So this follows that bench scene at the end of 10-4, where Ruth talks to Harry about leaving for the Home Office. This is short, because it's in the first person which I rarely, if ever, write in. Enjoy.
Ruth.
It's late at night and I'm sitting at home, my feet curled under me as I drink more red wine than I probably should. I've been reading my transfer papers to the Home Office and it's complete except for two things. My signature and Harry's. And I can't sign it. I've had the pen hovering over the dotted line where my signature belongs several times, but I can't bring myself to actually do it, to bring pen to paper and admit that my future is somewhere away from Harry Pearce. I know exactly why. It would mean leaving Harry and admitting to myself that whatever IT is between us, it's over. And it hurts to even think of that. I love him and I don't want to feel like this because it's done nothing but hurt me and cause me such pain. I wish I didn't love him like this because it hurts far too much.
I gave him the opportunity this afternoon, when we spoke on a bench, away from the grid and Thames House. Where no one would be listening in, and in a place that I knew no one from five, six or GCHQ was monitoring. I told him very simply "tell me to stay and I will." And he told me to go to the Home Office. To leave. I wanted him to say that he needed me, that he wanted me. That he couldn't possibly contemplate letting me go, that not seeing me every day would be awful. But of course he didn't say any of those things, and I'm now sat with my red wine contemplating the words he didn't say that I longed to hear. "Don't leave. Stay with me." All I wanted was for him to say he needed me, pathetic as that sounds. I gave him the perfect opportunity to ask me to stay, and he didn't. He chose not to.
I want so badly to be able to let him go. To not care that he still has a thing for Elena, to not care that he had a son that he never mentioned to me once, to be able to accept that lying comes as easily to him as breathing. To… and here's the hard one. To accept that maybe I never really meant all that much to him, no matter what I felt for him. Yes, that's the tough one. That's the one that hurts like hell whenever it crosses my mind.
I drain my wine glass, wondering exactly why I love this enigma of a man. This man who hides a lot of himself from everyone including me. My Harry who was never really mine. I know that he's a good man, a man who has to hide who he is to do his job. I fear that I was just a convenient person to give his affections to. We never really became something, but it was always hovering in the air between us. I loved the way he smiled at me, the way his eyes sparkled for me and especially how he allowed himself to be honest with me and only me at work. I was special. That seems a long time ago now, we haven't been like that in a while and I wonder if I was simply convenient for Harry because I was always there and he felt attracted to me. Good old dependable Ruth, she'll always be around. Did his feelings ever run as deeply as mine did? As mine still do?
Before I'm really conscious that I've made the decision, I've stood up, my house keys are in my hand and I'm halfway towards the door. I know that I'm planning to go to Harry's, as if he's drawing me there like a magnet but I haven't quite formed the reason behind it in my mind. I pick up the papers that Harry needs to sign for my new job and leave my flat before I can change my mind. I've had too much to drink to drive, so I hail a taxi before I've even thought through what I want to say to him. I guess I have the journey to think about it.
Thanks for reading and I'd love to know what you think.
