The Unexpected, As Expected
Harry wasn't quite asleep. He couldn't sleep. He was thoroughly exhausted and felt calmer and happier than ever in his whole life. And yet he could not allow himself to slumber. It was silly, really. But he didn't want to miss a single moment of this, of Ruth in his arms. Her skin was still flushed from their lovemaking, after which she had immediately fallen asleep. He had exhausted her through his diligent and skillful efforts, and Harry was quite proud of himself. And now, with her cheek on his chest and her arm hugging around his waist and her legs tangled up in his, he couldn't keep from stroking her gorgeous bare skin, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with their sweat and their sex, pressing light kisses to her forehead.
It was a miracle, really, and Harry Pearce was not a man who believed in such things. But four times in his life he'd witnessed things he'd used that term for. The births of each of his children, which he hadn't been present for but felt deeply awed by nonetheless when he first held Catherine and then Graham in his arms. A third miracle, of a very different mood, when Mani's men had brought Ruth into the old abandoned warehouse to be in the same room with him for the first time in nearly three years, and the final miracle was here and now.
This time when he'd asked, baring his soul and professing his love, she had said yes. He could feel the cool metal of her wedding band against his skin, and he rubbed his own against her shoulder. It was still like something of a dream, that they'd gotten married in a small chapel outside London. They'd repeated vows after the minister and exchanged their rings and sealed their union with a kiss. It was only a few hours before that they'd hurried to catch the train to Paris and checked in to the posh hotel he'd booked them for the first three nights of their honeymoon. They'd fallen into bed as husband and wife, and Harry Pearce knew true bliss for the first time in his life.
In the midst of this quiet, romantic reverie, four loud shots rang out. Simultaneously, both Ruth and Harry bolted up in bed. Once a spook, always a spook, he realized bitterly. They'd both been retired from Five for nearly six months, but some habits died hard.
Harry practically leapt out of bed. "Ruth, get dressed," he ordered.
She did as he told without question. He was fumbling with his trousers and a vest while she found her underthings and a casual dress to throw on. Harry was glad she had insisted on unpacking their things before dinner, or this would have been a nightmare. Ruth's organizational skills when it came to luggage left quite a lot to be desired.
He reached into his personal carryall to retrieve the item he'd hoped he wouldn't need but was glad he packed anyway.
"Harry, did you bring a gun on our honeymoon?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes."
"Right, well, well done," she replied.
"Stay close," he instructed as they both cautiously made their way out of their room and into the hall.
Everything was eerily quiet. One would have expected screams or stampeding crowds after gunshots presumably coming from the lobby of a luxury hotel. But there was nothing. The hallway was empty save for Harry and Ruth creeping along the wall.
"Harry, what are we meant to be doing?" Ruth asked, realizing that in the adrenaline rush of being woken from slumber on their wedding night to the sound of gunshots, they hadn't actually devised a plan of action.
"We're going to investigate," he replied quietly.
Ruth frowned. "Is that wise?"
Harry paused, gun still poised in his hands, but he turned back to face her. "It may not be the wisest decision, but it's what we must do." There was a reverence in his tone, a plea that came from his very soul, urging her to understand.
She nodded, her brow furrowed with her resolve. He was right, of course. Once a spook, always a spook. Leaving Five meant it was no longer their job to go looking for trouble. But when trouble found them, they could no more shy away from it than a leopard could change its spots.
Onward they went, taking the stairs down as quickly and quietly as they could. On the second floor landing, however, a crash caused Ruth to reach out and clutch Harry's arm tightly. He placed a comforting hand on hers.
"Ruth, you go down to the lobby. The shooter may have moved from there upstairs. I'll see to the noise here. Find out what's happened, get to a phone if you can," he said quietly.
She nodded. Ruth didn't much like the idea of being separated from Harry. For one thing, he had a gun and she didn't. And for another, she didn't want to leave his side. The idea that something might happen to him and she wouldn't be there...it was enough to paralyze her. She opened her mouth to say something else. The only thought in her head was that they'd been married less than one full day and it just wasn't fair that this should be happening. But when did life ever treat Ruth and Harry with any ounce of fairness?
But Harry knew precisely what she was thinking. He placed a gentle hand on her cheek and kissed her lips softly. "I love you. Be careful." And with that, he slipped through the door to the second floor hallway, leaving Ruth to continue down to the lobby.
As soon as she was left on her own, Ruth's mind became laser-focused. She'd gotten quite good at this in the last few years, tamping down her feelings and focusing on the task at hand. It was what she used to be best at, honing in on facts and analysis, but that was in the safe confines of the Grid while the field agents went running about. The last few years, however, had put her in a position of action much more often than anyone liked. But she would do what needed to be done. She would focus. She would figure it out.
She reached the door to the ground floor without further sound or incident. But Ruth paused, wary of what she might find when she left the stairwell and ventured into the lobby. With a small determined huff, she pushed open the door.
Blood. That was the first thing she saw. An enormous pool of blood in the middle of the white marble floor. The crystal chandelier made the deep red sparkle in the most morbid fashion.
Two bodies lay sprawled in the middle, the sources of the blood. Gunned down. From where she was, Ruth couldn't quite tell whether they'd sustained multiple wounds each. Four shots, they'd heard. Two bodies. Did the shooter miss? Did the shooter get them each more than once? Were there more dead or injured to be found?
Ruth made her way around, keeping her back close to the wall and ensuring her eyes were constantly roving around the room, picking up every little bit of information to inform her next steps. Not seeing any movement, she swiftly made her way to the abandoned front desk.
With a shaking hand, Ruth picked up the telephone to dial 112 for emergency services. But the line was dead. She didn't have her mobile with her.
Her eyes scanned the grand lobby once again. She didn't have much choice, as far as she could tell. But she paused for a moment, searching the desk for something she might be able to use to defend herself if need be.
A letter opener. Perfect.
With the dull yet pointed blade in hand, Ruth made her way carefully to the center of the marble floor where the bodies remained motionless in their own blood. Surely one of them had a mobile she could use.
Up on the second floor, Harry made his way down the corridor towards the source of the strange sounds. His gun was firmly between his hands and all the old instincts came flooding back. In some small way, it felt good. It felt right.
He nearly turned to smile at Ruth to indicate his confidence, but he remembered she wasn't there. Strange to be transported back to his field agent days and instinctively think of her anyway, despite the fact that he hadn't known Ruth at the time holding a gun and sneaking through hallways was common practice for him. But in thinking of Ruth—his wife! Christ that was still a miracle to believe—a very familiar twinge of fear gripped at his chest. Ruth might be in danger, and he wasn't there to protect her.
Muffled shouts and whimpers were coming from one of the rooms up to the right. Harry refocused his attention and crept onward. He found a group of six young people—all in their twenties, it seemed—bound and gagged, tied up in chairs. The calmest among them was a woman, so he removed the tape from her mouth, whispering in his broken French for her to be quiet and asking what was going on.
"Two men with guns. Brought us all in one room. Went through all our things after they tied us up," she explained shakily.
"Did they say anything? Who they were, what they were doing?"
"No. Only that they needed to keep moving to hit as many rooms as possible."
Could it be, Harry wondered to himself, that they'd unwittingly stumbled upon nothing more than a hotel robbery? But if it were only two men with guns, why was everything still so quiet? Why had no one called for help, and why were there no blaring sirens?
Harry assured the group of captives that they were safe there for now and he would come back for them soon. He needed to move along and figure out what they were up against.
Downstairs, Ruth had found a mobile in the pocket of a dead man but saw that there was no service. This was more than just a man with a gun, it seemed. There was something sophisticated enough going on to knock out all telephones and cellular service.
Ruth was about to go find Harry, to regroup and try to make a plan of action to deal with this new development, but she wasn't given the chance. Voices came from the opposite end of the lobby. Ruth scurried up the decorative staircase to the balcony across from the chandelier. Hopefully, she could observe without being detected. So long as no one looked up, she should be safe. If someone did look up, she was trapped; there was only the one staircase accessing the balcony.
Harry hid in the elevator bay alcove when two men made their way out of the room at the far end of the hall and back down. With the unpracticed French he knew, Harry overheard some vague references to a machine, something about the machine being protected.
As soon as the two men had gotten out of earshot, Harry hurried down the hall to where they came from. If there was a machine of some kind, he needed to figure out what it was. At this point, surely Ruth had called for help, and Harry only needed to maintain status quo until professionals arrived. After all, he and Ruth were retired.
He found the mysterious machine rather easily. It was in the last room at the end of the hall. Thankfully, it wasn't a bomb. Harry could tell that much. What is actually was, however, was something of a mystery.
"Hey!"
Harry whirled around, seeing a third and previously unknown assailant coming straight at him, brandishing a screwdriver of all things. Without another thought, Harry fired.
The gunshot echoed through the quiet hotel, just as the others had earlier. From where Ruth was hiding, she gasped audibly. The two men whose voices she'd overheard looked up at the sound. Each of them was carrying a duffel bag, which they quickly dropped in order to aim their guns with both hands. They opened fire up at her.
Ruth screamed. She couldn't help it. She'd been held at gunpoint and knifepoint and tied up on various occasions and kidnapped and physically assaulted and even hunted with a crossbow, but never had she been shot at like this before. She was all alone and frantically looking for cover, the blood and adrenaline pounding in her ears so loud she could barely hear her own shrieking.
Even from two floors away, Harry could hear her screams. He could certainly hear the gunshots. Harry shot the machine that the man with the fearsome screwdriver had died to protect, and without another thought, Harry raced from the room. As long as Ruth was screaming, she was still alive.
And then, everything went quiet.
The gunmen, it seemed, had run out of ammunition. They began to make their way menacingly up the stairs to the balcony where Ruth was hidden under a table. She clenched her fists in terror, realizing that she held something in each of her hands. The mobile she still held was working now. Whatever had been blocking the signal was no longer doing so.
As quickly as she could, Ruth dialed the emergency number and simply stated the name of the hotel and gasped for help in French before tossing the phone aside and scrambling out from her hiding place.
The first man came for her quickly, seeming ready to grab her and do something unspeakable. Ruth pushed him away with all the force she could muster. Thankfully, she was still holding the letter opener in her right hand and shoved it beneath her attacker's ribs. He stumbled back and into his companion, knocking them both off balance enough for Ruth to rush past them, sprinting down the stairs.
Harry ran into the lobby just in time to see Ruth stab a man. He called her name, unsure of what else to do. She ran across the lobby toward him. The uninjured assailant tried to follow her, but Harry aimed his gun over Ruth's shoulder, shooting him down just as she fell into his arms.
Sirens blared in the distance, but Harry could barely hear anything. He held his wife in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on her back and stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head while murmuring, "It's all over now, Ruth. Everything's going to be alright."
"I stabbed that man," she said in disbelief between her shaking sobs.
"Shh, I know, darling. You did brilliantly. You protected yourself. You stayed safe. And I've got you. We're both going to be just fine," he assured her.
The Paris police burst into the lobby, shouting in French. Ruth pulled away from Harry only slightly, knowing she needed to calm down to handle the situation with the authorities; she could process her feelings later. "Harry, this is our wedding night," she suddenly remembered.
He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and gave her a small, comforting kiss. "Was there really any way our wedding night could have gone any other way? I almost feel as though we should have expected this." He took her hand in his. "Come on, let's take care of this, and then we can pack and find a new hotel."
"It's nearly four in the morning," she pointed out.
"We can sleep on a park bench if need be. Now come on, speak to the police for me. I cannot be expected to be polite in French right now."
Harry's snark earned the smallest smile from Ruth. She gave her husband's hand a squeeze as they walked over to the policeman who seemed to be in charge. She didn't let go of his hand the whole time she explained what had happened and what they'd done. It was over an hour before they were free to go. And he held her hand the whole time. They were married and they'd survived more near-death experiences than any two people had any right to suffer, but they were alive and they were together. And they would never let go now.