A/N – This is my little contribution to the collective healing from Season 10. The prologue takes place pre-season with the ensuing chapters jumping off from near the end of the second last episode. Cheers!
"Tis all a Chequer-board of nights and days
Where Destiny with men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the closet lays."
The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
...
It was a night made for secrets. Fingers of mist curled around corners, creeping through the darkness, coating surfaces with a silver sheen. Ruth could feel the dampness seeping into her skin as she walked. Her boots tapped lightly on the pavement as she kept her gaze forward, never pausing to look back. Vainly fighting the chill, she pulled the collar of her dark wool coat higher; a shiver ran through her and she recalled her life once lived in the sun. Or perhaps it was the illicit thrill of her mission.
She turned onto a smaller side street, large enough for intermittent pedestrian traffic but not deserted enough for her to stand out. The air reverberated with an insistent bass beat, the calling card of a trendy nightclub hidden behind some innocuous looking door. There were quieter places along her path, a pub, a restaurant. She glanced through the windows as she passed. People smiling and laughing, how she envied their cozy little lives.
A group of young revellers walked towards her, two girls singing, the boys talking loudly as young boys do, caught up in their own world, paying no heed to passersby. The tall one, in his early twenties, casually bumped into her, firing out an expletive and then immediately apologizing when he saw she was only a small woman in black. His sorry came with a crooked smile but she did not make eye contact, only nodded and carried on. She drove her hand deeper into her pocket, tightly gripping the small piece of plastic inside. She expelled a short breath of relief that the careless brush had not been a feint to steal her precious package.
She slowed her footsteps as she neared the meeting place, hazarding a backward glance to confirm she had not been followed. They watched her now, and she had grown accustomed to the sensation of eyes on her, charting her habits. She knew from first-hand experience the tedium of monitoring a target that had no life outside of work. No doubt they were puzzled by how such an unassuming woman could engender the sacrifice of a state secret and she had to admit there were times when she was as equally perplexed by the way events had unfolded. She inhaled a long slow breath, hoping to release the tension that had taken up residence in her shoulders. Hiding, lying, evading. Would there ever be an end to this life of secrets?
A leather-clad hand reached out from the shadows and pulled her into an alley. A yelp of panic arose from her throat, causing the other gloved hand to cover her mouth as she was pushed back against a brick wall.
"Ruth, it's me," a familiar voice hissed.
"Harry!" she hissed back, looking at him indignantly as she straightened out her coat, moving to create distance between them. "Was that really necessary?"
"Were you followed?" he asked, grabbing her elbow and propelling her into the blackness of the alley. They circumvented trash bins, a rusted blue dumpster, the ladder of a fire escape that hung dangerously low, their feet sliding on the cobblestones slick with moisture.
"I don't think so," she replied, feeling both annoyed and thrilled at the pressure of his fingers on her arm.
"You don't think so?"
"I'm not a field agent."
"Don't sell yourself short."
He slowed down, having reached the darkest heart of the alley. The noise from the street was muffled; the only sound was the static frizzle on an exit light hanging over a derelict door. The whir of a nearby exhaust fan droned beneath their voices, its churning blades serving as white noise to mask their conversation. A plume of steam escaped from a grate by their feet, surrounding them in a curtain of vapour. Harry gave a quick glance to his watch.
Harry gave a quick glance to his watch.
"How long do you have?" she asked.
He gave her a level gaze, "As much time as I care to give them."
She took a moment to study him. He stood before her, a bemused expression on his face as if this were a nightly occurrence for him. She had not seen him since Albany and ran her eyes over him noting the changes. He looked healthier, perhaps due to a regular routine of sleep and nourishment or perhaps it was the dim light of the alley. His hair was cut neat, no little curl at the back. She chastised herself for even remembering such a detail. He looked at her expectantly.
"Do you have it?"
"A dead drop would have been easier."
"Then we wouldn't have had a night out, would we?" he replied, giving her a sly smile.
She bent her head down, her hands moving to search the pocket of her coat. "An alley? Charming."
"I promise to do better next time."
The confidence of his tone surprised Ruth and her hand stilled in her pocket. From the corner of her eye, she gave him a look laden with circumspection. What exactly did he want from her? Of course, she had her suspicions but she would not take his feelings for her for granted, especially since she had been monumentally ungrateful at their last encounter. For her, their relations held the quality of living on an ice floe; one moment a solid refuge, the next a disappearing dream, melted by the burning light of scrutiny or sunk under a churning sea of guilt. They had not spoken directly to each other since Albany, Harry having somehow managed to get word to Dimitri, convincing the young agent to act as an intermediary between them. There had been no declarations of love on his part, no words of gratitude on hers, only a request from Harry for a laundry list of files. She had obliged - the man had saved her life after all - but the irregular subjects of the files had piqued her curiosity. She returned her attention to searching her pocket and produced a small grey memory stick. She did not hand it over to him immediately; instead, she wrapped her fingers around it and held it to her chest. She was no mere delivery girl and she wanted answers.
"What is this for?"
He raised an eyebrow at her curiosity. "Research."
She nodded as if she accepted his explanation, but only by half. "But why these particular ops?"
"I'm building a defense," he replied, matching her measured tone.
Her fingers curled tighter around the stick. The information contained on it was highly classified and though she was confident she had covered her tracks, she needed some assurances. As much as she trusted Harry, she wanted to know that this information would not come back to haunt him. Or her. "Tell me," she insisted.
"No," he flatly responded.
"I was involved in all these ops. I'll figure it out, you know."
"I'm sure you will."
His eyes remained locked on hers as he moved his hand up to trap her fist, raising his other hand to deftly pry her fingers from the flash drive, and having freed it slipped it into his coat pocket. A triumphant gleam flashed across his eyes eliciting a challenging glare from her. A subtle change came over his face, his features softening, his pupils expanding making his brown eyes black. She knew now was the time to look away, that this was how it always started; a gaze held too long, the final step before the fall. She dropped her eyes. He did not remove his hand from on top of hers but let it linger, rising with her chest as she drew in a sharp breath. Her heart hammered erratically under the layers of her coat. He stood looking down at her and she waited. He dipped his head to her ear.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She kept her head down and nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment that the spell had been broken.
As he turned to move away, a cacophony of voices passed by the entrance of the alley, signalling another group of revellers. He turned back around, pushing her into the wall, hiding her with the bulk of his black coat. He moved in closer, causing her to rise on her toes as the space between them evaporated.
"They'll be gone in a minute," he quietly assured her.
She nodded, speech eluding her. She closed her eyes, her senses overwhelmed as he pressed into her, his warm, spicy scent enveloping her. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers and she struggled to control her breathing in an effort to reduce contact. She discreetly looked up at him and saw that his eyes were closed, a slight flare to his nostril as he inhaled. He let out a faint groan and her throat constricted at the sound. He leaned into her.
"I missed you."
"Did you?" she asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.
"This is the part where you say you missed me."
"Is it?" She looked off to the side, attempting to keep her head clear, although it was becoming increasingly difficult.
He smiled at her. The noise at the end of the alley had ceased and he turned to assess the situation.
Ruth peered over his shoulder and saw two figures near the entrance to the alley, a man and a woman leaning against the wall. "Shit," she whispered, as the couple, oblivious to their presence, became entangled in a passionate embrace. Harry continued to stare. She tugged insistently at his sleeve, rousing him from his voyeurism. "Do something," she whispered.
He turned back and pushed her deeper into the shadows, looking at her speculatively. "What would you have me do?"
"I don't know..." She shook her head, searching for an answer, her mouth forming silent words. In the end, she looked up at him, eyes wide, choosing to answer with a nebulous "something."
The moment she uttered the word, she knew from the gleam in Harry's eye that he had seized upon it, interpreted it, construed the meaning to fit his own, knowing that instead of a plea he had heard an invitation. The blades of the exhaust fan slowly clicked to a halt, leaving only the crackling hiss of the flickering light, the hum of its electricity moving through the air, heavily charged, pulsating around them, through them. Harry looked at her intensely. This time, she held his gaze, a coil of frisson quickening at the bottom of her spine, twisting up and blossoming into a heat that spread across her chest. Her eyes fell to his lips, glimpsing the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. The darkness of the alley closed in around then and they stood oblivious to the rest of the world.
He shifted his weight and extended a gloved hand towards her face, gently placing it on her cheek. She stood transfixed, stunned by the intimacy of his touched, hypnotised by the look in his eye. He moved in closer and bowed his head, pressing a soft kiss against her lips and she closed her eyes succumbing to the sweetness. He pulled away, leaving the space of breath between them.
From under her lashes, she looked up at him and whispered, "That's not quite what I had in mind."
"How about this?" he murmured.
His hands fell to her waist and he brought his lips down to hers, this time, harder, more insistent. Her world tipped to one side and her hand rose to his chest, clutching at the lapel of his coat for balance. Her other hand came to rest on his arm, her fingers feeling the tension beneath the layers of wool, taut, controlled, restrained. She moved closer, her foot finding the space between his, pressing into him, losing herself in the folds of his coat. Her fingers came up to the back of his neck, and she lightly ran them over the exposed skin at the top his collar, feeling the soft bristle of newly shorn hair. Resistance melted and he tightened is arms about her, pulling her in, their silhouettes merging, disappearing into the shadows, the mist, each other.
A loud bang echoed throughout the alley. Their heads jolted apart in surprise. The thumping blades of the exhaust fan churned into action, the noise pulling them back to the present. Time continued on with on with its forward fall. They had stolen a moment away from the watchers and Albany. They stood softly panting, reeling from the kiss and internally berating themselves for becoming so immersed in it that they had let down their guard.
"I have to go," said Harry whispered, his hands remaining on her waist.
She nodded in agreement, stepping out of his grasp, her palms smoothing down the side of her coat. "I'll be at the hearing," she assured him.
"I'd rather you not."
"It's the least I could do."
He pulled his collar up and motioned with his hand. "You had better leave first."
She rocked back and forth as if to leave and then stopped, deciding against it. She looked at him, her head tilted to one side, her nervous agitation stilled for once. At some point she would have to address it, the subject that hung in the air between them; the risk he had taken to save her life.
"Thank you," she said simply.
He looked at her and suppressed a smile.
She knew that she didn't have to say anymore, that he would understand that she was not thanking him for the kiss but for his sacrifice, that to say anything more would be superfluous. For two people of above average intelligence, words did not always work in their favour. In the darkness of the alley they had turned a corner, graduated to another plateau, and for the time being that was enough. She hovered with indecision, wondering if she should kiss him goodbye. Should he not make it through the tribunal she might never see him again. Refusing to even contemplate such a thought, she decided not to tempt fate by saying goodbye and quickly turned away. As she headed back down the long length of the alley, a smile played on her lips and she raised her fingers to touch them, her heels barely clicking on the stone as she walked. A glow radiated from a forgotten place deep within her centre, infusing her with warmth. For the first time in a long while, she did not feel the dampness.
The mouth of the alley opened up before her and she disappeared into the fog.
Harry stood alone listening to her footsteps as they faded into the mist, bewildered by what had transpired. Earlier that day he had promised himself that he would keep the encounter strictly business, a handover, nothing more. He had held the upper hand, for the most part, controlling the situation until he had made the mistake of looking into her eyes. It had only taken a moment for him to fall into their ocean blue depths. Her scent clung to him, the notes still filling his nostrils, a fragrance he couldn't quite capture, just like the woman herself. He had held her in his thrall for a brief moment and then like so many times before she had slipped away. Even in that moment, he had not fully touched her, the barrier of his gloves preventing him from feeling her skin. He reached up to the back of his neck where she had touched him, giving a quick shake of his head as a shiver ran through him. The leather of his gloves creaked as he flexed his fingers, wanting, restless with the memory of her. A part of him wondered if it had been a dream. He checked his pocket and felt the hard plastic of the flash drive, confirming that she must have been there to hand it off to him. He blinked, marshalling his thoughts, he needed to stay focused. He slowly walked to the entrance of the alley.
Leaning against the wall, he looked into the veiled darkness, careful to keep to the shadows. He narrowed his eyes, straining to see through the mist. Nothing. He could wait. If his acquaintance with Ruth had told him anything it was that he could be a very patient man. He was rewarded for his patience when two figures appeared, walking towards a third man, young, tall. He was certain it was the man and the woman who had been locked in a clinch earlier but he did not recognize the other man. As they stood and talked, Harry observed a change in their body language; tense, vigilant, heightened. These were not ordinary revellers; they had the marking of agents. He had come to know the rotation that shadowed him but this was a different crew and years of instinct told him they were not friendlies. Had they seen him and Ruth? No matter, after Albany his feeling towards her could hardly be secret. The figures moved off and he let his head rest against the cool brick of the sheltering building. He was old and paranoid, seeing enemies everywhere. He wondered if he would ever be free of the tangled web of the Service.
He blew a breath through his cheeks and turned to walk back into the alley. Reaching the spot beneath the fizzling exit sign, he paused to listen to its crackle, remembering the feel of her lips on his. A quiver longing stirred low in his belly. He would negotiate his way back into the service or at the very least a dismissal with dignity and then he would find his way back to her.
He reached toward the door, pulling out the small piece of wood he had placed between the jamb and the door to stop it from completely closing. He effortlessly slipped through the opening. He could only hope that when the time came, his exit from the Service would be as clean.