I'm trying to get back into my fanfic writing, so I thought I'd post this before any of the rest of this story is written. Set around S8, with quite a loose plot, it's more an excuse to throw Harry and Ruth together.
Ruth
I wake up, and I can feel my head pounding, absolutely throbbing in my skull so I keep my eyes closed. God, I have never had a headache like this. Slowly I move, pinching the bridge of my nose as I test out the rest of my body. Well, at least nothing else hurts. I open my eyes and freeze. I don't know where I am. I'm in a bedroom that's not my own and I have absolutely no idea how I got here. Trying hard to fight off the panic, I sit up in bed and look around, trying to recognise something. I don't. It's a neat, tidy, rather large bedroom but with nothing personal in it at all. Nothing to indicate anything about where I am or what I'm doing here.
My head still hurts a lot, but I try and put a sequence of events together, and I can't. The last thing I remember is being on the grid, preparing for an undercover operation. My memory is foggy at best, but I think I was accompanying Harry to a Home Office event to… try and find a mole? I'm not at all sure, and that worries me. I can't be sure of anything and I have no memory of anything at all after leaving the grid. What the hell happened? How can I have no memory of anything at all?!
Moving slowly, so as not to jostle my throbbing head more than necessary, I pull back the covers and swing my legs out of bed. I find I'm wearing a large T shirt and not much more which sends a thrill of foreboding through me. I'm terrified of my complete lapse of memory. I don't drink enough to have black outs ever, and I never drink when I'm on an operation. Have I been drugged? That seems possible. But it's incredibly frightening. As the thought occurs to me, I search my arms, looking for a puncture mark. I find one on my left bicep. Shit. So I'm guessing I have been drugged with something which would explain my lapse of memory, possibly?
Ignoring the pain in my head, I get up and go downstairs, carefully and quietly. About halfway down the stairs I recognise the house and I realise I'm at Harry's. While this lessens the fear that I've been taken against my will because I'm a spy, it brings up many more questions than it answers. At the bottom of the stairs I can hear Harry on the phone and I have a brief moment of worry about only wearing a large T shirt, but that's immediately swamped by the desire to have some answers, and the fear about my lack of memory.
I go into the kitchen and he turns to me, almost instantly putting the phone down.
"You're awake," he says, and even though I'm confused and more than a little angry, I can't mistake the relief in his voice.
"Harry, what's going on?" I ask, working hard to keep my voice level. If I don't stay calm, I'll shout and scream, and that wont get me any answers.
"You don't remember?" he asks, frowning at me.
"No!" I shout. "What am I doing in your house and what the hell happened?!" I don't mean to lose my temper, but I can't help it. I'm confused and upset.
"We were on an operation," he says calmly. "We were trying to determine the Home Office mole. We'd been at the event about half an hour, forty five minutes maybe when you were injected with something. You collapsed against me and…" he pauses for a moment. "You've been unconscious for 36 hours." That is much longer than I anticipated and I have nothing to say. "I'm… very glad you're awake." He turns away from me to open the kitchen cupboard and he fills a glass with water while I think of something, anything to say.
"You should drink something," he says. "You'll be dehydrated." He hands me a glass of water and I drink it. I hadn't realised how dry my mouth was until I started and within a few seconds the glass is empty. "You don't remember anything?" he asks. I look at him and see his hazel eyes looking intensely into mine. I think back through blackness.
"No," I say. "Not since leaving the grid. I just… there's nothing there." He looks disappointed, just for a split second, but then its gone. Why disappointment? What've I missed? What memory that should be there has gone?
"We worked out that Manners was the mole," Harry says slowly. He's obviously leaving out how we worked that out, but right now that isn't important to me. "He was just leaving the main hall and I was going to follow him when you collapsed. I… my attention was no longer on him. Which I'm sure was the intention."
"But why me? Surely he didn't recognise me?"
"No, but he recognised me," Harry says. "I think the idea was to keep me occupied while he escaped. "
"Did it work?" I ask out of curiosity. For the first time since waking up, I'm curious about something other than how I got here. How much did my falling unconscious affect Harry?
"He'll be under lock and key by this evening," Harry says firmly, both avoiding my question and answering it at the same time. So he let Manners escape. The thought is a comforting one, though it probably shouldn't be.
"What was I injected with?" I ask. "And why am I in your house, rather than a hospital?"
"It has a long chemical name that Malcolm told me but I can't pronounce," he said. "Basically it's a sedative but you were given an unusually high dose which could have been… dangerous. No," he adds, seeing my face. "They'll be no lasting effects. And I thought it better that you be somewhere other than a public hospital. I don't know how many people Manners has working for him and I preferred you safe until he's caught. Maybe I'm being a little paranoid but I didn't like to take the risk."
I smile slightly which makes my head throb. For the first time since coming downstairs I'm aware that I'm wearing little more than a large T shirt and I feel suddenly shy and embarrassed. I'd been too desperate and confused, finding out why I'm in this situation to bother worrying before.
"Do you have any of my clothes?" I ask, trying not to blush.
He pauses for a moment before answering, his eyes sparkling. I hope he's not laughing at me. "There's a holdall at the bottom of your bed. It's got your clothes in it."
"Thank you," I say.
"Drink," he repeats, refilling the glass for me. "And take it easy today."
"I will," I say. He looks at me like he doubts it, and I leave the kitchen, taking the glass of water with me.
The first person narrative was successful last time, so I hope this is still enjoyed. Thanks for reading.