It was the first time Ruth had pulled an all-nighter since college. There had been plenty of late nights on the grid, but she'd always caught the last bus home. She looked around the George bleary-eyed at her compatriots who all seemed relatively fresh and put together. Zoe and Tom looked like a building society advert, as they stood drinks in hand toasting the successful training exercise. Ruth raised her glass and drank, but the chardonnay was warm and oddly metallic. It did nothing for her stomach which was still in knots from the preceding hours of stress. Danny was tucking into a plate of chips, liberally doused with vinegar. The acrid smell hit her nose and she went green as a new cabbage. She got up and headed for the door to the pub.
Harry caught her arm as she walked past.
"Everything alright?"
"Fine. Yeah, I just need a little air. Not used to these hours yet," she said, eager to escape the man, whom minutes before she'd heatedly called a "bastard" in front of the entire grid. She was still trying to wrap her brain around the fact that he was alive still trying to tease apart the relief from the feelings of anger at being manipulated by a team-building exercise gone mad.
He stepped out of her way and she slipped past and into the welcome relief of the cool morning air. She leaned against the heavy wooden door of the pub and watched the day shift filing into Thames House. What a strange sensation to be drinking with her co-workers while others were just starting their days. She mused that this is what it would be like to be a night shift worker. The door suddenly sprang open and she stepped aside to avoid being hit by it. Harry Pearce lurched out onto the sidewalk, and squinted up at the hazy morning sky.
"You're not going to be sick on my shoes are you?" he said with a wry smile.
"You should be safe. I think it's passed. "
"Nerves. You'll get used to it. A drink might help," he said, nodding in the direction of The George.
"It was a drink that put me out here."
Silly, Ruth, Harry thought. White wine is not a drink. Not a proper one anyway. He wondered which was more intoxicating, the Scotch he'd left behind in the pub or this beautiful, twitchy creature who always seemed torn between wanting to be near him and fleeing from any room he occupied.
"I don't know if I will get used to it. " she added after a moment. "I hope I won't get entirely used to people dying in front of me."
"Who's dead, Ruth?"
"Well, I thought you were for starters," she said lifting her gaze to his. That did it. She should have kept her eyes fixed in the distance. She had almost gotten control of her emotions, but they welled up again when she looked in his eyes. She could feel her mouth twisting into an ugly cry face. Why couldn't she be one of those movie people weeping a single perfect tear?
"And most of the city of London. Not to mention my mum and dad," she managed to get the last sentence out before the tears began in earnest.
He reached for her and pulled her into a hug. Ruth felt his warmth around her and his strong arms support her. He smoothed her hair with his fingers as the last little sob moved through her frame. This was no co-worker appropriate side hug, like the kind he'd given Zoe at the end of the exercise. He could get used to having her like this, her head tucked up under his chin.
"I'm flattered to be on the list of people you'd shed tears for" he said softly.
Ruth wanted to stay there forever, wrapped up in Fort Harry, but she knew that she had only a few more seconds before the return of the awkwardness that ended most of their interactions.
"Harry?" she said her voice muffled by the fact that her face was pressed into the collar of his top coat.
"Yes, Ruth?"
"I'm sorry, I called you a bastard. "
He chuckled and reached under his coat to an interior pocket. He handed her a crisp, starched handkerchief. In doing so he broke their embrace and reluctantly retreated a half step away.
"Blow," he ordered and she complied while privately cursing the complete lack of dignity in the situation.
"I am a bastard sometimes, Ruth. I have to be to survive in my job. It probably won't kill me to hear it to my face. Oh. Sorry. Poor choice of words."
Ruth burst out with a little spasm of laughter. She dabbed her eyes again and tucked the hanky in her pocket. "I'll get this back to you once it's been to the cleaners."
"No hurry. Feel better?"
"I do. Yes. Thank you. Full marks on that hug, sir."
He blushed momentarily before putting himself back on chivalry autopilot. "Glad I could be of assistance," he said and turned to head back inside. He opened the door for her, nodded at her and said, "After you."
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