After
Harry stood in the corner of the hospital room, unable to look away, unable to bring himself any closer. She had nearly died because he was too close. Too many times. First Cotterdam and her sacrifice for him, then her bitter and tragic return, then Albany and his unwanted sacrifice for her, and now this. Sasha Gavrik had tried to attack Harry to avenge his mother, but Ruth had stood in his path.
He'd never felt so helpless in all his life. All he could do was hold her, kiss her, cry atop her bleeding body. If it weren't for Dimitri, Harry's entire world would have been lost. His officer had quite literally shoved Harry away and performed a crude but effective little procedure to reinflate her collapsed lung. It had kept her heart beating long enough for the helicopter medics to arrive.
Erin had helped him into the helicopter, for he was too numb with grief to fully understand what was going on. He'd ever been so paralyzed before. But he'd never loved anyone so much before.
Now he was here in her room, watching her breathe with the slight aid of machines and tubes coming out of her, thanks to the extensive surgery that had saved her life. She was hooked up to an oxygen mask and half a dozen IV bags pumping her full of painkillers and antibiotics and whatever else. But she was alive.
Her eyes fluttered open, and he resisted the urge to run to her side. He needed to exercise caution, not let his emotions run away with him. All of this with the Gavriks and everything with his job and with Ruth since Albany had left him so out of sorts. He'd been strong, once. He'd been ruthless and cold and calculating and so sure of himself. It was everything that had ruined his personal life, destroyed his marriage and caused his children to hate him. It's what had made him a great spook. But those days were gone, clearly.
"Harry?"
The sound of her hoarse voice utterly shattered his heart. "I'm here, Ruth," he replied, still struggling to keep his distance.
She turned her head toward the sound of his voice and lifted a shaky hand toward him. His resolve was gone. He flew to her side, taking her small, delicate hand between his two large ones.
With her free hand, she pulled the oxygen mask off her face, undeterred when he tried to stop her. "Hello," she said simply, trying to smile through the clear fog of pain and drugs coursing through her.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn't try to blink them away. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I'm fine," she insisted.
He nearly laughed. "Ruth, you practically bled to death in my arms."
"But I didn't. I'm sure the surgeons patched me up just fine. I don't think I'll be running any marathons or fighting off attackers any time soon, but I shouldn't think that would be a problem now."
"No, not when you work for the Home Office."
"Bugger the Home Office. I was serious earlier, Harry. Leave with me. Please. As soon as I get out of here, let's just go. For once in our bloody lives, let's be selfish and steal a bit of happiness. Together."
Harry squeezed her hand, feeling hope flood his heart. "Towers already told me to take leave to be with you while you recover," he told her. Erin had spoken to the Home Secretary and informed him of the events of the day with the Gavriks and with Ruth. Towers had called his cell phone while Harry had waited during Ruth's surgery. He had no idea if she would survive, but he had immediately snapped up the opportunity to turn away from anything that threatened to pull him from Ruth's side now.
"Tad presumptuous of him," she smirked.
Harry exhaled and promised quietly, "I'll let him know I'm not coming back." She was right, earlier. They should leave together. She'd finally asked him—twice now—and Harry only needed the assurance that she'd be there with him and he'd leave everything else behind without a second glance.
Now it was Ruth's turn to have her eyes fill with tears. "Thank you, Harry. Thank you."
He pressed a kiss to her hand and murmured, "No, thank you, Ruth."
