Disclaimer: All characters in this work of fan fiction are owned by Kudos and BBC.
Title: THIS TIME
Written by: TheGrandTour and Co-written by: ThamesHouse
For Rach: my mentor and my English teacher.
Thanks for your patience and support hon, :D xxx
For Liz, Em, Kate, Nat, Helen, and all the wonderful writers of Spooks FanFics
For Terry and her wonderful reviews
This is my first fic so I'm begging for your leniency
This time: no chance. This time: no bullet-proof jacket. This time: no more time… his life was fading away in the big blue sky. He could see the sky, he could hear the big loud 'bang' echoing in his ears, and he felt nothing, as if everything around him was just fading away with him. He gathered the few forces he had left and said one last word: "Ruth", before he closed his eyes.
Moments later, he still had no sensation, no pain, no fear, no anything… he was just frozen as he heard someone shouting in his ear.
"Mr Pearce! Mr Pearce, stay with us, don't give up!"
He couldn't open his eyes, so went back to his dream; at least it was warm in his dream. Then he saw them: a long white tunnel, and, at the far end, Danny, Fiona and Colin. They were shaking their heads in a clear sign of disapproval.
"No! Not you Harry, not now. You can't be here, Harry, fight!" said Danny, before he disappeared from Harry's sight.
Why should he fight? Whom would he fight for? What was the meaning of Danny's words? Why didn't he understand where he was and what happened?
He was frozen again, but now the image in his eyes was clear, precise and beautiful. Her blue-grey eyes with all the love of the world shining from them. Her black hair wreathed like silk, her soft lips drawing a tender smile, and then...nothing… fade out.
He wanted to move but he couldn't and he didn't known why. Sometimes he felt a sharp incision in his flesh, provoking an agonising and absolute pain that wreathed his nerves. Then it went off as suddenly as it came in and, again, a warm feeling running through his veins. He could hear a loud and regular sound in his ears, but he couldn't identify what it was.
Was he already dead? Sometimes the blackness dissolved, and sometimes he could hear strange noises. If he had those feelings, he was not dead, he decided. Then why was he still dreaming instead of being in the world of the living? A few thoughts, a few sensations and then… nothing. Black again.
"If I try hard, I will understand what that sound is. Try hard Harry, you know that sound. It's regular like a drum. Think about what could produce those regular thumps… they seem to come from your body. Oh yes, I remember, my heart is beating, that's what I hear! My heart is beating!"
"I must try to identify the sounds around me. I can't wake up, but maybe I can identify the sound. Concentrate, Harry. It's soft, it's pleasant, it makes you feel happy. What can it be? But the sound is over now… I don't like the silence."
"Oh the pleasant sound is back. It seems clearer now. It reminds me of something but I don't know what. If only I could have an image to associate with this sound. Dream, Harry, maybe in your dream you will see something."
Closing his eyes in his mind, he finally saw what he wanted: Catherine, his little girl, in a garden a long time ago. The sound? It was his daughter's voice, and he smiled in his sleep.
There was no time, no night and day, no colour, no warm and cold, just sometimes Catherine's voice and other voices. Even if he tried really hard, he just couldn't get out of this sleep.
"I must be tired because I need to sleep so much… just a little more before I wake up. And it's good to sleep, because then Ruth's with me; I can smell her perfume and caress her hair. I wish I could kiss her lips, but each time I try she fades away…"
A new sensation, somewhere…on his body. It's not inside him he's sure of that...it's outside.
"I must do what I did with the thumping sound; I must try harder. Remember, Harry, what can it be? If you imagine closing your already shut eyes, what will you see? Someone stroking my hand…yes, that's it! I did it! I can identify the feeling: someone is stroking my hand! That's good Harry, that's good. Now I should sleep. I'm too tired to try and wake up; to feel; to understand; to hear. I need to sleep."
"I must wake up. I can't stay any longer like this…still asleep. There's a new voice. A soft, delicate, new voice, whispering in my ear. I feel warm and happy when the voice is talking to me; it makes me smile. I should answer this voice but I can't resist the need to sleep. Next time... next time I will try…try to wake up and try to speak."
&
Oh come on Ruth, you're a big girl and it's not like this is the first time you have had to work late! You were happy to work late when… Yes, but that was then and this is now, and I don't want to finish this research tonight… unless I take a break… and check my mails…
Ruth was in her study exhorting herself to work a few more hours so she could have her work complete before taking a few days off. July is such a nice month in South Tyrol. She smiled at the thought of hiking in the Dolomites and opened her mail. For some inexplicable reason, she had a sudden urge to check the 'secret' account. Opening the email account, she froze: there was a new message.
"Come to see the Canaletto at the national gallery", a coded email from Malcolm: he was telling her to come to London as soon as possible.
Her heart beat suddenly faster in her chest and she swallowed hard and tried to analyse the situation as quickly as possible. Malcolm would never have contacted her if it was not very serious and very urgent. She knew that there was probably only one serious and urgent reason to call her back to London. Something must have happened to Harry! Scouring the internet for recent news from Britain, she eventually found what she was looking for: a high ranking officer had been shot two days ago and the doctors were still unsure if he will survive his injuries. Resisting the feeling of panic that was overwhelming her, she rushed to her bedroom to pack some clothes in the rucksack she was supposed to take for her hiking trip. Without thinking, she drove as fast as possible towards the airport, with the desperate hope that she could get a late flight for London.
She was lucky. It was almost midnight when the plane took off. Ruth sat near the window and slowly opened her mind and heart to the feeling she had rejected so far: fear. Absolute fear. Only one question ran through her brain: what if? What if she arrives too late? What if she has no chance to tell him goodbye? To tell him he's the love of her life, "son âme soeur", her reason for being.
She had managed to call Malcolm from the airport before departing, and he was waiting for her at Heathrow. She ran to him, finally crying in his arms.
"Is he… is he?" That's all she could say.
"No, Ruth, he is still alive and resisting well. He was in theatre for eight hours, and the doctors say that he should be okay, but…" Malcolm hesitated as he helped Ruth into his car. He sat in the driver's seat, the ignition still off, and turned to face her.
"He's still in coma, Ruth. The doctors think he needs the people who love him around him to help. That's why I asked you to come. Connie had managed a free access for you at the hospital, so nothing will happen to you. He needs you Ruth. Do you mind if I drive you to the hospital now?" Malcolm's kindness and the fact that Harry was still alive were easing Ruth's mind a little. She sighed before answering that of course she wanted to go to the hospital, now.
How should she behave? How to react when you're in a hospital private intensive care room and the man in the bed is the man you love, but he can't see you, can't hear you? How to act when his daughter is sitting in the chair and is looking at you with surprise, and the only thing that you really, really want to do is to take his hand and kiss his face?
Catherine reacted before her. "You must be Ruth. I'm Catherine," she said, as she reached gently for Ruth's hands and guided her to the bed.
"How… how do you know who am I?" Ruth was so absorbed by the sight of Harry linked to several machines, to help him to breathe and to feed him and appease his pain, that she could hardly speak.
"He talked to me about you… a few weeks ago. I was asking him why he was so sad, and he told me… he needed to talk about you. I'm glad you're here Ruth. He loves you so much… I think he is waiting for you and I'm certain he will wake up soon now you're here. Talk to him, touch him: he will know you're here…" She was looking at her father with such tenderness that Ruth felt eased to know that he had not been alone, and was in peace with his dear daughter. "I… I don't think I should stay… he needs you more than he needs me…" she continued and, without waiting for Ruth's response, took her handbag and left the room.
Leaning over him, her hand delicately stroked his face, at least the part of his face she could reach with the breathing system. She didn't notice that her tears were dropping on his chest.
"I told you not to get shot Harry! How… what… oh god, Harry! Why did you do this to me… you must live, you must wake up. You have to hear me: I have to tell you how much I love you… I love you."
There was nothing more to say at the moment. She sat in the chair and repeated the words again and again, whilst tenderly stroking and kissing his hand.
Two more days passed. Ruth barely left the room to have a shower and get a few hours of uneasy sleep, and even then, only when Catherine could replace her. Harry was never alone. The doctors were more and more confident even though Ruth and Catherine were not at ease; they still couldn't see any real change in his condition. By now, Ruth had told Harry almost everything about her life in exile, and she repeated again and again the words of love she had wanted to tell him months ago and had never dared to. She whispered in his ear, hoping that somehow her words would penetrate directly into his brain… to his mind. She caressed his arms, his hands, and his face to elicit a move, a reflex, something…
&
"The voice! The voice I like is here again… I can hear it much more often now. I can feel the touches on my skin too. I have to wake up because I know that the voice is the one I was waiting for… I've seen her face in my dream… it's Ruth. I've got to live, for her, for us… I have to open my eyes."
It was the fifth day after the shooting. Ruth was dozing in the chair, his hand in hers, when something changed. At first she didn't acknowledge it, but then it slowly seeped into her sleepy mind. The beep of the machine maybe? Yes! His heart was suddenly beating faster. She quickly yelled for the nurse, anxious to understand what could have provoked this reaction. Leaning over him, speaking softly to calm and reassure him, she almost missed it: the slight, very slight, movement of his eyes. She didn't believe it at first, and then… yes, he was trying to open his eyes!
"I feel better this morning. Maybe I should try to open my eyes. She's here again; I can feel her, hear her… if only I could see her! Come on Harry, you've done harder things than this in the past… "
"Yes, Harry, open your eyes. You can do it! I'm here my love, come back to me!"
It took him a while, but after persevering for a few minutes, he did it: he opened his eyes. At first, the only thing visible was a blurry mass hovering over him. He wanted to speak, but had something in his mouth, something like a pipe … a very uncomfortable sensation… as if he was suffocating. He wanted to see her and tell her that he loved her, but he couldn't and his incapacity was driving him crazy.
"No, Harry, please don't move...you can't move...not now… please be patient my love… I'm not going anywhere… I'm staying right here, Harry...with you."
By the end of the day, Harry could see her, and breathe by himself, and the first words formed silently on his lips were for her.
"I love you" he mouthed, as their lips finally met.
Despite his weakness and frustration at being too weak to hold her in his arms, she clung onto him; despite his dry throat and sore lips, she tenderly kissed his lips; despite that he couldn't talk, he knew she understood as he silently mouthed words of love to her... Every ounce of his being longed to hold her and speak the words of love that had been left unsaid for so long...
She was the reason he had to fight.
This time they would have a future together.