A/N: This story picks up immediately following my one-shot Shut Up and Dance. It would help to read that first.
The song drew to a close, and they swayed to a stop, Ruth's head resting gently on Harry's shoulder, a sense of contentment and wonder such as she had never known coloring the scene, the sparkling lights of the party shimmering through the doors, the sounds of the city below gentle as a lullaby. For a moment they lingered together; Harry pressed a tender kiss against her temple, and Ruth sighed, sinking that much further against him. It was strange, to finally be standing here, sheltered within the warmth of his embrace, not running or resisting but finally accepting him, accepting them together. It was strange, but it was beautiful, too, and Ruth savored every second of the contact between them. They could not remain in that place indefinitely, she knew, much as she might to long to; the world beyond beckoned to them, in the soft tinkle of conversations floating through the doors behind them, in the honking of a car horn far below. Still, though, this moment was theirs and theirs alone, and Ruth was determined to enjoy it.
"Would you like to get something to eat?" Harry asked her quietly.
She lifted her head, gazing up at him, wondering how it was possible that she'd only kissed him twice in the eight long years they'd known one another, wondering how she had resisted the temptation for so long. Though she supposed there was no reason to resist him now; she had no defenses left. She had told him the truth of her heart, had told him how she loved him, had laid bare her heart and her greatest fears before him, and he had taken her in his arms and dispelled her every doubt.
In that moment she would have liked, very much, to have said something clever, something seductive, something appropriately suggestive given the nature of their conversation, the need that was coursing through her as a result of standing cradled against the solid heat of his body, but no such witticism came to her.
"What?" she asked breathlessly, a little dazed by his nearness and the taste of him that lingered on her tongue.
"No one ever eats the food at these things," Harry explained, jerking a finger over his shoulder to indicate the party they had abandoned. "I was thinking, we could both do with a bit of dinner. We could go somewhere, together, if you like."
There was something shy, almost sheepish in his request, and she smiled up at him, indulging herself for a moment in smoothing her hands over his lapels, feeling the broad plane of his chest spreading out beneath her fingertips. For so many years she had thought of this, imagined herself touching him this way, casually, intimately, knowingly, and the reality of it was far more appealing than she had ever anticipated. Her heart pounded at his nearness, her thoughts racing, trying so hard to keep up with the shifting of the sands beneath her feet. "I would like to, very much," she conceded. "But," she added, hating that she had to protest, knowing she had no other choice, "Towers has arranged a driver for me this evening. I don't want word to get back to him, if I find another way home. And…" her voice trailed off, those doubts that had for the last few minutes receded into the ether making their way back to the fore once more. "People would talk, if we left together."
Harry sighed, clasping his hands together at the small of her back, drawing her closer to him, the tension in his arms speaking louder than words of his own turmoil, his own distress, his own desires. It was clear Harry did not want to let her go any more than Ruth wanted to leave him, and it was clear, as well, that this thing between them would not be so easy as they both hoped. Though Ruth did not particularly care what anyone might say about her, though she was confident in the knowledge that she had secured her position on her own merits and no one would be foolish enough to suggest that Towers had brought her on board because she was sleeping with a spy who had spent the last two months on suspension while facing charges of treason, she did worry about what people might say about Harry. It undermines your authority, she had told him once, her heart breaking as she spoke those words. She feared the same was true now, that wagging tongues might damage his reputation, should he be seen leaving the gala arm-in-arm with the woman he had thrown his career away to protect. That had to be avoided at all costs.
"I'm not saying never, Harry," she murmured, shifting in his arms to press her lips against his neck. "I'm not even saying not tonight. I'm just saying, we need to leave separately, and I need to let my driver take me home."
"And then?" he asked, naked hope in his voice.
"And then," she answered, kissing him again for no other reason than that she had spent the last eight years dreaming about dragging her tongue up the column of his throat above his crisp white shirt, "you could come over to mine, if you like. I'm sure we can find something edible in my pantry."
Harry chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down her back, his touch setting her ablaze even through her dress. She shivered, not from the chill spring air, but from the thought of those hands, and the delight they promised her, should she be brave enough to take him home and into her bed. She had offered, now, though she knew that Harry, ever the gentleman, would wait for her to give him the signal, to indicate whether she was ready for more. As to that question, she could not say; she felt ready, felt she wanted nothing more in that moment than to drag him straight home and into her bed, to lose herself to the touch of his hands, but she worried that perhaps it was too much too fast, to go from barely speaking to sleeping together in the course of one evening. There were only so many changes she could handle at one time.
Then again, it was her birthday.
"So long as we're agreed, I'm only coming over for dinner," Harry said, kissing her forehead once before taking a step back from her, straightening his jacket and clearing his throat uncomfortably. Harry was not prone to blushing; there was very little that could shock him, after spending so many years dealing with the seedy underbelly of human nature, but as she looked at him in the sparkling lights Ruth noticed that the very tips of his ears had turned pink, clearly visible beneath his newly-shorn hair.
"Of course," she answered, feeling her own face burn at the thought of what else she might offer him, if only she were brave enough. For a long moment he looked at her, an expression of such unbridled delight on his face as she had not seen there since the moment she agreed to go to dinner with him the first time, so many years before. So much time had passed; they had suffered so many losses, borne so many grievances, broken one another in half and carefully picked up the pieces. It was mind boggling, really, to think of all they had endured, to think that they were still standing here, together, contemplating a future that was not bleak and grim and lonely, but infinitely brighter than either of them could have managed only an hour before.
"You go first," he told her. "I'll give you a thirty minute head start. That should be sufficient to avoid arousing suspicion."
"All right," she agreed. Still, though, she lingered, unable and unwilling to break the enchantment that had fallen upon them. It was a beautiful night, and Harry cut a gallant figure in his tuxedo, all broad shoulders and smoldering eyes, and Ruth herself was wearing a lovely dress, feeling for once elegant enough to stand beside him. There was music and dancing and shimmering lights and a veritable river of champagne, and Harry had told her that he loved her. It was more exquisite, more magnificent than any dream, more than she had ever imagined, more than she could ever have hoped for, and she wanted to imprint this moment in her mind, the sight of him, the smell of him, the soft whisper of her dress sighing as she moved, a memory for her to treasure for the rest of her life, no matter what awaited them.
Quite suddenly Harry reached out and cradling her cheek in his palm, bringing her to him for another kiss, his lips soft and tender, his tongue brushing against hers once, briefly, a touch filled with promise, before he withdrew, smiling at her bashfully.
"Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?" he asked her softly.
"You look rather dashing yourself," she answered, feeling her cheeks redden once again at his words. She had never been very good at accepting compliments, but in this case her response was not intended solely as a deflection; he did look rather nice.
"Go on, Ruth," he urged her, giving her a little nudge. "The sooner you leave, the sooner we can eat."
She blushed all the harder at the unintended innuendo of his words but she did as she was bid, slipping through the doors and back into the ballroom. She made her way to a corner of the room where she retrieved her mobile from her clutch and fired off a quick message to her driver. The response was all but instantaneous; five minutes, it said. With that settled, she set off to find Towers and bid him goodnight.
It was a good thing, she mused as she weaved her way through the sparkling sea of humanity before her, that Towers cut such an imposing figure; her thoughts were swirling, chaotic, utterly consumed with Harry, her heart pounding harder each time she imagined having him in her home, her cheeks aching from the smile she could not seem to dispell.
Get ahold of yourself, she thought sternly, trying to school her features as her eyes settled on Towers and she made her way over to him.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked her jovially as she reached him. In truth, Ruth had already spent more time at the gala than she'd originally intended and the party was showing signs of slowing down, guests trickling through the door, the dancefloor all but deserted.
"Unless you need me?" she couched the words as a question, silently praying that he had no more need of her tonight.
"I think we've done what we came here to do," he allowed. "But there is one matter we need to discuss."
With a small, discrete gesture he drew her attention to the balcony doors through which she'd just exited, the same doors through which Harry was stepping at that very moment. "I couldn't help but notice," Towers continued, "you and Harry appear to have had a little chat."
The balloon of happiness that had been slowly swelling within Ruth's chest from the moment Harry's lips first touched hers suddenly deflated, and she found herself quite suddenly overcome with dread, wary and defensive once again. Could they not have even one night, she asked herself angrily, without the constant poking and prodding of meddlesome colleagues? She had been so sure that things were finally going her way, that all the pieces on the chessboard had finally been arranged to her advantage, that she and Harry might finally be granted the opportunity to seize a bit of happiness for themselves. With a few short words, Towers had ripped a hole straight through her fragile dreams.
"Just a chat," Ruth answered carefully. "We've not spoken for some time, as you well know."
Towers grunted in the affirmative, his expression somewhat pained at the reminder of the turmoil they'd all endured over the last few months. "Did he give you any indication as to his thoughts regarding our deal with the Russians?"
Ruth very nearly breathed a sigh of relief. So this conversation was to be about work, and not her own tumultuous personal life. Work, she could handle. Anything else sent her cowering into the corner.
"I think he's made his opinions quite clear," Ruth responded. This was a delicate line to walk, between defending Harry and providing her boss with the information he had requested. She would not betray Harry's confidence, and she was loath to establish herself as some sort of intermediary between Harry and Towers; it was her job to analyze intelligence, not pass missives back and forth between the Home Secretary and his Head of Counter-terrorism like some sort of errand girl. And it would not do, to flaunt her relationship with Harry, professional or otherwise, to Towers. Yes, it was a balancing act, and one she feared would take time to master.
"He needs to get it in his head that the Cold War has ended," Towers grumbled.
Ruth fought the urge to roll her eyes; she had no interest in discussing Harry or his politics any further this evening. "He will do what he thinks is best for the country," she said, hoping that would put an end to it. It would appear that Towers had something else in mind, however.
"Ruth," he said in a tone of voice that bordered on pleading, "I know how much he respects you. He listens to you. God knows he doesn't listen to anyone else."
"Home Secretary," Ruth began to protest, but Towers barreled on, heedless.
"We need these people, Ruth. We live in an era of global terrorism. Terrorists cross borders with impunity, use the internet to connect with one another, and what happens in one country is echoed in another. We have got to work together with foreign governments. We can't afford to take our toys and go home."
"Harry knows that better than anyone," Ruth responded. She regretted the words the minute she spoke them, regretted rushing so passionately to his defense; so much for keeping her distance. Her heart sank in her chest, as she considered the possible reasons Towers might have for instigating this conversation with her, the conclusions he had drawn from spying she and Harry through the balcony doors. Had he seen their dance? Their kiss? Did he know, she asked herself, just how close she and Harry really were?
"What I need from you, Ruth, is to remind him of that. It would only make him cross, if I told him to keep a level head. He'll respond better, hearing it from you."
"I will suggest that he resist his natural inclination towards churlishness," Ruth answered waspishly. Beside her, Towers gave a dark chuckle.
"Your country thanks you, Ruth," he told her seriously. With those words he extended his hand, and she took it, shaking briefly before he released her and took a step away.
"Don't let me keep you," he said magnanimously, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Ruth looked at him sharply, but his face gave no indication as to his suspicions regarding her plans for the night. She thanked him and rushed away, leaving the party far behind her, unable to free herself from the worries that dogged her steps. Only a few moments before she had wrapped her hands around the dearest longing of her heart, but still she was fretful, desperately anxious about what the future might bring, and more frightened than she could say. For so long, she and Harry had denied themselves, had hidden behind duty and propriety, had shirked their personal feelings in favor of their professional obligations. While she hoped that their circumstances had changed enough to allow room for their romance to bloom, she could not shake the sense that they did not deserve this joy, that cruel fate would raise its head once more, and tear them asunder, for good and all this time.
