Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC.
A/N: Spoilers for 9.8. I started writing more 'As Our Worlds Move On' then got distracted by this.
If I only could, I'd make a deal with God
And get him to swap our places.
Kate Bush 'Running up that Hill'
-x-x-
Having a lunch break is something of a novelty for Ruth but occasionally she abandons the Grid and takes half an hour or so for herself. It's her own gentle way of raging against the machine. Her usual routine is to take a slow stroll along Millbank, towards the Tate or do a circuit or two of Victoria Tower gardens. She avoids the south side of the river these days; Albert Embankment holds too many memories.
Today she feels the need to venture further afield from Thames House; to take longer than thirty minutes. There is a hint of Spring in the air and the drizzly, grey weather of the past week has finally retreated, leaving behind blue skies and sunshine; a tantalising glimpse of what Mother Nature has in store for the coming months.
She walks with no real purpose, stopping only to buy some sandwiches and a small carton of fruit juice. As she leaves the shop, she feels a sudden impulse to take a walk in St James' Park. Dodging other pedestrians, she crosses Parliament Street and makes her way along Great George Street. Tourists mingle with office workers, enjoying the opportunity to temporarily escape the noise and traffic of the city, but it's still early enough in the year for the park not to be overwhelmed with visitors.
Ruth follows one of the narrower footpaths, seeking out a quiet place where she can sit and eat her lunch. Finally, as the path starts to curve towards the lake, she sees the ideal spot.
And then she sees Harry.
He's sitting on one of the benches, hunched forward a little. Even from a distance he looks exhausted, haunted. Defeated. Her chest constricts; she could walk away; she should walk away. Her feet, however, are taking orders from her heart and she finds herself standing in front of him.
"Hello," she says, softly.
A long moment passes before he looks up at her. "I think this probably counts as fraternisation," he replies, but underneath the caution is a glimmer of humour, which she responds to.
"But not a tête à tête."
He smiles sadly at the memory. "No, not a tête à tête."
His two minders move closer, one watching her and Harry, the other not so discreetly scanning the area to see if Ruth has brought reinforcements.
"Do they ever leave you alone?" she asks.
"No."
"That's awful, Harry. You don't deserve that." The unspoken question in his eyes prompts her to continue. "You don't deserve any of it; not the inquiry, the suspension, or the house arrest." Or my opprobrium.
His face softens, just for a moment, and she sees the old Harry, just for a moment. As far as Ruth's concerned, it's enough to constitute an invitation and she sits down beside him, ignoring the warning looks of his guards.
"You'll get into trouble," Harry remarks, although he has little desire to send her away.
"What? For saying hello and offering you some lunch?" She shakes her head. "To Hell with them," she says, vehemently.
Harry watches her as she unwraps the packet of sandwiches she has retrieved from the small plastic bag she's carrying. He wonders if their meeting is as accidental as it seems; he wonders how much she knows of the Inquiry's proceedings. He wonders if-
"Here." Ruth deposits a sandwich into his hand. "They're not very exciting, I'm afraid, just cheese salad."
"Thank you, Ruth but I'm not really-"
"Please, Harry."
They eat their lunch in silence, happy to have these few minutes together. There is much to say but this is neither the time nor the place, and the uninvited company is certainly not conducive to soul baring. They will, as ever, have to wait patiently for their moment.
"Do you want something to drink?" Ruth asks, as she brushes crumbs off her skirt. "I've got some apple juice. We can share it if you want."
Harry produces a bottle of water from the pocket of his jacket. "It's okay, I've got this."
He waits, patiently, for Ruth to wrestle the small plastic straw into the juice carton before speaking again.
"A turn around the park?" he suggests, hoping his choice of words won't upset her.
She smiles at him. "I'd like that, very much. But what about…?" Ruth inclines her head towards his minders.
"They'll follow us."
"You'd think they'd have something better to do," she says, loudly, as she stands up.
As he gets to his feet she realises his suit is hanging more loosely on his frame. This whole business: Lucas, Albany, the Inquiry, even being a spy, is slowly consuming him and it frightens her to think how little of Harry might be left at the end of it.
They walk slowly, both fighting the urge to hold hands, to embrace, to make promises others may prevent them from keeping.
"We should do this again," Ruth says, quietly, as they stop by the lake. "Once you're back at work."
"I think we both know it's highly unlikely I'll be coming back."
"But Harry-"
He shakes his head. "No, Ruth."
"What will you do?" she asks, "to fill the time."
"I don't know. Take up gardening perhaps."
"You could get an allotment."
Harry laughs. "That's an idea. I could grow potatoes."
"Just potatoes?"
"No. I'd grow carrots as well. Onions. And runner beans; they're supposed to be easy."
Ruth smiles at him. "Sounds good."
"It does, doesn't it?"
They both know it's make-believe, a ridiculous fantasy. Once the Inquiry is over it's likely Harry will be sent to prison and if he is, he's destined to spend twenty-three hours a day in a cell, segregated from the other inmates. But for a few precious moments they're both happy to pretend he has a better future.
One of the minders moves nearer to them and points at his wristwatch.
"It's time, Ruth, time for me to go back."
She nods, mutely.
"Thank you for lunch. For this."
And it's nigh on impossible not to touch her, or kiss her, or declare his love but somehow Harry manages to keep quiet. Denying his feelings for her is his defence, his chance of a lesser punishment. So he smiles at her for one last time and then turns and walks away. He doesn't look back.
Thanks for reading. There will be a companion piece to this – at some point.