Title: 26 minutes and 33 seconds
Author: Cath
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me
Summary: Twenty six minutes and thirty three seconds left until she sees him. RH. Post 5.05.
Notes: Third (and probably last) in the "Alison Lewis" fics – it may help to read One and Facades first. Not entirely sure about this one, so would appreciate feedback. Italics indicate flashbacks – hope this doesn't make it too difficult to read.
--
14:33
She checks her watch as she arrives at the site of the London Eye. She is early. She scans the area and deduces that he is not there. If he arrives, he will be nothing but prompt.
At one point their watches were synchronised; counting the seconds precisely with the talking clock. If they are still in synchronicity she is exactly twenty six minutes and thirty three seconds early.
She sits on an unoccupied bench; the mottled grey/brown wood is stained by blue marker pen graffiti. I decree today, that life is simply taking and not giving. England is mine and it owe's me a living! She raises an eyebrow.
But such sentiments and grammatical inaccuracies do not distract her from her thoughts.
It has been two weeks, three days and six hours since she received his note and the book.
At one point she felt that she was instinctively able to understand his every message. She only hopes that she correctly interpreted this one.
She rummages around in her bag, removes a book, opens it at a random page and attempts to read.
---
She shuts the door to her office behind her, leans back against it. The uneven pattern of the wood, jutting out and recessing at uncomfortable intervals, does not even register. Her hands continue to tremble uncontrollably. She re-reads the note, struggling to hold the paper still. She hears him say the words as he has before so many times.
Alison Lewis is forgotten as she lives as Ruth for more than a moment.
The truth will set you free. The words echo in her head.
She wonders what the truth will reveal. She doesn't consider even for a second that she won't follow his instructions.
The book – its message clear and obvious to her at first glance – dangles precariously from her left hand.
She re-reads the note, revelling in this connection with him. Love, H.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, fights back tears, and smiles.
---
14:38
She checks her watch as she closes her book. Twenty one minutes, eighteen seconds. Five minutes have passed in what has seemed like half an hour.
The book holds no interest. It was packed accidentally as her mind wandered last night. Bridget Jones' Diary; its presence in her collection is entirely unexplained.
She re-opens her bag, sifting through the contents; polo mints, purse, mobile, receipts, train tickets, glove, umbrella, notepad, pens, hair brush, lip gloss, and eventually the item she is seeking: mirror.
She holds it up, discreetly as she can, checks her appearance and applies more lip gloss.
It has been more than a year since he last saw her; she wonders if he will recognise her. She hasn't altered in appearance too significantly: hair still in its shorter style. She has, unintentionally, lost some weight. She wears more make-up than usual for Alison; she cannot remember whether Ruth used to wear this much. Does she look older? She can no longer tell; she has no photographs to compare herself to. Her dress style, slightly varied, is not incredibly different.
She wonders if she will recognise him. A year can be a long time; people change. Maybe he has lost weight; maybe he has gained weight. Perhaps he wears glasses, or has his hair slightly longer, or looks significantly older.
She puts the mirror away and scans the crowd, expectantly.
---
She barely makes it through the day; her lectures are some way below their usual standard as her brain struggles to engage with the content. Her one seminar group of the day veers completely off topic for over five minutes before she realises and attempts to pull it back to the subject in hand. Although they don't ask if something is on her mind, she can tell that the students are acutely aware of her lack of presence.
Fortunately tomorrow is Saturday, the weekend. She will pull herself together before Monday. She will attempt not to think so frequently of him or of the fantasies she briefly constructs regarding returning to being Ruth; of returning to that other life where she belongs.
But before she leaves for the day she manages to concentrate long enough to engage in discussions with both students and colleagues and she realises that she belongs here, too.
And the problem of being both Alison and Ruth begins to surface.
---
14:41
She checks her watch as she stands up. Eighteen minutes, forty nine seconds to go.
She starts to walk, back and forth, and it conjures up images of a time when she nervously rambled on about him pacing in a good way. The memory causes her to smile. She has not rambled in such a manner in a long time.
She thinks about what she should say and how she will react, but she is wholly aware that this fantasy version of events is unlikely to play out exactly in this way in reality.
She thinks about the truth, about what happened, and wonders whether Harry has found a way of exposing it. But even the revelation of the truth causes problems; she has been dead for over a year – she cannot simply slide back into her old life as though she never left it.
Too much time, too many events have passed for her to make an easy transition into returning to life as Ruth but if, as in her fantasies, Harry finds a way to make this happen, she cannot foresee a life being Alison, knowing that this other life was in her grasp.
Fantasies, realities, and problems have plagued her thoughts for too long, she decides. She stops pacing, returns to the bench, and watches as the tourists mill about the area and queue for the chance to see London from above.
---
She returns to her house that evening, pours a large glass of dry white wine, and sits on the muted-red settee.
She places two items on the coffee table before she takes a large gulp of the wine. Then another gulp, and yet one more. She re-fills the glass.
It doesn't have the usual soporific effect on her, and she knows that tonight she will find it hard to sleep.
She takes the letter in her hand and reads it for about the twentieth time that day. The fact that he has remembered her shines above everything.
It has been more than a year since she last saw him and she has never been able to remove him from her thoughts. The idea that he still acknowledges her existence, that he might even still love her, is both alien a concept and incredibly reassuring.
Another glass of wine later and she retrieves the one photograph she has from Ruth's past.
And for the first time in a long time, it causes her to smile.
---
14:47
She looks at her watch as a stranger joins her on the bench. Twelve minutes and twenty six seconds.
The stranger looks over her, "I'm sorry, have we met before?" he asks.
"No," she replies, glancing back down at her watch as if to make a point. She moves her feet and legs impatiently, twists the ring on her finger. She is not entirely sure how she will manage to wait another twelve minutes.
"I'm sorry, I just thought…" he trails off, and she isn't concerned about his thoughts.
Her own thoughts return to a moment that is likely to occur in less than twelve minutes.
A year is a long time, she thinks, and she considers what might be the correct etiquette for greeting someone you've not seen in over a year. Someone who means as much as he does. Someone who potentially should not be seen with her in public.
"It's Alison isn't it?" the stranger asks. "Alison Lewis? You wrote a paper on…"
She glances over at him, and does not recognise him. "No, I'm afraid it's not," she replies.
She stands up, collects her bags, and walks away.
---
Two weeks, three days and two hours since she received his letter. She has found it difficult to concentrate on anything else since.
The letter, now crumpled round the edges, remains in its envelope, and is placed securely in her bag. The book, read twice, is on her bookshelf.
Last night she hazily remembers that she packed a bag in preparation for her trip to London. She has not booked accommodation past the first night, although knows places where she can stay should the need arise.
She barely slept last night; she finds it difficult enough to relax into sleep at the best of times. She estimates that she had about three hours in all. She drinks generous amounts of tea and coffee in hopes that it will cause her to be more alert.
The train moves gently side to side, attempting to lull her into sleep.
But she knows that she will be unable to concede.
---
14:49
She looks at her watch as she passes the queue for the Eye. Ten minutes and five seconds left.
She looks ahead, deciding where to wait.
And then, he is there. Even in the distance she knows that it is him. And she stops still where she is for an instant, unable to move. She has played through this moment in her mind countless times, and yet the reality of her reactions resembles nothing of these fantasies.
He has surprised her by being early and she is not entirely sure that she is prepared for this moment.
Almost uncharacteristically, tears threaten to overcome her, but she swallows them back.
She finds her feet guiding her towards him as he moves ever more in her direction.
And then he is standing in front of her. He is unchanged. And she realises that they are both uncertain about the next move.
"Ruth," he says simply.
And for a full thirty seconds she is unable to speak. "Harry," she eventually chokes out.
And then she pulls him into a fierce embrace.
They remain like this for minutes, in full view of all around them, until she finally pulls away.
Neither of their desires is fully sated by the hug, and she is delighted to realise that she can still read his features, his body language.
She looks at his eyes, guides hers down towards his lips. But she is unwilling to make the first move.
He leans towards her briefly, before pulling back. And then, something in his features change, and he moves in again, this time not stopping.
This, their second kiss, is every bit as emotionally charged as their first, but speaks now of a future that is potentially within their grasp.
They have much to discuss, she realises that, her dilemma over leaving Alison entirely behind needs to be resolved. And the future is uncertain; whether the truth can set her free as suggested remains to be seen.
But here, now, these matters do not concern her. And for now she loses herself in him.
---
Fin.