The Graveyard Shift
Summary: After the death of Ruth Evershed, Sir Harry Pearce finds solace in few things. One of them is visiting her grave.
Notes: I feel I should preface this by saying a couple of things. First, I watched Spooks religiously the entire time it was on BBC television but in spite of loving it very much and writing for other fandoms, I have never actually written anything for Spooks before. However, I was at the cinema recently and saw the trailer for The Greater Good and it reminded me how much I loved it and especially Ruth and Harry's on/off relationship. I immediately went onto AO3 when I went home and consumed a good portion of the fanfiction on here, much of which is happy and positive about their future. It got me thinking about why she wasn't in The Greater Good and so I looked it up and it was only then as I was reading wikipedia that I realised I had managed to completely block out her death. I was so genuinely upset to remember that I sat down and wrote this as a sort of catharsis.
Note#2: Since writing this two things have happened. Firstly, I actually saw a preview of The Greater Good and I was a bit spooked (pun not really intended there) when I saw one particular scene in that film, but I'll leave anyone who sees it to comment on that because I don't want to give the film away. Secondly, I realised that a lot of the Harry/Ruth fic is still on and while I'm not really a huge fan of this website I have decided to cross-post it here. Please do not repost anywhere without my permission.
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Harry visited her gravestone every day.
It was the only thing that helped ease the deep, profound, aching sadness in his heart. Flowers in hand he made the long, familiar path through the stones as his driver waited by the gate.
He was attentive to the grave. Snipping down the few fresh blades of grass that were threatening to creep up the side of the black granite. While down there he noticed the snowdrops he'd planted last autumn were beginning to come up and he smiled a sad smile.
"You always did love snowdrops in the winter," Harry mused out loud. "Here. I, um...I brought you fresh roses."
He spoke to the gravestone, and as his words came to a halt his hand drifted up and trace the gold letters of her name as if tracing the pinkish curve of her lips, the gentlest of caresses.
"The cats are doing fine, by the way. Complaining I don't over-feed them of course, but your instructions were quite specific."
Harry paused, his thoughts drifting off as they so often did on the subject of Ruth. He had read once of an ancient belief that gravestones were the vessels of the souls of the dead. It was an odd thing to believe, perhaps, but it was hard otherwise to explain the presence he felt here, the presence of her. He came here and he felt calmed, he felt her love. He even felt his nerves rise up, the same selfish nerves that had always been such a spanner in the works, holding him back with hesitations every time he considered uttering his feelings for her.
"I love you," he blurted out suddenly, "I miss you."
Harry almost left at that point. Afraid, even now, to let her see him cry. Quietly he hung his head and taking a moment, composed himself. Somewhere far off a twig snapped and he started. Harry had been berated numerous times for the lack of security here. Out here all alone with not even his driver nearby. While others worried about his personal safety, the truth was that he'd long since stopped caring. With her gone he didn't see much point going on. He did it now only for her, because he felt close to her in the place where they'd spent so much time together, where they'd sacrificed themselves and their happiness for the safety of others.
"I put your photo on my desk. It raised a few eyebrows but I'm beyond caring now... Needless to say the Russian situation's deteriorated...and before you ask, yes I'm eating. Barely, but I try." And then just for a moment it all got too much and welled up and a sob burst out. As his head fell and tears sprang from his eyes Harry's left hand shot out and grasped the black headstone, needing its solidity, its grounding force, like holding her hand. "Gods, Ruth, I miss you so much!"
Harry cried for a while and then kissed the gold carved letters of her name and ran his hands over the small, round picture of her on the headstone.
"Sorry, Love. You're still the only person I can confide in. But enough of that, I'd best get going." With a groan and the creaking ache of ageing joints, Sir Harry Pearce pulled himself up to standing and then kissed his fingers, placing them gently on the top of the headstone.
"Sleep tight, Ruth. I'll come and see you again tomorrow."
Standing alone at the bottom of the gateway, the MI5 driver spotted his charge's slow, heavy tread down the path and prepared to open the door. Sir Harry walked with his shoulders hunched, his expression inscrutable as it so often was after his visits.
"Home, Sir?"
"Yes. Thank you."
As the rear car door shut and the driver pulled away, Harry sat in the silence of the back seat and thought of that fateful day, of her final moments. The warm press of a weakening hand in his palm, the fading light in her eye, the soft words on her lips. Harry pressed his hand against his chest until he found the ring he wore on a chain around his neck. It was a golden ring, a wedding band he'd never put on. One final promise he would forever bear close to his heart.
Notes: I have a headcanon about the ring I plan on putting down in another short fic when I have the time. As regards gravestones, while I'm sure there are many different traditions around the world, the one I am familiar with is that gravestones give the soul of the deceased a place to reside so that instead of restlessly wandering the earth, the soul can rest and be at peace. Please leave comments and kudos! I would love to hear any feedback anyone has.