This story is a follow-on from "While She Was Gone", but it can also stand alone. It opens 2 years after the end of `While She Was Gone', some time late in Series 8. Ruth and Harry are together, having been married almost 2 years.
And the title is not mine – it comes from a poem by Barbara Kingsolver.
I need ten full moons exactly
For keeping the animal promise.
I offer myself up: unsaintly, but
Transmuted anyway
By the most ordinary miracle.
Barbara Kingsolver – from "Ordinary Miracle"
Ruth is restless. It might be their day off together, and Harry may have ordered her to stay in bed so that he can spend the day doing things to her, the mere mention of which would once have made her face and neck turn the colour of cooked beetroot, but she's been overcome with the need for order in her life. The kitchen cupboards need cleaning and rearranging, she needs to sort through her books once and for all, and the spare room is long overdue for a spring cleaning. Except that it's autumn, the weather outside is bleak, the bed is warm, Harry's body is warmer, and she's still snuggled up next to him. Maybe, just maybe she can work off some of her restless energy in other ways.
She shifts her body in the bed so that her back is resting against his chest. She leans into him, her bottom nestling into that glorious hollow between his hips and thighs. His breathing changes slightly, and he coughs. She turns her head to see hazel eyes staring at her, the trace of a smile on his lips.
"Was that your idea of foreplay, Ruth?"
"Just testing the waters," she replies.
"The waters," he whispers, his mouth close to her ear, "are very, very warm."
"The waters, to continue the analogy, are extremely hard. How do you do it, Harry? Morning after morning."
"Morning after morning I wake up next to a very sexy and curvy young body."
"Oh really! I hope you tell her you're married, and that your wife is very a jealous woman, and has even mastered a couple of karate moves. That curvy young thing had better watch out. So there!"
Harry chuckles, and reaches out to turn her around to face him. She nestles close to him, sliding her arms around his waist. Her fingers settle on his back, and begin to tap out messages in Morse Code. Two dots. Dot two dashes. Her fingers move quickly through the message. Heat radiates from his body and warms her.
"Ah," he says quietly, "You've either tapped out I want you, or you have early onset Parkinson's. I'm really hoping you want me, Ruth, because the way things are headed here …..."
He leans in and puts his lips on hers. It still astounds her that a man who acts as Harry does in his job, in the field, with such attention to order and detail and protocol, with his emotions fully in check, can at home be so soft and pliable, so emotionally present. It has taken them time and effort to get where they are now. They have spent hours of their married life talking and crying and raging at one another, and the result has been worth the effort; the risks they have taken have paid off. They feel safe with one another, although were she being honest, Ruth still sees signs in Harry that he fears he will one day lose her, perhaps not to another man – she has never given him cause to fear that - but to some unpredictable event which swallows her up and tsunami-like, takes her away from him. To his credit, he no longer acts out his insecurities, although she knows he still has them.
The kiss deepens, as Harry's hands wander over her body – her neck, shoulders, breasts, stomach. His hand is gentle as it hovers over her lower abdomen. He draws away from the kiss and looks at her. "Are they still alright in there?"
"It's an it, Harry, not a they. At least, I hope it's not a they. You're not willing us to have a multiple birth, are you?"
He chuckles quietly, smiling at her, all the while his hand is caressing her lower abdomen, and with each circular stroke, his fingers dip into her pubic hair, until one finger finds her clitoris. Ruth squirms under his touch, suddenly unable to speak. He again leans towards her and kisses her, but this time his kiss is deep, and his tongue finds hers and their tongues touch and dance, at the same time his thumb massages her clitoris. She feels his finger suddenly inside her, finding her sweet spot, and after that it is just stars and bright lights and show tunes. He knows her so well, and can play her body like a violin.
After she settles, he holds her close. This is her favourite time of all in their lovemaking. After a while she feels him hard against her hip. He gives an almost imperceptible thrust against her. He is dropping hints. She is still wet, and he is very hard, very ready, so she turns towards him and pushes him on to his back before she straddles his body. She knows how much he enjoys this. He watches her with lust-filled eyes as she moves her body closer to him, but not quite touching. She hovers, her wetness just touching him, glancing across the tip of him – he groans, "Please Ruth," and pushes himself upwards towards her – before she settles on to him, taking his length inside her, slowly, bit by bit. He sees the sensations pass across her face as she adjusts to his length. She has learned to simply let go while in this position; he has taught her that. She closes her eyes while she moves, his fingers busily travelling over her body, glancing gently over her breasts, now sensitive, until one finds her clitoris. She climaxes quickly, then grasps his hands to steady herself so that she can continue without collapsing off him. She holds still while her body settles. Harry exhibits incredible self-control not to have given in to his own need for release. She continues moving on him, all the while watching his face for signs he's close, feeling him inside her, knowing he can only last just so long. Then Ruth speeds up, her hands now on his shoulders, her eyes closed. This time she feels him beginning to twitch inside her, and then he comes, and they both gasp at how deeply he plunges into her. Harry's last act before he lifts her off him is to vibrate his thumb across her clitoris. This takes her once more into her personal theme park, and the pulsing of her vaginal walls pushes him out of her. She collapses on to his chest, spent, exhausted, and very happy.
Being married to Harry is like having orgasms on tap.
She once said that to Jo – dear Jo – when her young friend had asked what it was like being married to Harry. Silly question, really. How does one describe being with someone who brings so much joy, such ecstasy, comfort and love, and more than a modicum of frustration just by being who they are? And then there are his glorious cuddles. Wrapped in his arms and being held against the expanse of his chest is her favourite place in the world. Ruth suspected that Jo was looking for a more sedate answer like: It feels safe, or It's rather nice, or He's very helpful in the kitchen, all of which are true, but do not paint a clear picture.
"Jesus, Ruth," Jo had exclaimed, "that's way too much information."
"Sorry," she'd said, "I keep forgetting how young you are."
"I'll never be able to look Harry in the eye again," Jo had wailed, but had joined Ruth in laughter.
"Harry has the best hands," Ruth had continued, to which Jo had put her fingers in her ears and sung `la lala lala lala' rather loudly.
And it seemed wrong – unjust – that Jo had to die so young, and in such a tragic way. She had made the ultimate sacrifice. Jo's death still hurt. Adam's death still hurt. Perhaps one of the reasons she and Harry had such a hearty and active sex life was as a means of blocking out the pain of so many deaths, all of which seemed so unnecessary. In sexual release there is always the potential for new life.
And now here they are, bringing another life into the world. They hadn't been trying to conceive, but nor had they been not trying. Since they had married they had not used contraception, hoping for their own miracle. After eighteen months of nothing happening, they thought no more about it, content that they had each other, and that had always been enough for them …... and it was only then that they conceived. Ruth was ecstatic - and scared - while Harry was proud, so proud he'd told everyone who would listen. He'd even managed to get a message to Graham through Catherine, and Graham had texted him back: That's cool about the baby. Hope it's a boy. I always wanted a brother. This had led to Harry's first meeting with Graham in almost a decade. It had been awkward at first, and they are still finding their way. Even before it is born, this baby is helping to build bridges.
"Harry," she says, checking first that he's still awake, "do you think we might be traumatising our child?"
"How could we possibly be traumatising our baby? You're only ten weeks pregnant, Ruth."
"Erm …... all the sex we have, and it's not quiet and sedate sex. We're sometimes quite noisy, and we're active, too."
"I read somewhere that babies in utero pick up on the moods and emotions of their parents, especially their mothers. How would you describe your mood right now, Ruth?"
"I'm ecstatic, Harry. I'm so happy I could burst right open."
"I'm happy too, so we should have a happy baby."
"What if he or she isn't happy?"
"Then we'll tell it some jokes."
"Harry, I'm serious. I read somewhere that there's a high incidence of depression in children."
"Sweetheart, how can you and I have a depressed child? We're so happy we're unbearable to be around."
"What about Graham?" Ruth regrets the words as soon as they are out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
Harry doesn't reply straight away. "It's a fair comment, Ruth. By the time he was growing up, his mother and I were not at all happy together, and I was away more often than I was at home, so Graham only saw me occasionally. There was always a lot of distance between Jane and me. I think that children reflect their parents back to them. If that's true, then Graham's behaviour as an adult tells me something about myself."
"What …... what has it told you?"
"That I was disconnected, angry, depressed. My anger drove me in my work. I've buried my true feelings for so long. That is, until you showed up." He looks down at her, a slight smile on his face, his free hand pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then trailing down her cheek to her neck. "I have you to thank for the happiness I have now."
Ruth lifts her head so that she can kiss him. It is a warm and loving kiss. "I love you," she says quietly.
Ruth snuggles closer to him, aware now that her restless mood has settled. But lying in bed all day won't get the spare room cleaned out. "Harry, you promised me that you'd help me today."
"I know. Where do you want to start?"
"I think we should eat first. Then I'd like to tackle the spare room."
"What say you start on the spare room, while I clean out the kitchen cupboards?"
"No, Harry, that's not what married people do. We'll start in the kitchen – together – and then when that's done, we can – together – sort out the spare room. We need to paint it a different colour."
"Not today, I hope. There are only so many hours in a day."
"No, not today, but definitely before our baby is born."
Ruth is relieved that she is amongst the twenty five percent of pregnant women who experience no unpleasant symptoms in pregnancy – no nausea, no vomiting, nothing but a pervading sense of mummyness. Ruth is tired, of course, but all in all she is looking forward to becoming a mother. Harry wears his pride at being an expectant father in everything he says and everything he does. He is bursting with it. Ruth, on the other hand, wears her happiness close to her chest. At ten weeks she's not yet showing. She sometimes plays a game while she is out in public where she imagines that she is the only person in the world who knows there's a new life growing inside her, and that no-one else knows. This makes her feel special, and it also makes her feel powerful. In secrecy there is also power.
Since she and Harry committed to one another while they spent those weeks alone in the cottage in North Yorkshire, Ruth has been happy, happier than she had believed she was capable of being. There have been many times during the past two years when she and Harry have only to exchange a certain look, the unspoken message between them being how close they may have come to never seeing one another again. In these moments they are drawn together in a long look, or an embrace, to remind themselves of what they have and what they almost lost. For Ruth, these are the happiest and also the saddest of times they share, the times when the past and the future intersect and entwine, just as their bodies entwine in a loving embrace. In acknowledging what-may-have-been, rather than what was and is now, they renew their vows to be together forever. She and Harry are creating their own secrets, and it is these secrets which form the glue which binds them. It is their shared secrets which strengthen and empower.
