you next to me."
"My thoughts exactly, Harry." He was wearing a soft gray t-shirt that he left on, but he unzipped and slid his jeans off with unselfconscious speed, revealing a pair of light blue boxers. Ruth smiled as she pushed the button to turn off the lamp, and suddenly the room was flooded from the windows with the light of the moon that was nearly as full as last night.
Ruth also wore a t-shirt, a long one that reached mid-thigh. There hadn't been much time for her to agonise over what to wear on her first real night in bed with Harry Pearce. She had brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pulled out what she would have worn if she'd been alone that night. It was soft and comfortable and seemed to fit the occasion. And although she was bone-tired, she had to admit she felt a little more self conscious than Harry seemed, although it was probably just because she was a fraction less exhausted.
They slipped under the sheets, cool and smooth, and Harry found the same spot behind her that he had occupied for the brief hours this morning. He drew her to him, murmuring, "Christ, you feel good. If I had an ounce of energy … "
Despite her exhaustion, Ruth's heart was beating fast, and she worried that he might feel it in the pulse at her neck where he pressed his lips. He did, and he kissed it again, whispering softly to her, "Is this all right, Ruth? Is it too fast? Do you mind that I'm here?"
She would have turned to him, but knew that might lead to something neither of them really wanted right now. Instead, she took his hand and pulled it tightly around her. "No, Harry, not too fast. " Her heart was beginning to slow now, just because he'd asked her. "It's just … when you've dreamt of something so many times … and, it … it happens … " She was having trouble finding the words, so she simply moved his hand up to her lips and kissed it. "I love you, Harry."
Harry was beginning to fade. "Love you, too." His breath was starting its rhythmic descent into sleep. "And it will get better than this, I promise…"
Oh, Harry, how could it? His arm was warm around her, and she felt as if she were in a cocoon, completely protected by him. She felt his strength and his softness, and her nervousness, her awkwardness, just melted into the contours of him behind her. She hadn't been in a bed with a man since before she joined MI5. All those nights alone, and now this. Yes, Harry, the best things are worth waiting for.
The sheets were white, the door was locked, and the full moon drew patterns on the floor. As she drifted sweetly into sleep, Ruth knew she would never forget this moment. No matter what happened, no matter how far apart they were from this day forward, she would be able to put herself back here, in Harry's arms, with his breath soft on her neck.
~~~~~
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