His mind was blank. He couldn't imagine a world that was more out of kilter, less of a reflection of what he had always known to be true. He screwed his eyes shut and willed away the world that had come crashing into him...was it just this afternoon? Just a few short hours ago? It seemed another lifetime all together. Lucas, dead, shown to be another person entirely. Ruth…he couldn't even begin to think about Ruth. But in his blankness he felt the need to feel something, anything, even pain. Especially pain. So he poked at it. Ruth a...
It's not possible.
Bloody hell, just say it.
Ruth a …goddammit…
…a traitor.
And the pain came.
Yes, he was sure that his chest would be ripped apart by the force of his heart , his life, his very soul breaking...shattering into a million unfixable pieces.
Ruth…a traitor…
No different than Connie. No different than Philby and that lot. No different than anyone that should be locked up until they rotted away in prison. His brain rebelled at something that seemed so far beyond the laws of the universe that to embrace it would send him hurtling into a worm hole of such incredible blackness and depth that he was certain he would never emerge. Or at least he wouldn't emerge as the Harry Pearce he had been before. Master of the universe, confident that HE knew what was and wasn't true. A Harry Pearce with very few unknown unknowns. And now, he reckoned that he was someone who knew nothing whatsoever.
Ruth…a traitor...
When he closed his eyes he saw her tear-stained and bruised face before him. His first response was sheer terror that she was hurt, that some monstrous fate would rip her from him yet again. And the brief relief that he had felt that she was alive was replaced with a horror that was so beyond unthinkable that he was beginning to think death was preferable…either hers OR his. Alec saying, "Tell him Ruth. Tell him what you've done." And Ruth, with tears streaming down her face, calmly and clearly telling him that she had betrayed her country, betrayed Lucas, that she had betrayed him.
Yes, death was preferable.
He heard nothing after that. Not Ruth trying to explain why she had to do it. Not Beth's quiet sobs in the corner. Not Dimitri's protestations, "No Ruth, you're lying, you must be lying."
The world stopped just then, and he was fairly certain that he wouldn't have the strength this time to get back on when it decided to start spinning again.
Without Ruth as his wife and companion, he had thought he been shattered. But without Ruth's moral compass, without her conscience, without her fierce convictions and intelligence he knew that he was nothing. He hadn't had a clue what shattered was.
So Harry Pearce sat and willed his mind to be blank once again. The numbness a brief respite…the jagged pieces of his destroyed life scattered carelessly at his feet.
I know...it's awful. Like I said, you aren't supposed to like it. This is part of my self-imposed "they're just characters" therapy that I am trying in anticipation of all of the horrible things that could happen in eps. 7 & 8. So please don't yell at me. Think of this as my equivalent of bizarro-world...if I write it, it won't happen. Sorry...