Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

Gold Rush

On his way home from the office that evening Harry asked the driver to drop him at his corner shop. It was Wednesday and the only men's magazine he ever read came out on Wednesdays. Apart from picking that up he also wanted to buy a few things before heading home, and he didn't feel like going to the local supermarket.

"Goodnight," he murmured to the driver and headed through the door narrowly avoiding bumping into a couple of boys who came out with their hands full of sweets.

The owner of the shop, Ali, was behind the counter, and Harry nodded to him before beginning to collect the things he needed. It didn't take him long, and soon he was standing in front of Ali talking to him while the latter rung up Harry's things and packed them in a bag.

"I've put a copy of your magazine aside for you as usual," Ali said.

"Thanks, just ring it up and put it in the bag," Harry answered and smiled. Ali did as requested and handed Harry the bag. Harry thanked him and head for the exit.

Once home Harry unpacked his shopping and placed everything in the right place. When he got to the bottom of the bag he picked up this week's magazine and looked at the cover. As he started flickering through it something fell out and landed on the floor. He absentmindedly bent down and picked it up expecting it to be one of the lengthy commercial inserts they always seemed to fill the magazines with. He was puzzled, though, because the cover page looked very different from the normal inserts. Across the top was written 'Pariscope' and it was a title he'd seen before many years ago. Something stirred inside Harry's head. Pariscope was the French capital's equivalent of London's Time Out; a weekly with listings of everything happening within film, art and culture. This particular copy was for the week starting today. Harry's instincts were awoken immediately. Could this be a coincidence, or…

The one word that came to him was the one word he'd hardly said out loud in six months: "Ruth". In his more private moments when he'd taken some time to ponder over where she'd have ended up, Paris was one of the places he always short-listed. He anxiously opened the copy and started flipping through it. Partly expecting a note to slip out, partly being scared a note would show, because what if it wasn't from Ruth? What if it was work-related or what if there wasn't anything for him inside the copy?

Harry kept going through the magazine, but he couldn't find anything; not even a post-it note or an underlined paragraph. His heart sank. He looked up and stared at the wall opposite him. Was he loosing his mind? He, a forty-something professional trusted with the responsibility of keeping the British public safe, was frantically clinging to a hope that shouldn't exist. He hoped to see Ruth again. It was a hope he'd never voiced to anybody, but it was nevertheless present in his consciousness most hours of the day.

He stepped back mentally for a moment and thought the situation over like he was used to doing professionally. The French weekly had been handed to him by Ali on a Wednesday night wrapped up in another magazine. Was this a coincidence? No, he thought to himself; Ali knew he always stopped by on Wednesday on his way home from the office to pick up his mag and a few amenities.

And who knew about Ali passing on information and items to Harry? Well, Adam did for one, but Harry, couldn't see why his deputy would want to send him this. Zaf, Jo and Ros didn't know about Ali. However, Malcolm did, but again Harry couldn't imagine why Malcolm would pass this on to him via Ali. He might as well have given it to him today in the office. The last person to know, who was still alive, was Ruth. A very pleasant sensation ran through his body as he allowed himself to think about her. Could this be from her? He continued his mental game and concluded that of all the candidates Ruth was the most likely to have made Ali slip him the mag. The more he thought of it, the more it had Ruth's hallmark on it. But why, then, couldn't he find any message for him on the pages?

He went through the publication again without any luck. He even went to the far back and checked the personal ads; something he'd never have done in his life before. After about ten minutes of skimming he decided that there was nothing in the personals meant for him. His looked up and stared out of the window with a sad look in his eyes.

Harry turned his attention to the food he'd been thinking about preparing for himself. He'd suddenly lost his appetite and all he could think of was what to do with that bloody French periodical sitting on his table. He decided to just eat some buttered toast; something he hadn't done in a long time.

He'd actually taken to eating very healthy food the last few months, and he'd started going to

the gym for the first time in years. He used to go regularly when he was younger, but desk work demanded so much of his time that he'd stopped doing it a few years ago. However, in the weeks following his goodbye to Ruth, he'd first started drinking heavily in the evenings, and then done a u-turn and picked himself up.

His yearly medical was as much to blame as anything. He'd gone some three weeks after Ruth had left and all the important figures had been wrong; he was slightly overweight, had high blood pressure and he seemed to remember that the doctor had pointed his attention towards his cholesterol as well. He'd seen it coming, though, with the evenings leading up to the examination having been spent in his local, sulking and looking and feeling miserable.

So when the doctor started talking about medication, Harry looked up and asked if the doctor would advise him to try and get in shape, eat better and cut down on the drinking rather than eat pills. The doctor had looked genuinely surprised, but had then started smiling and referred Harry to a therapist who'd help him with putting together both a diet and a training schedule. And so Harry was now fitter, slimmer and feeling a lot better than he had in years.

And buttered toast was not part of the devised diet, but sometimes you have to give in, Harry thought to himself. He positioned himself at the table in the sitting room and started eating the toast while flipping through the magazine again. And then he saw it. A bent corner on one of the pages. He immediately opened the page and looked at it. The page was part of the cinema section and read 'Horaires & Salles'. It contained listings for the week to come. He started going through them and his persistency was rewarded after a few minutes when his eyes fell upon

Gold Rush

VO Vendredi 22h.

Cinéma du Monde
42, Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle

75010 - Paris

Harry's stomach turned and he didn't know what to do. Most of all he felt like jumping in the air and shouting. Instead he clapped his dog on the head and afterwards covered his face with his hands. Surely this was a message to him from Ruth. He recalled their conversation on the roof when he'd first asked her out for dinner. She'd told him she thought he was being presumptuous, because he had booked a table, before she'd accepted his dinner invitation.

He'd been, and still was, very pleased with the answer he'd come up with back then. He'd replied that he'd go anyway and sit and wait for the girl, making the bread rolls dance like a Charlie Chaplin character. She'd laughed and looked very happy they were having the conversation, and he had in return asked her which film the scene was from. As he had predicted, she knew which one and her answer, which she'd now repeated to him in a rather more hidden manner, was 'Gold Rush'.

He carefully examined the corner of the page, but there was no mistake to be made; it had been bent deliberately. He felt relieved, happy and confused all at once. Today was Wednesday. Did he have any plans for the weekend? No! He smiled to himself, got up from the table and turned on the laptop in the corner. He hardly ever used it, because he spent so much time at work, but when he was home it was nice to be able to access the web.