1st November 2038, New York
"Well, here we are, Harry," she smiles, taking a seat on the bench behind her and gazing around her. "Central Park, New York. What do you think?" She glances down at the small, black box clasped in her hands, running her fingers over its shiny lid that is decorated with a rose in mother of pearl. "Better than you expected?" She lifts her eyes again to her surroundings, taking in the people walking by wrapped in their winter coats, gazing across the lake and letting her eyes travel beyond the trees to the tall buildings in the distance. "I agree," she murmurs after a bit. "I prefer Paris too." She leans back and lets her mind wander, drifting from memory to memory of their time together, smiling from time to time, chuckling to herself on occasion, and sometimes feeling tears spring to her eyes. It's been over two years and it's finally getting easier to think of him and all that they shared together.
"Paris."
"New York!"
"Paris."
"Ah! Where's your spirit of Atlanticism?!"
"Where's your spirit of romance?"
She's leaning back against his chest, her eyes closed as his fingers trail over her skin, the warm water lapping against her sides.
"Marry me, Ruth."
"Harry, we're in the bath."
"I'm aware of our current location, Ruth."
"And you thought that the bathtub would be an appropriate place to ask me to marry you?"
"Why not?"
She smiles at the genuine puzzlement she hears in his voice.
"You know, for someone who talks of Paris and romance and is pretty good at seduction, it's surprising that you fail so abysmally at proposing."
"Pretty good?"
"All right, very good," she grins.
"Just very good, Ruth? An hour ago, you said I was sublime."
"Yes, all right. You're magnificent, phenomenal, transcendent, Olympic gold material. Now can you stop changing the subject?"
She feels him smile against her cheek before he presses a soft kiss there. "So help me out here, Ruth," he murmurs in her ear. "How is this not romantic? Is it the dimmed lighting that's the problem, the wonderful day we've had together away from the office, the dinner I cooked or the chocolate cake I made that's spoiling it for you?"
"It's the fact that we're in the bathtub, and if I accept your proposal, I'll have to tell people that you proposed in the bath."
"Right."
"I did appreciate everything you did today, Harry. It was a lovely birthday. The best I've ever had."
"Except for the proposal."
"No, even that was sweet... Much better than the one at the funeral."
"Well, it's good to know that I'm improving... and who knows, when I ask you again in a few minutes, after we've finished our bath, perhaps it'll be good enough for you to say yes."
She smiles again and turns her head to look up at him, meeting his warm, hazel eyes and whispering softly, "I'm sure it will be, Harry," and as she watches the joy infuse his whole face, she knows it is a look she'll never forget.
"What is it, Ruth?" he asks softly, taking her hand in his across the table. "You've been down all week. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she shakes her head and pulls away, rising from her seat and beginning to clear the table.
"Ruth," he says urgently, getting up to follow her and trapping her between his body and the sink as she puts down the dishes inside it and turns to get the rest, "talk to me. I know something's bothering you. We've been together for four years now, and I hope, I've earned your trust. You can tell me anything. I promise."
"I know," she sighs and leans into him, wrapping her arms around him and feeling his own slip around her waist, pulling her close. "I'm just being silly, that's all. I... I was five days late this month and I thought..."
"You thought you were pregnant?" he asks softly when she falls silent, tightening his grip on her.
"Yes," she sighs. "I was scared and anxious and I didn't know what to do, but when it turned out I wasn't, I felt... disappointed. I never thought I'd have that, a baby, and when I think about all the practicalities of raising a child and how it would affect our life, especially at our age, it seems crazy, but I can't help feeling a little sad... It's not something I had planned or hoped for us, but..."
"If it had happened, you'd have welcomed it," he finishes for her. She nods against his chest and feels him kiss the top of her head. "So would I, Ruth... and if you want a baby, I would be happy to try my best to give you what you want... and I hope you know that I'd love you both very, very much and I'd try my damnedest to be a better father than I have been in the past, the best father I can be."
"I know, Harry," she smiles and lifts her head to look at him. "I know. But I've given it a lot of thought over the past few days, and I don't want to try for a baby. It wouldn't be fair on any of us, I think. We're a little old for that now. And I know I've been a little... off lately, but I think it's because I've been letting go of that particular dream even though I never really realised that I had it, if you see what I mean... Besides, I'm very happy to have you all to myself now that the Olympics are behind us and you've retired, and I'm not sure I want to share."
He smiles broadly at her and she grins back, feeling much better now that she's told him about it. "Are you sure?" he asks earnestly after a few moments.
"I'm sure," she nods decisively. "You're more than enough for me."
"That's good," he grins.
He's miles away again and it worries her. He's been like this for a couple of days now. "Hey," she murmurs softly, taking a seat beside him on the porch swing and resting her hand on his thigh as she watches him come back to her, his head turning and a small smile spreading across his lips as his gaze settles on her and his hazel eyes are infused with a warmth reserved just for her.
"Hi," he smiles.
"Something's troubling you, Harry Pearce," she says. She watches his eyes cloud over as his gaze slips from her face back towards the sea that's just visible between the trees at the foot of their garden. "A burden shared is a burden halved. Tell me about it, Harry."
He sighs and nods slowly before he turns to look at her again. "I saw the doctor when I went up to London two days ago." She frowns as she realises that he lied about why he was going up to London. "He said..."
He falls silent and looks away again. "What did he say?" she asks worriedly.
"He said I have prostate cancer." Her sharp intake of breath makes him turn to look at her again, his eyes warm and loving as he reaches his hand up to cup her face. "Don't worry, Ruth. I'll be all right."
"How can you say that, Harry?" she demands as tears spring to her eyes.
"He said that it's low-risk and non-aggressive and, at my age, I'll most likely die of old age before the cancer begins to spread. He recommended that we monitor it for now as I have no symptoms at present and I'm otherwise in good health."
"But can't they just remove it and get rid of it so it's not a problem any more?"
"They could," he nods, "but I don't want them to."
"What?! Why?"
"Because every option they've given me has side effects that I don't want," he explains patiently, but she turns away from him as the fear of losing him begins to overwhelm her. She feels his warm hands wrap around hers and hears him murmur, "Look at me, Ruth," so she does, seeing the love and quiet determination in his gaze as he continues, "I have no intention of dying or leaving you, Ruth. At the moment, everything's under control. If things change, we'll revisit this, but right now, I don't want to have surgery to remove my prostate, radiotherapy on it, or hormone therapy. All three options will almost certainly affect our sex life, and I don't want that yet. Not when I'm perfectly healthy in every other way and our relationship is going so well."
"Sex isn't important, Harry," she objects, but smiles when he just raises an eyebrow in response and gives her a little half smirk. "All right, it's somewhat important, but it isn't why I love you."
"I know, Ruth," he smiles, "and when the time comes to chose between our sex life and my life, I will revisit my decision and together we'll choose what's the best option for us, but right now, it's no contest. I'd choose sex every time." She laughs and leans into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his slip around her waist and she hears him add seductively in her ear, "Especially now that we're getting so good at it."
"What are you smiling at?"
"You lazing around on a beach. It just seems so strange."
"What's so strange about it?"
"I've just never really pictured you as a lying-about-on-the-beach-getting-a-suntan type of man," she replies.
"So when we set off on our Grand Tour," he smiles, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his right hand as he gazes across at her, "what exactly did you think we'd be doing?" She pulls her sunglasses down her nose and lifts one eyebrow, giving him a suggestive look and delighting at the sound of his laughter. She smiles as he then raises himself onto his right forearm and leans over her, kissing her soundly. "Apart from that," he grins when he pulls back. "Surely you didn't think we'd be spending all our time visiting museums and sitting in cafés?"
"I don't know," she smiles. "I guess I didn't give it that much thought. It's just that I'm used to you in a suit and tie, or in jeans and a polo shirt, not to mention in just your trunks and a t-shirt or even au naturel, but lounging around on a beach in swimming trunks is not an image I've really considered that much."
"And do you like it?"
"I do," she smiles, and giving him another very suggestive look, adds, "And if you kiss me again, I think I might come to absolutely adore it."
"Look at me, Ruth," he murmurs huskily. "I want to see you when you come." So she opens her eyes, looking into his beloved, hazel ones, feeling very vulnerable, and at the same time, so close to him, so grateful for all that he is and all that he shares with her.
"I love you, Harry," she whispers.
"I know," he says. "I love you too, Ruth." He leans down and kisses her, their eyes still open, the connection between them growing, the pleasure intensifying, and as she watches him hover above her, she sees his face transform, transcend time and place, and she suddenly knows what he looked like as a boy, as a young man, and what he will look like when he's old.
"Harry," she breathes in awe as the pleasure builds inside her and suddenly she's tumbling and falling with him, their gazes still locked together, and she can finally see and connect with every part of him and he is beautiful, so very beautiful. And in that moment, she finally knows him completely as they come together and touch each other's souls.
"I worry about Catherine," he sighs.
"I know you do." She strokes his bare chest as they lie together in bed. "She'll be fine, Harry. She's a grown woman. She's older than I was when I left."
"Exactly," he replies and smiles as she playfully swats his chest. "I know she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, as you were when you left, but that's not what worries me. Well, it's not what worries me most."
"What worries you then?"
"That she has no one. She doesn't have what we have."
"Not everyone finds that, Harry. We were lucky; we are lucky."
"I know... but I'd like her to have it too. I'd like her to have this joy, to have a family."
"You know she doesn't want children, Harry."
"I know. I just worry that she'll change her mind when it's too late. She works too hard."
"Says the man who practically lived on the Grid for decades."
"I don't want her to make the same mistakes I did."
"She'll make her own mistakes, Harry, no matter what you do or say. We all do that. She loves her job and she's seeing the world. It makes her happy, and hopefully, she'll meet someone who loves that about her and supports her in her work and her life. She's fine, Harry."
"But she doesn't know what she's missing."
"Neither did I until I let you show me."
He smiles and turns to face her. "And isn't it a good thing that you did, my gorgeous stubborn mule?"
"I'm glad to see you're no longer calling me old," she replies and leans forward to kiss him as he chuckles in amusement.
She's lying against his chest again, this time in front of the TV where the credits of the film they've just watched are still rolling.
"See, Harry. And you thought New York wasn't romantic."
"I'm still not convinced, Ruth. I thought the bit where they visit his grandmother in France-"
"Villefranche-sur-Mer."
"What?"
"The place his grandmother lives."
"Yes. I thought that was much more romantic than meeting at the top of the Empire State building and their eventual reunion in New York."
She sighs softly. "Then I guess we'll have to agree to disagree."
There is silence for a few moments and then he murmurs, "Romantic or not, Ruth, I'd like to visit it sometime with you."
"Would you?" she asks in surprise, turning in his arms to look at him.
"Of course. If you'd like to see New York, Ruth, I want to be the one to see it with you."
"I have a surprise for you," she smiles, squeezing his hand gently and getting up. "Wait right here."
"As if I could go anywhere," he grumbles, watching her walk towards the door of his hospital room and pull it open.
"Now, now, Harry. None of that," she admonishes lightly before poking her head out the doorway and calling to Graham, "You can come in now."
Then she steps aside and watches Harry's face as his estranged son enters the room, seeing the shock on both men's faces and watching as the delight infuses her husband's features, making him look less careworn for a few moments and younger, softening the lines of pain that are etched into his face and bringing back memories of the laughter lines that used to decorate it just a few short months ago. "Graham," he whispers softly. "It's so good to see you."
"Hello, Dad," his son answers in a deep voice. "How are you feeling?"
"I've been better," Harry smiles. "How are you? How's your family?"
"We're fine, Dad," Graham replies, taking the seat by his father's side that Harry indicates. "The girls are in school right now, but I could bring them by at the weekend if you'd like to see them."
"Yes, please. I'd love to meet them, Graham," he smiles, his eyes swimming with tears as he lifts them from Graham's face and seeks her out, silently thanking her for this most precious gift, and she feels her heart swell with pleasure and is so pleased that she'd persevered and persisted until Graham had given in and agreed to visit his dying father. She's sure he hadn't really believed her that Harry's condition was as bad as this, but the fact that he's so readily agreed to bring his daughters round to see Harry tells her that he's shocked to see his father, formerly so strong and proud, looking so weak and broken. He looks old and frail now and it breaks her heart everyday to see it and the pain he's in.
"Are you very ill, Grandpa?" six-year-old Rebecca asks him as she turns to look up at Harry, the book she's been showing him forgotten for a moment.
"Yes, sweetheart," he nods sadly.
"Are you going to die?"
"Someday, yes, I will," he swallows.
"I'm going to miss you when you die, Grandpa," he says solemnly and wraps her arms around his neck.
"I'm going to miss you too," Harry chokes out. "I love you, sweetheart. You and your sister both. Never forget that."
"I know," she smiles, pulling back and taking his hand in hers. "But don't worry, Grandpa. Mummy says that heaven is a lovely place and you're going to have so much fun there. And Daddy said that we'll take care of Grandma Ruth when you go to heaven, so you don't need to worry about her."
And she finds that she has to turn away at that and quietly slip out the room and down the hall to the bathroom where she can let the tears fall unchecked, overwhelmed by the mixture of pleasure and pain that wells up from deep in her heart and soul.
"I want to go home, Ruth," he declares and she can see his jaw is set determinately. "I don't want to die here; I want to die at home."
"An Englishman and his castle," she smiles and nods. "Okay."
"Okay?" he asks, looking surprised that she's agreed so readily.
"I'd quite like to have you at home with me too, Harry," she explains. "We might have to hire a nurse to come help me care for you, but I don't want our last days together to be spent here any more than you do, and I hate having to leave you every night. I want you back in our bed where you belong. I miss you."
"Happy anniversary, Harry," she smiles, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.
"Happy anniversary, my Ruth," he replies and attempts to sit up. Ruth immediately scrambles out of bed to help him, and between them they manage to get him comfortably sitting up in bed with several pillows stacked behind his back. "I got you something," he says, clearly pleased with himself. "You'll have to get it though. It's in a blue box in the third drawer down." She follows his directions and pulls out the gift box, carrying it over to him and taking a seat by his side. "Open it," he prompts when she just sits there smiling at him.
"I will," she replies. "Just savouring the moment. It isn't every day that I wake up next to you on our silver wedding anniversary."
"I only wish that we had a chance to reach our ruby or golden one," he sighs sadly.
"And if we did, you'd never have been satisfied with that. You'd want the diamond one too."
"You're right," he smiles. "A whole lifetime with you would never be enough for me, Ruth. I'll always want more."
"I'll miss you," she says in a small voice, feeling tears spring to her eyes. "Everyday, every hour, every minute, every second. I'll miss you so much."
"I know," he replies, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms. "But, as cliché as it sounds, I'll always be with you, Ruth. Right here." He lifts his hand and presses it firmly against her heart. "Always. Even when you've met someone else and have a happy life with him, I'll be here, watching over you, sharing your joy, your passion and love. I want you to be happy, Ruth. More than anything else, I want you to be happy. Never forget that."
"I won't," she replies thickly as tears stream down her face, "but it's going to be so hard, Harry. I'll never find this again, what we have... and besides, my heart's so full of you that there's no room for anyone else."
"I don't know, Ruth," he smiles as she pulls back to look at him. "I know I used to be quite portly, but that's hardly the case any more. I'm sure you could squeeze someone else in there too."
She chuckles weakly at his joke, but then begins to smile as she says, "You know, Harry, my heart's rather more towards the centre of my chest, unless of course you're implying that part of you will be in my left breast."
"Not at all, Ruth," he grins. "I was just taking advantage of the opportunity that presented itself, though I'm sure I wouldn't mind spending some of my time in these beauties. They're very lovely after all and I'm rather fond of them."
She laughs and he chuckles, the gloom of a moment ago dispelling for a few seconds until Harry begins to cough, the coughing fit lasting for several moments as Ruth hands him a wash-cloth to cover his mouth and rubs his shoulders until it passes. He leans back and closes his eyes then in exhaustion while she takes away the bloody wash-cloth and rinses it in the bathroom, coming back in carrying a glass of water for him. "Here you go," she says softly and helps him take a sip.
"Thank you," he murmurs. Then he lies back against the pillows weakly and adds softly, "Open your present."
"All right," she smiles, putting the glass down and picking up the gift-box. She lifts the lid and pulls back the tissue paper, gasping in delight at the heart shaped locket she finds nestled inside. "Oh, Harry, it's beautiful." She lifts it out of the box, admiring the filigree, silver swirls that come together to form a second heart, the blue agate stone beneath shining through so beautifully. When she's had her fill, she carefully opens it and finds a picture of the two of them together in one side of the open heart and the words "'I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart.' E. E. Cummings" engraved on the other. "Oh, God, Harry," she sighs, lifting her eyes to his as they fill again with tears and finding him smiling softly at her, his hazel eyes warm and so full of love.
"Let me," he says and reaches for the locket, taking it from her hand and clasping it round her neck as she turns her back towards him and lifts her hair out of the way.
She feels him press his lips against the back of her neck when he's done and turns to face him. "Perfect," he smiles.
"Harry? Harry?!" she calls in a panic, putting the tray down on the bedside table and leaning over him.
"Mmmm?" he groans and opens his eyes to look at her.
"Oh, thank God," she sighs, sliding her hand down her face before letting it drop to her side and blinking back the tears as she smiles. "You were so still and pale, I thought you'd... gone."
"Nope, still here," he smiles weakly. "I was having a very good dream. We were making love. It's been so long, I'd forgotten what it feels like. It was rather wonderful."
"Don't be silly, Harry," she admonishes lightly. "You make love to me everyday with your eyes. In fact, it's the part of you I'm going to miss the most."
He smiles and murmurs, "As true as that might be, Ruth, I was enjoying the feeling of being inside you again."
"I'd better let you go back to sleep then," she smiles. "Just promise me you'll wake up again later. I don't want to lose you on our anniversary. I don't think I could bear it."
"I promise, Ruth," he replies, his eyes already drifting shut. "I won't leave you today. Besides, we still have three-quarters of that twenty-five-year-old malt you gave me to finish."
She wipes away a stray tear and reaches into her rucksack to pull out the twenty-five-year-old malt she'd given him for their anniversary more than two years ago now. He'd never managed to finish it. He'd died in his sleep the following night. She takes out two glasses and sets them on the bench beside her before opening the bottle and pouring a good measure of whisky into each one. Then she puts the bottle back and lifts one of the glasses, murmuring, "Happy birthday, my love. I hope you like New York. We never got to visit it while you were alive, but I didn't want to come without you." Then she downs the whisky in her glass, appreciating its welcome warmth on this cold November day, and picking up the other one and the little black box she's brought with her from home, she makes her way over to the lake. She gently opens the box and with one swift motion throws its contents and the whisky from the glass up into the air and watches them scatter across the water. The fine dust from the box, the last of Harry's remains that she's been saving for this trip, is swept up by the wind, but the liquid from the glass falls swiftly into the water. "Go wreck some havoc with the CIA, Harry," she whispers with a smile and she turns back towards the bench, placing the box and glasses back into her bag. Then she pulls out the postcards she'd written this morning to Catherine, Graham and Lucy, Rebecca, now nine years old, and Julie, now six, and makes her way out of the park in search of a post office and something warm to drink, perhaps a hot chocolate as she's not sure she'll manage to find a decent cup of tea. She smiles as she thinks of what Harry would have said about that.