Disclaimer: Ruth and Harry are not mine, they're the creation of Kudos, Peter Firth and Nicola Walker. Well done to them for creating two beautiful and very believable characters.
Dedication: To N&M for being a beta. And to all of you on the spooks site and here who have got me writing for the first time since English GCSE 16 years ago! Please read and review with a Christmas spirit.
Under the shade of the Oak Tree
Standing under the shade of the oak tree the man checked his watch: 3.45pm.
Right on time the heavy wooden door that led from the university library out into the courtyard swung open and she emerged into the soft autumnal sunlight, tucking stray hair back behind her ears and adjusting her bag across her shoulder.
He smiled – she was beautiful. Not in the strictest sense of the word, there were dozens of young lithe beauties with glossy hair and a youthful vitality that could take your breath away, but there was something about her he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Her shining dark hair fell below her shoulders, brushing gently against the lapels of the long coat she always seemed to wear, even on warm sunshine filled days. A brightly coloured scarf that threatened to escape, hung between the folds of the coat, hiding the clothes beneath.
He watched as she delicately picked her way around the students and lecturers who were rapidly filling the previously peaceful courtyard. Gently apologetic, whilst never quite making eye contact or stopping to chat with anyone once she'd left the safety of those dusty shelves.
He knew the colour of her eyes though; he had seen them. A wonderful hazy blue–grey like the sea on a cloudy day, with the same hidden depths he felt.
And so he'd taken to discretely watching her.
Last week had been an interesting example of the intellect he was certain she had, but that a more casual observer might not perceive.
A girl in her late teens with a research paper request neatly printed out in block capitals. Only a few words were necessary – it was a busy afternoon but she'd scanned the paper for more than a few seconds and then asked the girl what she felt was so special about King Offa. And he really felt she was interested in the reply.
It was not just a throwaway line said out of politeness, she wanted to hear the answer - to process and analyse it. Store it away perhaps for some future conversation she might have where the thoughts and opinions of others might be relevant.
Pulling himself out of his remembrances he followed her progress through the arch at the far end of the courtyard, her long skirt floating around boots half hidden beneath it.
Soon she would disappear out of sight: to where, he knew not.
Should he follow her? No that would feel like stalking. He was merely curious, intrigued, wondering about her story.
3.45pm.
His teeth were chattering. He felt cold most days now, the last of the summers warmth had left the sun. Even when it was out, it hung low, throwing long shadows over the courtyard.
Despite the chill in the air, she wasn't wearing a scarf today and he caught a glimpse of the unique necklace she was so fond of wearing. Not that he knew she was fond of it but it was the only one he had ever seen on her.
She looked pale against the dark coat and clothes beneath and he thought she had possibly lost weight but couldn't be certain – she wore so many layers.
Her posture had changed though; he was sure of that as the distance closed between them. It had never been what you would describe as lively but there had been a determined air about her. And it was no longer there.
It made her look smaller somehow, shoulders drooping, head held ever so slightly lower.
He didn't believe this was the pressures of her job or fitting into a new area. That wouldn't explain the emptiness in her eyes he saw as she passed him – before her lashes swept down masking them.
Maybe she was just having a bad week or two he reasoned. If she'd been watching the news lately, with the two major terrorist threats which had yet to be explained adequately by the government, then it was enough to knock anybody.
As she disappeared through the arch and away he speculated what she might be doing with the rest of her day, trying to fill in parts of her story.
3.45pm.
Snow was falling gently around him in the dusky light. He was glad to be back. Christmas with family and friends had been fun but he was changing, maturing and it had started to feel a little claustrophobic. Yes, he was glad to be back.
The courtyard was filled with muffled sounds. People's footsteps, the university grounds men struggling to dismantle the coloured lights that had hung for the last month around the large Christmas tree, and a couple kissing for all they were worth under the mistletoe whilst another student strained to remove it from its spot in the centre of the stone archway.
But none of that registered on his consciousness. His attention was singularly focused on one person.
She'd already slipped slightly on her way down the steps, but had recovered, grabbing hold of the rail to her left.
She was flushed and shaking. From the cold? No, her coat gaped open, neglected, the layers of clothing beneath merely hinting at the weight she had lost.
From the slip? No that couldn't be right; she had hardly checked her stride.
What then?
His eyes darted to her right hand, drawn by movement. Her fingers were fluttering convulsively, wrapped around something. He peered; it was a folded square of paper.
On she walked, across the courtyard, folding and refolding the scrap of paper between her gloveless hands.
Only in the archway did she hesitate for a moment, glance at the note then toss it into the open bin. Her fingers, seemingly without thought, brushed across her trembling lips. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath to calm herself then resumed her swift steps, carrying her out of the university and into obscurity.
Curious now, he crossed to the bin, to where the folded paper lay amidst chocolate wrappers and coke cans.
A puzzled frown creased his forehead. He had been so sure this was the reason for her disturbed state but all there was were three small groups of numbers written in black ink. Two sets of four with three numbers in the middle.
It had obviously been opened, read and refolded countless times. The paper was starting to disintegrate around the folds and the numbers were smudged, almost as if someone were trying to discern the meaning by touch as well as sight.
A reference to an obscure book in the library? He shrugged. He didn't suppose he was likely to find out. Refolding the note he let it slip from his fingers and watched it float back to its home next to the now snow topped cans.
3.45pm.
The snow which had fallen intermittently over the past weeks was now slush, wetting through shoes and the hems of trousers and skirts.
He'd wondered numerous times since New Year about what those three groups of numbers on the note had meant, but since her routine hadn't changed and there had been no more notes, he'd put it down to his own heightened imagination, the snow and excitement at being back.
After that day her posture, if anything, had improved. Or not improved so much, as altered. He didn't suppose any of this would be noticeable to others and it was hard to describe, but she had lost the hint of desolation about her. The weight of the world still appeared to be carried on her shoulders but she now seemed to be in control.
She was wearing a multicoloured striped scarf today, and struggling to keep it wound around her neck as she donned first one glove and then started on the other, pushing her large canvas bag back on her shoulder. She started to make her way down the steps taking quick looks up from the view of her feet in order to pick a suitable course through people and puddles.
And then suddenly she stopped dead, scarf, bag and gloves now forgotten as she stared towards the archway.
He peered, following her line of vision and eventually alighted on a heavyset middle-aged man half hidden in the shadows. Wearing a long dark coat and leather gloves he could have easily passed over him but for the look on his face.
His eyes were drinking her in, absorbing every inch.
Glancing back at the woman who had intrigued him for so many months, a flush was now staining her features and as he watched, the most delightful look crossed her face. He couldn't quite describe it as a smile, but one corner of her mouth twitched upward, her eyebrow arched and the eyes beneath shone.
The pair appeared to be having an entire conversation across 50 yards of courtyard, amidst students and lecturers crisscrossing their way through the slush.
Slowly at first she started moving, gliding almost, pulled by an invisible wire towards the man gazing so intently at her.
As far as he could tell from his usual position leaning against the oak tree, the two didn't break eye contact during her journey across those 50 yards of stone pavement.
Her hands - one gloved and one still naked from when her glance upward had stilled her so effectively - betrayed a hint of nervousness though, unconsciously playing with the remaining glove, tightening and un-tightening around the dark leather, smoothing out the creases then starting the process all over again.
As she reached him, the coated man lifted an arm to touch her, hesitated and dropped it again without making contact.
They were standing so close to each other, upper bodies angled towards each other and lips moving in what appeared from a distance to be hushed but eager sentences.
Whilst her eyes now darted back and forth between an imaginary spot on the wall and her visitors face, his never wavered for an instant and the power of the gaze was spellbinding.
He couldn't be sure at what point their talking ceased and their lips met in a first tender kiss. But from the way the mans shoulders dropped as if all the breath had left his body at once, and her bag dropped unheeded with a thud to the ground, he imagined it was an unplanned occurrence.
Unplanned maybe, but not unwanted.
The hand which had reached out to her only minutes ago was now clasped around her ear, fingers threading themselves into her hair.
She had melted into him as if she were returning home, an initially hesitant arm wrapping around his waist to pull him closer still.
Deep open mouthed kisses, asking questions and receiving answers, stumbling back a pace or two deeper into the shadows of the archway.
He couldn't look away even if he had wanted to. This was all encompassing.
He watched as she gave her soul to this man and he returned it with his own.
He watched until their kisses were broken by the need for air.
He watched as they continued to hold each other whilst calming their trembling bodies; soft laughs and occasional words interspersed with yet more kisses.
He watched until a lecture group crossed in front of him and blocked his sight.
He watched the now empty shadowy archway until it became too dark to see, the image of a couple deeply in love dancing before his eyes.
3.45pm.
The sun was trying its best to emerge from behind the clouds. He impatiently brushed white blossom from the lapels of his jacket, the cherry trees at the other side of the yard heavily laden with flowers.
3.47pm.
The first twinges of concern. She was never late. A cascade of blossom feel as the spring wind spun through the courtyard.
3.53pm.
He couldn't just stand here. People would start to think he was a suspicious character. He laughed to himself; if they hadn't already.
He pushed away from the rough bark of the tree trunk, and made his way across to the doors he had seen open and close so many times over the past months.
Increasing his pace and taking the stairs two at a time he pulled at the heavy doors.
Along the corridor and into the library, he was stopped short by the sight of the university principle shaking the hand of a tall, slightly stooping lady. Her hair was drawn back tightly in a bun. He bet she had reading glasses that she could perch on the end of her nose too.
"I do hope you'll be happy here Miss Connor" the voice floated clearly across the quiet library.
"If you don't mind me asking, why the rush to fill the post?"
"Well it was all so sudden. Emily-Rose our last librarian came to me, handed in her notice and was gone by the end of the day. Highly inconvenient really. Said her life was to take her in a different direction."
"Between you and me" she continued "there was always something about her. Undefined, secretive even. But there you are. A shame to have lost a person of her intellect and literary knowledge from this establishment though."
He turned on his heel and left the confines of the library, chuckling and muttering softly to himself about 'one to tell the grandkids'. Stepping outside, the blossom rained onto his shoulders once more, and he allowed himself a small smile, as he glanced at the oak tree and the archway and reflected on the story they held.