Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. It's been his mantra of the last few hours. First, it was his desperate plea to Ruth, but now it's the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart. It's an old anti-interrogation technique, and he slipped into it out of worn-out habit. His eyes fixed on the doorway, counting his breaths. It prevents him from thinking too much; of what he will be without her…He wrenches his mind back. Come on, Ruth, breathe. With Me. In and out. He's only tangentially aware of his surroundings; the surprised looks and hushed whispers. Someone places a steaming cup beside him, but he doesn't move. His future rests on whatever comes over that threshold.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Calum gives him space, but not too much. He's not sure what he can do in any case – he doubts he can prevent Harry from doing something monumentally stupid if he chose to. If Ruth dies for keeps this time, he has absolutely no doubt that Harry will rip young Gavrik's throat out with his bare hands. And he couldn't in all conscience blame him. But trying to keep him out of the CIA's way is well-nigh impossible. As it is, they shouldn't be here. Ruth's in capable hands, and they need to get away, now. It's only a matter of time before the cousins put two and two together, and he doubts that they could get away with stealing Harry back a second time. His suggestion to that effect was met with murderous eyes. So, they sit and wait, and he hopes to hell that Ruth pulls through for all of their sakes.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"You can't be serious, Home Secretary."
"I assure you that I am. Sasha Gavrik is to be handed over…"
Erin interrupted.
"…I can't let that happen, Home Secretary. Ilya Gavrik just killed his wife with his bare hands. He may have diplomatic immunity, but his son most certainly does not. If Ruth dies, it will be because of Sasha."
"Where are they?"
Here Erin faltered. Not so very long ago, her career ladder-scaling self would not have any qualms about divulging this information, but somehow the image of Harry, pleading and covered in Ruth's blood, would not leave her. There, but for the grace of God, go I.
"I'm sorry, Home Secretary, I'm losing my signal."
And she shut off her phone, with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
An impossibly young but exhausted looking surgeon places a small shard of glass, barely bigger than a fingernail, in his palm.
"This was still in there, which is why we couldn't stop the bleeding at first."
"She's OK?" he asks, his voice low and slightly hoarse, as if the sound would burst this fragile bubble of hope that is forming, unbidden.
"She's on a ventilator, and she lost a lot of blood, but she's stabilized now. Barring any unforeseen complications, there's no reason that why she can't make a full recovery, in time."
He's numb to anything, not entirely convinced that this is not some cruel dream. He'll wake up and she'll be dead, and it will be as much his fault as if he stabbed her himself. It is only when Calum claps him heartily on the back does he start to think that maybe all of this is really happening. That she will live, and maybe he can, too.
