Set in a pub. Not The George. Sometime soon after the end of S9. All belongs to Kudos - except the pub.
"So how are you?"
"Fine, fine."
"And things?"
"Things?"
"Yes, you know what I mean, Ruth," asked Malcolm with a gentle smile.
"Things have been difficult," Ruth admitted.
"Have you told him yet?"
"Told him what?"
"That you love him."
Ruth's blue eyes fixed Malcolm with an unblinking expression.
"It's time, Ruth."
"It's not that easy. You don't understand."
Malcolm was not about to let her off the hook. Not this time.
"What is there to understand?"
Her eyes became unfixed. Her answer unspoken.
"He needs you Ruth."
"It's more complicated than that."
"No, it's as simple as that."
He waited.
"Tell me you don't love him."
"I can't."
"Tell me he doesn't love you."
"He does," she admitted.
"Then why can't you tell each other?"
"I don't know. I suppose we're not very…emotionally forthright."
Malcolm laughed.
"Practice on me, then. Pretend I'm Harry sat here now, in the pub. Tell me."
"No."
"Go on."
"No, Malcolm."
"Please, Ruth."
She sighed. He wasn't going to give up. It would be quicker to just humour him for a minute and then change the subject, she concluded.
"Fine."
"So….." he prompted, after she failed to say anything more, "tell me how you feel about me."
"I…I…."
He waited and she began again.
"Despite the past I love him."
"No. Say it to me Ruth. I am Harry."
"This is stupid."
"No, don't think about it. Just do it."
She opened her mouth to protest but he raised his eyebrows warningly and so she sighed and tried again.
"Despite the past...I love you. You think I blame you. I don't. I blame me. I feel….felt numb. Empty. Like my capability to feel had been taken from me, had been eroded to nothing by what we do. I was fine. Just that. Fine. Not feeling, but fine. And then….."
She stopped and Malcolm saw her face take on a haunted look as the past was projected before her, on a reel only she could see.
"Then…" he prompted.
"Then I thought you were dead. Thought you had fallen, been pushed, killed, by Lucas."
"And…."
"And I could feel. And I wasn't fine. And I knew I loved you and regretted all the times I'd pushed you away. And I knew that never again would I have the chance to make things right."
"But I'm not dead."
This time it wasn't Malcolm's voice. It was Harry's.
"I'll just get the next round in," said Malcolm quickly heading for the bar.
From the booth behind a familiar figure rose and took his seat.
Ruth stared at him, not knowing whether to be angry or relieved.
"There's still time, Ruth. To make things right," said Harry, "if you'd like to, that is?"