So keep your candles burning
And make her journey bright and pure
That she will keep returning
Always and evermore
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms
Nick Cave, from Into My Arms.
A/N: This fic is pure fluff – and some angst for balance. I wrote it around 4-5 months ago, and it's been just sitting around. It is (yet another) Harry and Ruth love story, with no plot, and it's (almost) like MI-5 does not exist. Rated T, although there are M-ish chapters.
She has chosen to live in a sleepy village outside Norwich. It was enough to find the name of the village. To have searched and then found her address would seem to Harry like an invasion of her privacy. He has booked a room in the hotel for four days, with the option of extending should he wish. It is too early for the summer holidays, and too late for Christmas and New Year. This time of year – the time when spring has begun on the calendar, but the weather itself has not yet decided in which direction it will swing – is a time when terrorists are planning their next move, but rarely carrying it out.
He'd told himself that he couldn't stay on the Grid another day, but he did. He'd dragged his body to his office, and to countless meetings, but on resting his head on his pillow each night, the reality still hurt …... Jo Portman was dead, Ros Myers was traumatised, given it was a bullet from her gun which had killed Jo, and Ruth had left London, perhaps forever. She hadn't wanted to join her old team, and for that he can't blame her.
"Too much has happened, Harry," she'd said at their last meeting, by the Thames embankment. "I need to get out of London for a while. I need to think. I can't simply step back into the life I left behind almost three years ago."
And he'd stood by and said nothing while she packed her few belongings, and left London - to where, he knew not. He's not proud of himself, but he'd asked Tariq Masood, newly appointed technical expert, and Malcolm's replacement, to look for Ruth.
"I have some things of hers which she might need, and she hasn't left a forwarding address."
All he had were her cats. They hadn't talked about the cats, but he supposes that when she's settled somewhere, she'll need company …... of the feline variety. He cannot ever be certain she'll want to see him …... not after everything that has happened.
The hotel is rustic, but comfortable, and his room overlooks the village square, from which radiate five roads. On his first morning there, Harry sits at his window and watches the villagers going about their day. He is about to turn and leave, when he sees her …... he is certain it is Ruth. The woman wears a dark coat, her brown hair falling in waves to her shoulders. She carries a basket, and disappears inside the co-op store. As much as he wants to leave the hotel, and follow her into the store, he doesn't. He sits for another twenty minutes, and then watches her leave, walking along the road which heads west. As she walks towards the hotel, he can see by her face that it isn't Ruth. This woman's face is rounder, and she has brown eyes. He sighs heavily, feeling the weight of her loss all over again.
Harry has no plan. He is hoping that they will run into one another somewhere in the village. Not while I'm sitting in my hotel room, we won't.
The next morning – Saturday – he is wandering through the small boutique off license next to the co-op store, searching for some wine to take back to London. He is enthralled by the labels on the wine bottles from all over the world. He has only just decided to buy a half dozen each of the Spanish merlot, the Californian cabernet sauvignon, the Australian chardonnay, and the New Zealand Pinot Noir, when he hears his name.
"Harry?"
It is she. He turns suddenly, shocked that he has met her in the store amongst the wines. Why would she be here?
"I saw you, and I followed you in here," she continues, her face a question. She looks at the bottle he is holding in his hand. "You have expensive tastes, Harry."
"I like good wine." He looks at her face before he continues speaking. "But good wine is always more enjoyable with company."
"You've followed me here."
"I didn't exactly …... follow you, Ruth. I -"
"So you happen to be in the very same small and out-of-the-way village where I've decided to spend a few months. That's no coincidence."
"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know what else to do."
"I suppose you've been hanging around outside my cottage at night, waiting for me to notice you."
"I don't know where you live. I only had Tariq tell me the name of the town."
"You had someone search for me?" Ruth's voice is raised slightly, her eyes a flinty grey.
All Harry can hope for now is that she won't storm off, leaving him standing alone in the international wines aisle.
"I really needed to see you, Ruth. To talk to you."
They stand there, each looking at the other, waiting for something to change. It is then that Harry notices Ruth is carrying two string bags bursting with groceries. He steps closer to her, and reaches for her bags.
"Here, let me take those," he says. "They look heavy."
She surprises him by allowing him to take the bags from her.
"How far away do you live? I'll carry these home for you."
She smiles into his eyes, and her whole face softens, before she leads him out of the store, past the square, and down a narrow lane which leads off the Great Yarmouth road.
"I'm renting a cottage down here," she explains, as Harry walks beside her in silence.
"Until?"
"Until?" Ruth turns through a gate in a hedge, behind which is revealled a small, neat cottage. She busies herself opening the front door with her key, while Harry waits to be invited in.
"Until what, Ruth …... how long are you planning to stay here?"
"Until I know what I want to do next."
Harry is standing in her cottage kitchen, when she indicates he should place the bags on one end of the table. "I should go," he says, not sure what is expected of him, now he has delivered home her shopping.
"Why? Is there somewhere you have to be?"
Harry shakes his head.
"And didn't you travel here – to this village – with the intention of seeing me?"
Harry nods his head slowly.
"Then make us a pot of tea while I put away the shopping. The stuff for tea-making is all on that bench near the electric kettle."
So Harry makes himself useful, and brews a pot of tea, placing the pot, two mugs, sugar, milk from the fridge, and spoons from a drawer, on the table. They then sit opposite one another, while Ruth pours their tea.
They are silent for some time, until Ruth begins speaking.
"I'm not altogether happy about you looking for me and finding me, Harry. You were one of the reasons I had to get out of London."
"I thought that it was because of …... how George died."
Harry internally kicks himself.
"That, yes, and other things. You probably think that I'm angry with you, Harry, and I was." Ruth hesitates, not looking at him. "The most confronting thing for me has been the realisation that …..."
Harry looks at her, his face a question. "What, Ruth?"
"The realisation that I still feel …... something …... for you …... something quite powerful."
Internally, Harry feels his stomach tip and turn. Can it be true? Does she really still care for him? After everything that has happened, how can that be? He watches her as she struggles to find the right words. He then realises that he's been holding his breath.
"I came here, in this out-of-the-way place, in part to get away from you, but I can't help missing you …... and now …... here you are. When I saw you …... entering the off license …... I planned to tell you to go back to London and leave me alone ….."
"But you didn't."
"No, I couldn't. Despite myself, I was …... thrilled …... to see you." Ruth looks up at him then, and gives him a slight smile. "The best laid plans ..."
" …... of mice and men," he whispers. Harry is elated. He may have dreamed of Ruth saying something like she just has, but he never expected it …... not in a thousand years …... but it isn't yet the time for a happy reunion. "Ruth," he says quietly, his eyes on hers, his hands cupping his mug of tea, "I came here to tell you something. I've thought this over, and I don't wish to be the bearer of bad news, but …..."
"What is it, Harry? Are you unwell? Don't tell me you're sick. I couldn't bear -"
"It's not me, Ruth. It's Jo. I have some bad news about Jo."
It is then that Harry tells her about the siege in the panic room under the hotel where the group of businessmen were meeting. Harry speaks dispassionately, because were he to not, he is afraid he'll break down, and he doesn't wish to do that …... not in front of Ruth. He speaks of how he ordered Jo to go down into the panic room to help out Ros, and how Ros had had to make the call no-one should ever be expected to make.
"And Jo?"
"She died, Ruth. Jo died."
"When did this happen?"
"Three weeks ago. I …... I've taken leave. I suppose you could call it stress leave. I've taken a month off …... beginning yesterday."
"You came here to tell me that?"
"No. I came here because I needed to see you …... to remind myself why it is I do what I do, and to …... to decide if I wish to keep doing it."
Harry stops speaking, and watches Ruth. She is beginning to twist her hands nervously, and her eyes are filling. He knows those signs. Without thinking too much, Harry puts down his mug of tea, and walks around the table to Ruth's side. He reaches out to her, and grasps her hand in his, pulling her out of her chair to stand in front of him. With both his arms, he draws her close, and holds her steadily against his body. This is not an act motivated by lust or desire, but one of compassion and caring, and fortunately, Ruth is able to detect the difference. At this moment, when he has offered her comfort, he is not thinking of how much he wants her. He is offering her a safe place to be, and as she crumples against him, letting her tears fall freely, she willingly accepts the comfort he offers.
They stand in the kitchen of Ruth's rented cottage for some time – Ruth leaning against Harry, her face pressed into his shoulder, her hands grasping his jacket, while his arms are wrapped around her, holding her while she sobs. There comes a moment when Ruth's crying becomes louder and more distressed, but Harry realises that she is crying for so much more than the loss of Jo. Harry understands that. He doesn't know what to say to her to make her feel better. All he has is his love for her, and his strong arms. He hopes that is enough.