Author: Cath
Title: despite the falling snow
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me!
Summary: He never meant for this to happen. RH. AU.
Notes: I've not written any fluff-type fics in ages and was confronted with the rather scary urge to do so. This is the result; let me know if you enjoy!
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
She Tells Her Love
by Robert Ranke Graves
---
The air is a cool blanket around him. The central heating turned off much earlier in the evening and cold from outside seeps in. It began to snow several hours ago, in small white flakes, disappearing into the ground. He wonders idly whether it is still snowing, and if they'll be able to get to work tomorrow without any hindrance.
She lies in bed, half covered by a dark-coloured duvet; his dark-coloured duvet. Her hair is fanned out across a matching pillow. Her eyes close, a moment longer than blinking, then re-open. Occasionally, tiredness causes her to forget to open her eyes and she nearly drifts off, before fluttering her eyes open with obvious effort.
He watches with amusement and awe.
At work, she rarely demonstrates characteristics of tiredness.
Once, after their first night spent together, he remarked jokingly in his attempt to overcome initial awkwardness that he hadn't imagined that she ever slept.
She'd laughed, embarrassed, and then, with a shy smile, remarked that it might be a one-time aberration.
He'd immediately vowed to endeavour to discover the truth noting, mock-apologetically, that this meant that they might have to repeat the previous evening's events on at least one more occasion.
Her relief was apparent.
Now he watches her sleep with almost-disturbing regularity.
He finds it fascinating that she, who is rarely still and unanimated and quiet, has whole hours of peace where the outside world has no influence on her.
She ventures one arm out from under the warm duvet and reaches for him.
"Harry," she murmurs, still fighting the urge to succumb to exhaustion. "Stop watching me. Come to bed."
Her hand drifts nearer to his until there are mere millimetres separating them and her fingers stop wandering. He cannot resist the urge to meet them, and stretches his fingers out until they touch. Fingers curl around each other seemingly of their own accord, and he feels her warmth spread to his cool hand.
He is frequently surprised at his body's reaction to her touch; even now, after months of nights spent together.
He never meant for this to happen.
Equally, he was powerless to prevent it.
If he tells himself this enough times, he might actually start to believe it.
The first night – that wonderful, amazing night when he was surprisingly nervous – was the culmination of years of mutual adoration and need.
He remembers the events that led up to it with sharp clarity. Strong winds ripped through the streets, rain cascaded down, and thunder rumbled loudly.
She worked alone at her station, her solitary light casting her in shadows on the wall when he decided to finish for the day.
"Ruth. It's time to go home," he told her.
"There's more than an hour until the last bus," she replied.
"I'll take you home."
"Harry, I'm fine. Really. Thank you, but I'll take the bus."
"The weather is reminiscent of that during Duncan's murder. I'm driving you home, and that's an order."
She'd given an exasperated sigh, but prepared herself for leaving.
The weather outside became increasingly worse as he neared her home. He spoke little throughout the journey, busy concentrating on the road. But there was a tension there that had been present in abundance recently; and now it seemed that he was unable to be alone in a small space with her without being acutely alert to her nearness.
By the time they arrived at her house, visibility was nigh on nil, and the tension was palpable.
He stopped outside, motor still running, and she was initially silent, internally debating something to which he was not privy.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked hesitantly. "For coffee. Or something stronger… The weather is awful, it's not safe to drive, and…" she rambled on almost interminably, nervously, before stopping suddenly, awaiting an answer.
And this had been it, the moment where he was supposed to object, deny that the driving conditions were as horrendous as they were, and continue along his way, silently feeling disappointed.
Instead he looked at her, her grey eyes looking down towards her fingers where she interlaced them, twisted them, and then pulled them apart. He turned off the engine.
"A drink would be good," he said.
Then there had been silence again and tension as he followed her into her house, neither entirely sure of what was supposed to happen.
She fixed him a drink, setting it down on the table. She drank her own quickly, and he followed suit.
She suddenly stood up again. "Food," she started. "Would you like something to eat?" and the question was unanswered as she wandered into the kitchen and started opening cupboards. "I think I've got some pasta. Or soup? Or a sandwich?"
He followed her. "Ruth," he started quietly.
She opened up the fridge. "I have some ham that might even still be in date."
"Ruth," he repeated.
"Or egg? I could scramble some eggs? Have them on toast?"
He moved towards her, placed a hand on her arm, and she turned round quickly. And suddenly they were centimetres apart, much too close for comfort, and the atmosphere suddenly changed. Her tongue darted out across her lips, and he watched, transfixed. And then they gravitated towards one another, closer and someone – he couldn't make any logical conclusion regarding that point – initiated the kiss.
He could have stopped it there. Offered an apology, an excuse, and left. But he physically couldn't. Already at that point he was under her spell.
He smiles now when he recollects that evening. And those which proceeded it.
Her hand is still in his. She yawns, a repeated "Harry," and yet again he finds that he is unable to resist her.
He pulls back the covers and slips underneath. She moves towards him, embracing him. She rests her head on his shoulder, moving slightly to make herself comfortable. He draws her closer, luxuriating in her warmth compared to the cool bedroom air. He kisses her briefly, a goodnight gesture.
She makes a few mumbled noises, which he interprets as goodnight. Then more distinct sounds: "Love you," she sighs.
He smiles and closes his eyes.
Outside snow falls onto the ground, settling into a world of white on which light reflects and illuminates the night sky.
And sleep overcomes them.
---
Fin.