Ruth's Husband

Forced holiday didn't happen too much to Harry Pearce, not like with other Section Heads of the Security Services. Harry and Section D were too important to go on holiday. But after being quite literally hunted for sport by a mad Irishman at the government's request, apparently being given a knighthood wasn't enough of an apology, according to the Home Secretary. And so Harry had been forced to take two weeks and go somewhere.

He'd considered Paris or Rome or Prague, one of the great European capitals he'd always had such a soft spot for. But such destinations held absolutely no appeal for him now. He didn't want to do his Grand Tour. Not alone. And not with just anyone, either.

And so he'd chosen the most far away (yet easily travelable) place he could think of. Somewhere remote and sunny with beautiful beaches where he could escape the stodge and rain of Britain. He got a cheap flight to fly four hours to Cyprus and paid a cab to drive him nearly an hour to the north coast to a small little town called Polis. It was known for being rather remote and enjoyed by locals for the beaches. It had a few nice resorts but not too much of a tourist presence. Exactly the sort of place where Harry could hide in plain view. No one there would know him and no one would bother him.

On his first day, all he did was sleep. The time change wasn't too bad, but he was getting older and wasn't used to it anymore. He ordered a simple meal to his room and just slept and read a book by the open windows and let the sound of the Chrysochou Bay lull him to a state of calm.

He had two weeks to fill. There were some forests and parks nearby he thought might make for some nice hikes. A few museums of ancient artifacts to explore. And the beach, of course. But first, he thought a walk around town would be good. Get the lay of the land. Wander the markets and watch the people living their lives. That was always the best part of leisure travel, to Harry's mind, to see the bustle of reality. He had nowhere he was supposed to be, no objective to accomplish. And so he would walk and watch.

First, he explored the port, seeing the fishermen selling their wares, shouting at passersby in Greek. He had a very loose grasp on the language, but he followed enough. Such liveliness was quite beautiful. From there, he found an open-air market full of fresh fruits and vegetables. Harry kept his distance, however, not wanting to give anyone the impression that he was a customer. He'd buy things eventually, but not just now.

As he strolled on the outskirts of the market beside the wall overlooking the bay, Harry's eye was caught by a beautiful woman with dark hair waving in the wind. She looked like Ruth. But Harry saw Ruth everywhere, it seemed. In every crowd, there was always a petite brunette who captured his attention until he realized it wasn't her. It was never her.

But then the strangest thing happened. The woman, the lovely woman who couldn't possibly be Ruth, turned and looked at him. Harry saw her gasp, bring a shaky hand to her mouth. Like the pull of a magnet, she seemed to float toward him wholly unwittingly, as though she had no control over her own movements that brought her close to him, close enough for him to see her face quite clearly. The bright sun beat down on them both, but her squinting eyes were the brightest stormy blue. Her pale skin had earned a glowing tan. Her hair was past her shoulders and wavy from the humid heat.

It was Ruth.

For a while, they just stared at each other. They didn't move and didn't speak. She was about two feet away from him, looking unspeakably beautiful and healthy and safe and impossibly real. Harry couldn't say how long they remained like that, frozen in that moment of recognition and realization.

A man came over. A very tall, handsome, olive-skinned man with a handsome face and a thick head of dark hair. He put his arm around Ruth and spoke. "I agápi mou, poios eínai aftós?"

Harry knew just enough Greek to know what he'd said. My love, who is this?

Ruth stared at Harry, nearly unblinkingly. Harry's gaze went from Ruth to the man beside her and back to her face, silently asking the exact same question.

"My husband," she whispered in English.

Harry's heart skipped a beat, knowing that if she'd responded in English, she must have been speaking to him. This man beside her, this tall, dark, handsome Cypriot, was her husband.

"But he died," the man said in English, clearly confused as he watched Harry stare at Ruth.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "He didn't. But I did."

Ruth could feel George bristle beside her. He began to mutter angrily in Greek, speaking so quickly she could barely keep up. "What are you talking about? What are you doing? Come away from here, leave this man be, he is of no consequence."

She felt him pull her away. Away from Harry. Oh God, Harry! It was really him. Of course it was. It had been almost two whole years since she'd seen him, and he looked exactly the same. A bit thinner, actually. But his blue short-sleeved shirt was untucked and the top two buttons were undone. If he'd been wearing a jacket, he'd have looked just as he did on their one singular dinner date. And now, just as then, she longed to bury her face in the crook of his neck, to be surrounded by his strong, warm embrace. Harry had always been that way, safe and sure and protective. He was a dangerous man, certainly. But never with her. No, with Harry, she was always happy and so incredibly loved. From that dinner until the moment she left, Ruth had felt so much love from him that it scared her to death. It had never seemed real, never seemed fair that he should love her so much. It never quite made sense to her. And when he'd tried to tell her, she'd interrupted, telling him to leave it as something wonderful that was never said. Because if he'd said it, she couldn't have left. If he'd said it, she would have confessed that she loved him more than life, that she loved him so much that she had to leave to keep him safe in the way he'd always kept her safe.

But now she felt George lead her in the opposite direction. Harry just stood there, looking nearly as heartbroken as the last time she'd seen him. And all the running, all the crying, all the fear and grief and regret, it all flooded her at once.

She pulled away from George and rushed back to Harry. She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him with everything she had. His arms immediately wrapped around her and pulled her close.

"Rachel! Rachel, what are you doing!?" George shouted, utterly scandalized.

Ruth pulled away from Harry, still keeping herself nestled in his embrace. She turned to George and through her tears told him, "My name is Ruth Evershed. And this man is why I wouldn't marry you, George. If any man is ever going to be my husband, it will only be him."

George had a fire in his eyes she'd only seen a handful of times before. His mouth gaped open as he tried to find words, but none came to him. He turned and stormed off.

Turning back to Harry, Ruth stroked his soft cheek and smiled. "How did you find me?" she asked.

Harry leaned in and gave her a few more soft kisses. "I came here on holiday. I thought I could get away from everything and not be bothered and not find anyone who knew me."

Ruth let out a strangled sort of laugh. "I'm sorry to ruin your holiday."

"Oh no, Ruth, this has just turned into the best holiday of my whole life."

They stood there kissing for a while, in the middle of the market in broad daylight. For Ruth, it felt like making up for lost time.

In the end, Harry pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "I can't believe it's really you."

"And I can't believe it's really you. Everywhere I went, Harry, I begged you'd find me. I knew I had to disappear, but I prayed I'd run into you."

"Well, here I am," he murmured. "I imagined I'd seen you in every crowd for two years. I didn't quite believe it was real until you walked over."

"We're together now."

"Yes, Ruth, we are."

She closed her eyes, savoring every second of this soft moment with him. "No one has called me Ruth in a long time."

Harry stroked her hair as she nuzzled against his neck, pressed as close to him as she could manage. "Ruth?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would you like to have dinner?"

She laughed. She couldn't help it. There were tears streaming from her eyes and her whole body felt weak. "I'd love to have dinner. Together."

Ruth could see the memory swimming in Harry's mind just as it filled hers. Everything in the world had gotten so mixed up and different and terrifying, but to be reliving this with Harry, Ruth felt herself on solid ground for the first time in over two years.

They would need to talk, certainly. She had no idea what Harry's life was now. She had no idea if she would be able to go back to London, to be pardoned and get her name and her life back. She had no idea if he even really wanted her back. Of course, his conduct thus far seemed to indicate that he wanted her as much now as he did then. But once she knew what the future might entail, she would need to collect her things from George's villa. Say goodbye to Nico, apologize to them both and explain as best she could who she really was and why she had to leave. She had been living in Polis for almost a year, had been stepmother to Nico for nearly seven months. It had been the first stability she'd had since leaving Harry on that London dock. But if she explained, surely they could all go their separate ways. Her time in Cyprus had been wonderful, for what it was, but London was her home. Harry was her home. And she had been homesick for too long.

Harry watched the wheels turning in Ruth's mind, her feelings splashed on her face as plain as ever. He held her in his arms and stroked her hair and her cheek and waited a little while to sort herself out. But eventually he couldn't wait anymore. "Ruth, about that man…"

"George is a good man, Harry. He wanted me to marry him. But he's not you," she told him gently. "I'll explain over dinner."

A wave of emotion so powerful crashed over Harry, making him want to weep. He had worried, when that man, George, had come by, that he really had lost Ruth forever. But she had run back to him and kissed him and had stayed here in his arms. A question remained in his mind, however. A dastardly, cruel question he desperately needed to ask but was absolutely petrified to know the answer to. He needed to know if this was all just the emotion of the moment, of seeing each other again. Or if she really had built a life here with this George, a life she intended to keep. It wasn't fair for Harry to show up from nowhere and whisk her back to London. With the current contrition of the Home Secretary, Harry was sure he could get Ruth pardoned and her life returned, if that's what she wanted. There was just so much to contemplate, now that she was back in his arms. Harry chuckled to himself, "This day has certainly been something."

"Something?"

He cupped her cheek and kissed her again. "Something wonderful," he whispered against her lips, hoping that the answer to his question would reveal itself from his cryptic statement.

Ruth inhaled sharply, obviously remembering the words they'd said—or rather not said—that day on the docks when she'd left. She kissed him once more, full of passion and promise. "I love you, Harry," she told him.

There it was. The answer he'd been hoping for. "And I love you, Ruth. And maybe one day, if you want, I could be your husband."

Her face broke into a beaming smile. "That's all I want, Harry. I want to sort things out, I want to go home, and I want us to pick up where we left off. Better than where we left off. I told everyone on my travels that I was sad because I was mourning my husband, because that's how it felt."

"I know," he agreed.

"But I'd like to be Ruth Evershed again before I become Mrs. Pearce."

"Lady Pearce, actually," he corrected, remembering Connie's no-so-subtle statements. "I've been knighted."

Her brow jumped halfway up her forehead. "Have you?"

"Yes. I'll explain over dinner," he said with a laugh.

Harry took her hand and they walked together through the market, talking of everything and nothing. It was still like some dream, that they were here together. But Harry just held onto her hand as he held onto the dream that perhaps he could wake up, preferably with Ruth beside him, and it would all prove real. Harry held onto her hand and held onto the very real possibility that he might get the chance to become Ruth's husband.