The weight of lies will bring you down
And follow you to every town
'Cause nothing happens here that doesn't happen there
So when you run make sure you run
To something and not away from
'Cause lies don't need an airplane
To chase you down
-The Weight of Lies/The Avett Brothers
They sat for a time in a despairing silence, the chill fog and the lonely wash of the river against the shore their only companions. Though it was full dark the night was young, interminable hours stretching before them, waiting for the boat to come, to carry her out to sea, never to be seen or heard from again.
"Thank you, Zaf," she said quietly, her words barely penetrating the fog that lay thick on the stones between them.
He shrugged, the wall cold where he sat propped against it.
"I wasn't about to leave you here alone, Ruth," he told her. There were other things he wanted to say, about how proud he was to have known her, how he wished he had a tenth of her courage. How he knew exactly who was behind the wheel of the dark Lexus rolling slowly towards them down the quay.
"Shit," she swore, drawing her legs beneath her, ready to spring up and run. "Do you think they saw us?"
Zaf couldn't help the mischievous little smile that sprang to his face. "Oh, I hope so," he said.
She stared at him, terror in her eyes for just a moment before she registered his grin. That hurt him, that instant when she thought he'd betrayed her. She had guessed the truth now, though, as terror gave way to a sorrow so profound that Zaf found he could not hold her gaze.
As the car door slammed and the driver approached them, Zaf rose to his feet and held his hand out to the woman who sat frozen on the stones below.
"Come on, Ruth," he said.
She nodded, mute, stumbling to her feet like a drunk. Her heart was in her eyes, as ever, and he resolutely looked away, afraid that if she caught him with her stare he, too, would begin to weep.
The driver had reached them, emerging through the swirling fog like a wraith on silent feet. He was a stocky man, somewhat past what one might call middle age, stubbornly clinging to what little straw-colored hair remained to him. He wore the same dark trousers as before, his starched white shirt tucked in smartly, but he had lost his tie and jacket. He walked like a man approaching the gallows, a haunted look in his small, dark eyes.
"Zaf," Harry said, holding out his hand. Zaf took it, and they shook briefly. "You've done me a great service."
"Harry," Zaf said with a little nod. He turned to Ruth, kissed her cold cheek, and meandered away, hands tucked in his pockets.
Ruth fidgeted, smoothing her hands down the front of her long, heavy coat. Harry watched her silently, drinking in the sight of her; her dark hair curled softly around her face, her grey eyes focused with laser-like intensity on the ground beneath her feet. She was slight, pushing forty, a head shorter than Harry, who was himself not a tall man. There was not a thought she had that did not register on her face, in the heavy lines that laughter and, more recently, worry had left there. Harry thought she was quite the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he stood for a moment entranced by her, a thousand "what ifs" running through his mind.
"Harry," she said finally, shifting her weight back, away from him, turning her luminous face to gaze at him, tears in her eyes and his name on her lips.
"Harry," she said again, her voice a broken whisper, "You shouldn't have come."
Harry crossed the space between them, caught both of her hands in his own.
"God himself and all his angels couldn't have kept me away," he said, his voice sandpaper-rough.
"You can't stay out here in the cold with me all night," she protested. Zaf was still close by; Harry realized that Ruth thought he had only come to say good-bye.
"I don't intend to," he told her.
She looked up sharply, trying to read his face.
"I've taken the liberty of- of booking a room, for the evening," he said in a rush, feeling suddenly for all his care-worn years as though he were a teenager again, fumbling in the back seat of his father's car. She deserves better, he thought, but it was out there now. No taking it back.
She couldn't have looked more stunned if he'd struck her. "That was… presumptuous," she said at last, and he couldn't help but mirror the knowing little smile she gave him. I might have said no…
Still holding her hands in his, he drew her closer to him.
"We only have tonight," he whispered, leaning slightly so that his forehead touched hers gently. He felt her trembling, though whether from the cold or some other, deeper feeling he couldn't be sure. "You deserve a thousand nights, Ruth, but I can only give you one. Will you take it?"
She gazed up at him, her eyes two shining stars in the blackest night of his life.
"Yes," she said, so softly he almost wasn't sure she'd said anything at all.
He kissed her then, a small, shy kiss that she returned with all the softness and grace he'd always expected from her. He savored the moment, the brush of her lips against his, the smell of her hair and the sound of the river, the warmth of her as she nestled closer to him. How many times had he wanted to do just this, to lose himself in her, to finally tell her, show her, how much she meant to him? She smiled against his lips, and he knew they had to go, now, before the moment was lost forever.
Harry wrapped an arm protectively around her waist and led her back to the car.
From the shadows down the quay Zaf watched their figures disappear into the fog, and he smiled. "Good-bye, Ruth," he said, before he set off into the night to find a bed of his own.
If Ruth had any reservations, she gave no sign of it in the car. They sat in silence, unspeaking, no radio playing, just the roar of the engine and the wash of the street lights on their faces as they rumbled past buildings full of people who had no idea how momentous this night was to be for a pair of star-crossed almost-lovers in a Lexus speeding past on the street far below. They were two shadows in a dark car, two fading echoes passing through the land of the living, together for the last time. Ruth sat with her hands on her knees, stealing glances at Harry when she thought he wasn't watching, unaware that he was doing the same.
With each passing moment the air between them grew thicker, heated with expectations and hopes and longings too long buried beneath a thin veneer of professional distance. They were rushing toward the very precipice, and with every passing mile they drew closer to the edge.
Finally they arrived at the hotel, and as Harry parked the car and killed the ignition, Ruth reached out to stop him with a hand on his arm. The warmth of her touch went through him like an electric shock, and his heart sank in his chest.
"Wait, Harry," she began, and he steeled himself for the rejection he was sure would follow. She was so good, so much better than he could ever hope to be, and perhaps she had realized that a one-night tryst in a hotel was too tawdry to even be considered.
"The CCTV," she continued, pointing to a half-hidden camera high up on the exterior of the building. "They're looking for me."
Harry's heart rocketed back up into his throat. She wasn't turning him down, after all.
He gave her what he hoped was a charming and mysterious smile.
"They won't find you here," he assured her. "We own those cameras, at least for the next few hours. And I think you'll find the night clerk most accommodating."
She gave a small sigh of relief, visibly releasing the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders, and he smiled in earnest to see it.
"Shall we?" he asked with a confidence he did not feel, and she gave him a nervous little nod.
Harry exited the vehicle, fully intent upon opening her door like a gentleman, but she beat him to it. He drew her close again as they walked towards the hotel, marveling at the way she fit beneath his arm as though she were always meant to be there. No one looked at them twice; he supposed that to the outside world they seemed to be two regular people, an ordinary couple, on holiday perhaps. Maybe if their luck had held, they could have been.
Adam was waiting for them at the desk. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," he said with a sad little smile, reaching behind the counter to produce their key-card. "Room 308. Enjoy your stay."
"Thank you," Harry told him earnestly. Ruth blushed under Adam's frank stare, but there were a few other guests milling about the lobby and she didn't dare say anything else.
They reached the bank of lifts and stepped inside the first available car. As the door closed she sagged against him, burying her face in his shoulder. "God, does everybody know?" she groaned, mortified.
He kissed the top of her head, too enamored with her closeness to even attempt to deny it.
"They wanted to help," he explained, and she lifted her face to look at him, cheeks still rosy, eyes incandescent and faintly accusing.
"It's no secret, Miss Evershed," he whispered as they stepped out of the lift and made their way down the hall, "that I am now, as I have been for quite some time, very much in love with you."
They reached the door as he spoke those words, and she turned in his arms, looking up at him with hooded eyes and lips just begging to be kissed.
"Please don't say that, Harry," she said. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."
He didn't trust himself to answer, and instead fumbled with the key card. The lock gave a faint click and he pushed the door open, following her inside.
As Harry busied himself with locking the door, Ruth shed her coat and found her way to the window. The shades were drawn back, and she found she could not take her gaze from the lights of London stretching out before her. For a moment she was overcome with memories of long days spent winding her way through museums and walking by the river; of tense, desperate nights when the fate of this city, maybe the whole country, rested on her shoulders. One more night, and then she would leave, never to see London again. Never to see Harry again.
"Harry," she breathed, not realizing she'd spoken his name aloud until he came to stand behind her. He didn't touch her, didn't make a sound, but he didn't need to. She always knew when he was close by, could always feel him without touch, see him without sight. She leaned back, just a little, at the same time he took a step toward her. She felt the warm solid weight of him behind her, the steady rise and fall of his chest, watched their shadows dancing on the wall. We only have tonight…
Neither of them were certain how long they stood like that, staring out at the city, allowing themselves only the slightest of touches, before Harry's baser instincts took over. He raised his hands to her hips, splayed his fingers across her body, holding her tightly. He lowered his head, peppered kisses along the side of her neck. Ruth sighed, tilted her head to allow him more access, and covered his hands with her own.
Under any other circumstances, they might have talked about this first. Might have had another dinner, a few glasses of wine. Might have seriously considered the consequences, might have come up with a plan. Might have spoken more. Now, though, there was no time left for questions and answers, no time left for gentle flirtations and quiet park-bench chats. Harry used the hands still locked about her waist to turn her in his arms, drawing her closer against him. There was no hesitation, no "are you sure?" She rose up on her tiptoes to meet him, tangling her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the short hairs at the nape of his neck as his mouth found hers once more.
The kiss started slow, a gentle brushing of lips and no more, but then Harry slid his hand under the hem of Ruth's shirt, resting it lightly on the bare skin at the small of her back. Reflexively she pressed herself against him, gave a little gasp against his lips, and in the instant her mouth opened he pursued her with his tongue. She made a sound that was almost a whimper, locked her arms that much tighter around his neck, pushed her hips that much harder against him, and he lost all sense of himself.
He kissed like he was drowning, like he was starving, like he was burning to death inside his own skin, and she was his only chance of survival. She met like with like, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth and nipping, perhaps a bit harder than he ordinarily would have liked, running her tongue along the length of his own. She ran her hands down his back, as far as she could reach, and back up across his shoulders, learning the shape of him.
With a super-human effort, Harry carefully disentangled himself from her, pushing her back just far enough to get a look at her in the soft glow of the London night streaming in through the window behind her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen and parted slightly, her breathing ragged. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how utterly she owned him, but the words wouldn't come. There was a question in her eyes, a momentary flutter of fear, and he wondered if he hadn't better say something, after all.
"I wanted to see you," he said, and he gave a small smile when he saw her cheeks redden even more. He reached out and gently took hold of the hem of her shirt, hoping she could see the question in his eyes, hoping the look she returned him was the answer he wanted.
Carefully he eased her shirt up and over her head, fighting the urge to tell her again I love you. Her tousled hair framed her face, that face he loved so dearly, and Harry tried to capture the image of her in his mind forever. He pulled her to him again, caught her mouth with his own, and once again they were off and running.
She snaked her hands between them, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as he found the zipper of her skirt, carefully sliding it open and letting the fabric slide down the length of her bare legs to the floor. Trust Ruth, he thought, to wear a skirt when she was planning to spend the entire night out of doors and on the run. She'd managed to unbutton his shirt, but it occurred to him that she was very nearly naked, and there was still so very much for him to learn about her.
Tripping and muttering they made their way from the window to the end of the bed, neither willing to release the other with lips or hands, exploring each new piece of warm skin with a reverent sort of delight. When the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed Harry eased himself into a sitting position, pulling Ruth down with him so that she straddled his lap, her knees planted on either side of his hips. He ran his mouth down the column of her throat, alternately kissing and tasting and biting each new piece of her as it was revealed to him. She whimpered her approval, giving the occasional involuntary little thrust of her hips each time he hit a particularly sensitive spot. Every time she pressed down against his lap he felt himself growing harder, felt his heart race faster. Wandering hands found their way to the clasp of her bra, flicking it neatly open. She laughed, a shocked, surprised little sound that made him smile against her skin, but then she'd thrown the brief garment away and he was lost in her again.
Harry dragged his hands down her bare back to cup her ass, squeezing slightly, exulting when he was rewarded with another thrust of her hips. He traced the curve of her breast with the tip of his tongue, drawing ever nearer to his target, reveling in the way her breath came faster and faster, her pants a music all their own. He closed his mouth over one tight nipple, licked and sucked until she was whimpering again, and then quite deliberately closed his teeth around it, just enough to make her moan.
He looked up at her, naked on his lap, her head thrown back and her nails digging into his scalp, and prayed that this night would never end.
"Jesus, Harry," she whined, and he laughed, giving her another little nibble before kissing his way across to the other breast. He was seized with a sudden slightly irrational, decidedly impolite, almost certainly immature desire to leave his mark on her skin, and he set about it, sucking the soft flesh of the inside of her breast between his teeth and refusing to let go. The longer he held on the more she whimpered, her hands coming up to nestle once more in his hair, holding him closer to her, the rolling of her hips almost continual now as she sought some sort of release from the onslaught. He refused to stop until he was certain he had achieved his goal, releasing her with a distinct sense of regret, until he saw the dark bruise forming against her pale skin, saw the heat in her eyes.
If they had more time, she might have said something about it. Might have chided him for the ridiculousness of it. Might have asked where the impulse came from. Instead she used the hands still cradling his head to tilt his face toward her own, claiming his mouth once more in a searing kiss. She took charge this time, running her hands along his chest under his shirt, pushing it back until he was forced to release her just long enough to wiggle from it. Now it was her turn to lean back, to get a good look at him.
"Oh, Harry," she sighed, the fingers of her right hand coming to rest over the scar from the bullet that had pierced his shoulder. Tom's bullet.
Their breathing slowed together as her fingertips gently traced the outline of his scar. Her eyes were far away, unseeing, but Harry knew where she had gone. There was too much loss in their lives, too much pain, too little love. He caught her hand in his own, pulled it away from his skin, pressed a kiss against her palm.
"Not tonight, love," he said softly. There was a momentary flash of something that looked too much like sorrow in her soft gray eyes, and Harry realized he'd said it again. Love.
He kissed her to make it stop, biting her lip, squeezing her breast, her ass, whatever it took to bring her back into this moment with him. Perhaps it was the combination of the three, but she was making those soft little noises again, and that was just fine with Harry. Carefully, not wanting to push her too hard, he eased a hand down between them, gently running the tips of his fingers over the smooth silk that was the last barrier between him and a completely naked Ruth. Her whole body shuddered, even at that light contact, and Harry couldn't help the surge of pride that filled him when he realized how wet she was already.
Slowly, tentative lest he push her too hard too quickly, he eased his hand under the elastic, dragged the tips of his fingers along the length of her wet heat, and was rewarded with his name falling once more from her lips, her voice a ragged, needy sigh. That was all the incentive he needed.
He plunged two thick fingers inside her, searching for her clit with his thumb as he set a hard, heavy pace. Ruth thrust her hips down against his hand, held his face against her breast and nearly wept with want as his mouth closed once more over a tight, over-sensitive nipple. He curled his fingers inside her, searching for that spot that would send her reeling, a low, steady moan reassuring him once he found it. He kept going, thrusting and curling his fingers, rubbing circles around the little nub at her center with his thumb, laving her nipple with his tongue until she clenched tight around him, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle what he was certain would have been a scream as she came with his fingers buried to the knuckle inside her.
Her inner walls clamped down hard on his hand, her whole body shuddering, and he leaned back just far enough to catch a glimpse of her face, her eyes closed and her bottom lip clenched between her teeth. God, but she was perfect. Harry realized he was still clutching her ass with his free hand, and gave it a little squeeze. The result was immediate; her eyes flew open, dark and heavy with want, and she lifted his face to hers, giving the fingers still trapped inside her another little squeeze as her tongue slipped between his lips.
They kissed lazily for a time, one of his hands still sandwiched between her hips and his own now painfully hard cock, the other still digging into soft the flesh of her bottom, unwilling to release her even for a moment. She was exquisite, she was extraordinary, and she was his.
For tonight, at least.
Finally the need to breathe overcame their need to devour each other, and they eased apart. Ruth leaned back against his knees, running her fingers through her hair with another little shiver of pleasure that sent a shock of fire up his spine. He slid his hand out from between them, bereft at the loss of her heat.
"Do you have any idea," he asked her, his voice a rumbling growl, his hands clutching the bare flesh of her hips, fingers leaving wet trails on her over-heated skin, "just how beautiful you are?"
She smiled down at him sadly, his dear sweet Ruth, his conscience, his soul, his very heart.
"I could ask the same of you," she answered.
He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. "Come on," he said and awkwardly they shuffled further back onto the bed, until he was laying with his head on the pillows, her body enfolded in the protective circle of his arms, her hair fanned out across his chest where she lay listening to the steady thrum of his heart. Harry dropped gentle kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her hair, her ear, any part of her he could reach while she dragged her fingers up and down his spine. Don't leave me, he thought. Please don't go.
"I think I'm a trifle over dressed," he said instead. She grinned up at him mischievously, hands going immediately to the waistband of his trousers. Together they divested each other of the last of their clothes until they lay, smiling and gasping slightly, completely naked. He captured her lips again, kissing her, tasting her, trying not too think too hard about the warm hands running over his hips, his stomach, drawing ever closer to where the hard length of him pressed against the mattress.
"Roll over," she murmured against his lips, and how could he refuse her? Harry did as he was bid, rolling onto his back, and she moved with him, kneeling between his legs, one warm hand wrapping around the thickness of his shaft. He groaned, trying not to close his eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of this. She pumped him slowly with one hand, the other resting warm and soft against his thigh, never taking her eyes from his face. He couldn't fathom the expression reflected in those sparkling grey eyes, and the heat of her touch made thought all but impossible. He bucked up against her involuntarily, trying to will himself to hold back, not to lose his control too soon. He wasn't finished with her yet.
And then she did the most unexpected thing. His Ruth, his shy, bonkers, brilliant Ruth, bent her head over his cock and took the tip of it into her mouth.
"Christ," he swore, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face so he could watch as she eased her mouth down around him, the heat of her almost more than he could bear. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to thrust up against her, not to come right then. Her eyes never once left his face.
She took her time with him, her movements tortuously slow as she took the length of him in her mouth, in and out, tongue brushing against him until he could take no more. Harry gently raised her face in his hands, and she slid up to meet him, kissed him again with more passion that he'd thought possible. He flipped them easily, running his hands along the smooth skin of her thighs while his tongue explored her mouth and she raked her nails down the broad expanse of his back.
It was then that Harry had decided enough was enough, and his need to be inside her overcame all other thoughts.
He reached behind and caught her hands with his own, bringing them up to rest above her head. He pinned her wrists together with one hand, and with the other he eased her legs apart, encouraging her to bend one leg and open herself that much wider to him. The thatch of dark curls there between her legs was calling his name, but though he longed to bury his face in her heat and make her scream again he simply couldn't wait any longer. Later, he told himself, trying to ignore the nagging voice reminding him that there very likely wouldn't be a later. Instead he leaned forward, kissing her once as the tip of his cock brushed against her. He liked her like this, her body strung taught as a bow beneath him, hips rolling as she searched for him, desperate for some contact. Harry was more than happy to oblige.
Still holding her hands above her head, he grasped himself with his free hand, and eased inside her just a bit, just enough to make her hiss and thrust her hips up to meet him. Gave another short, shallow stroke, just barely pushing inside her before he was gone again. He watched her, eyes screwed up tight, her back arched to meet him, her mouth open beneath his. Every part of this moment etched in his mind, a memory to be treasured for the rest of his life.
"Please," she whispered into his mouth, and with her encouragement he slid all the way home, sheathing himself completely inside her. They took a moment to adjust, panting against each other's lips, and Harry let his eyes rake over her, her hands, so small against his own, her breasts, pushed together by this position, dusky nipples hard where they brushed against the coarse hair of his chest, sweat glistening like winter's first frost on the pale skin just below her neck. He ran his tongue along her collarbone, savoring the salty sweetness of her, before giving a gentle, experimental thrust of his hips.
She moaned, and he was lost.
He dug the fingers of his free hand hard into her hip, and set a relentless pace. She arched up to meet him, hands still caught above her head, unable to do more than meet him thrust for thrust, to feel the length of him inside her, the delicious ache building, roaring ever closer to another climax.
"Now, Ruth," he growled against her neck, and she did as ordered, another desperate little whimper escaping her lips as the movement of her hips stuttered against him, as her walls clamped down on him, squeezing him tighter and tighter until with a strangled groan he followed her over the edge, spilling hot and heavy inside her.
Harry wasn't aware of actually releasing her hands, but when he came back to himself he found he was lying along her side, half covering her, his face buried in her hair, his wet, slowly softening cock nestled against her thigh. I love you, he thought, wishing he could say the words, knowing nothing would spoil the sweetness of this moment more. His felt as if his bones had been replaced with butter, and much as he longed to raise himself up and kiss her again, he found he could not move an inch.
Ruth was silent beneath him, her face hidden from his sight, her small, warm hands trapped between their bodies. God, he loved her hands. He loved her hands, and her ankles, and her nose, and her eyes, he loved her wrinkles and her smile.
"What are you thinking?" he asked her, and when she tilted her head back to face him, he saw that there were tears standing in the corners of her eyes.
"Please don't ask me," she answered softly, "because then I'll have to tell you."
He kissed her forehead to let her know he understood, and wrapped his arms tightly around her, letting her burrow into his chest. Harry caught sight of the clock over the top of her head, and for the rest of his life he wished he hadn't.
The early morning sun was wan and pale, reflecting back off the choppy water, the wind whipping her long coat around her ankles as they stood at the edge of the dock. The shadows of the night had burned away; the day had come, and with it the boat that was to take her away from him forever. The captain was anxious to get going and not afraid to let them know it, but Ruth took the time for one more kiss, leaning up to brush Harry's lips with her own. "Let me go," she breathed, easing herself out of the circle of his arms, walking resolutely away from him, away from London, away from her whole life. He watched her go, a phantom fading into the fog; he shoved his hands in his pockets, unable to look away until the boat finally drifted out of sight.
"Godspeed, my Ruth," he said, bowing his head and walking back to his car, feeling an empty shell of himself.
