Disclaimer – Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC
Warning – Spoilers for series 6 and 7.
A/N – Third (and longest) of the series 7 trilogy.
She dreams of him, often. Brown eyes, soft lips, warm skin, strong arms wrapped around her. She used to find the dreams upsetting and would try to fight them off by filling her mind with other things but it never worked. In the end, it was easier to let them happen and now she takes comfort from those few precious hours of oblivion when it seems as if he's with her. There's always sadness in the morning when she wakes to find her bed empty but she's learnt to live with it. She's learnt to live with a lot of things; and without.
This will be the third Christmas of her new life. And it's a life that still feels very new to her, alien at times, but she perseveres because that's what she's always done. It's what she did after her father died; it's what she's done every time she's lost someone. She's never been able to understand people who say 'how do you go on?' Her answer is 'you just do.' Her response has always earned her uncomprehending looks or pity; sometimes both. There was only one person who seemed to understand but he's…
Ruth shakes her head to clear the gloomy thoughts and takes the shopping list off the fridge door, running a finger over the small Charlie Chaplin magnet that had been holding it in place. The paintwork on the little figure is slightly chipped, it always has been, but it was an irresistible purchase, shining out at her as she wandered around a flea market in Amsterdam. She folds the list up and puts it in her purse, tucking her memories away at the same time.
It's bitingly cold and the morning's snow has frozen into ice that reflects the lights from the market stalls. Ruth shivers and starts to walk more quickly, anxious to get her shopping done and return to the warmth of her apartment. Something, some instinct, makes her stop and her gaze is inexplicably drawn to the church on the other side of the square. A woman bumps into her, apologises, and the spell is broken. She starts moving again, walking more slowly this time as she moves around the square, taking in the sights and sounds. Her nostrils fill with the smell of Glühwein and citrus scents and her stomach rumbles as she passes a stall with bratwurst sizzling on a grill, reminding her she's had nothing to eat since lunchtime.
By the time she has completed her shopping, a small crowd has gathered in front of the church. Ruth walks towards them to see what has caught their attention. The heavy wooden doors open and a group of children walk carefully down the steps. They head towards the Christmas tree in the centre of the market square and line themselves up into neat rows, huddling together to share the light from the small lanterns some of them are carrying.
When they start to sing, Ruth can feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes. The sweet innocence of their voices takes her back to her own childhood and school carol concerts. The surge of regret and grief catches her unaware and she hastily places her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She places her bags on the ground, retrieves a tissue from her coat pocket and blows her nose.
It's not until she begins to walk back to her apartment that she realises she has dropped one of her gloves. Cursing under her breath she turns around and then stops, abruptly.
"You dropped this."
A rush of emotion engulfs Ruth as she looks at the man standing in front of her, holding her missing glove in his outstretched hand.
"Harry? W-what the Hell are you doing here?"
It isn't much of a greeting and certainly not what she'd imagined saying to him when she saw him again. And there had always been a part of her that knew she would see him.
"I, er…" He shrugs, clearly at a loss to explain his presence.
"Sorry." She briefly looks away from him. "It's just…unexpected. Your being here."
"It's a bit unexpected for me, too."
She acknowledges his comment with a small nod of her head but says nothing.
"How are you?" he asks, attempting to fill the silence that has settled around them. "Have you been looking after yourself?"
"Yes, I have. And you?"
"As best I can," he replies.
The few words are enough for her to know things haven't been easy for him. "Why don't we get out of the cold? My flat is just a few minutes walk from here."
He's grateful for the invitation. "OK."
---
Ruth declines Harry's help to unpack her shopping. He leans awkwardly against the worktop and watches her.
"You sure I can't help?"
"It's fine, really." She smiles at him before turning away; she never expected this to be so difficult. Her fingers fiddle compulsively with the paper bag the bread was in. "This is so strange," she announces, "I have no idea what to say to you."
"I'm sorry." His voice is soft, apologetic. "I shouldn't have just turned up. I'll go."
"No!" She moves quickly, catches hold of his arm. "Don't leave, please."
Now she is closer to him, daring to look at him properly, she can see fresh scars on his face. Marks she knows weren't there when she left him.
"Harry." His name leaves her lips in a barely audible whisper. This isn't the great romantic reunion she'd dreamt of. It isn't laughter and tears, kisses and love; it's sadness and grief, longing and fear.
His embrace is strong and she welcomes it, pressing herself against him and inhaling the smell of sweat and weariness.
"What's happened to you?" she questions, her index finger brushing lightly over the thick stubble on his chin.
"All manner of things," he says, gently. "All manner of things."
There is a long silence as he wonders how much to tell her, and her mind is filled with terrifying images of what might have befallen him.
"When did you last eat?" The question is an attempt at normality; a way of banishing her dark thoughts.
He has to think about his answer. "Yesterday," he offers, clearly unsure.
--
They sit at her small kitchen table and eat the simple meal she has prepared. She tells him a little about her new life, what she does with her time. She doesn't ask about London and the people she left there.
He helps her wash the dishes and make coffee. Then it is his turn to talk.
"There are things I need to tell you," he says, quietly. "Things that will shock you, upset you."
She nods; she understands.
More soon.