The Notebook
This fic is the requested sequel to my other fic, "This time". If you have not read the first one, some of this fic might not make sense :)
The Prologue is a bit short, so be patient, the story really begins with chapter 1
For Peter F. and Nicola W.: talented actors and creators of the Harry and Ruth story.
What would we do without them?
Thanks hon, for your beta
Disclaimer: All characters in this work of fan fiction are owned by Kudos and BBC
PROLOGUE
It was aleather-bound notebook. Similar to the one Clive Mc Taggart had used. Classic, in black, with no figures on it, and no name. Just a little book with which to share your feelings, your fears, your sorrows, your hopes… your life.
She had bought it on impulse in Paris, one week after she had left Ruth Evershed's life. She was still not used to being called Miss Rose Emmington over and over again, and needed a place where she could be Ruth Evershed...a place where she could tell the truth... a place where she could be in love.
She had bought a Mont-Blanc fountain pen to write in the notebook. It didn't make sense, but she had felt that the black notebook and the black pen, with black ink, would be a perfect reflection of how she felt: grieving.
She went back to her hotel room. Her loneliness threatened to overwhelm her, but instead of throwing herself in the Seine, she chose to open her notebook and began to write:
Paris, 17th August 2006
I have left my life for you. I've left every part of my life for you: my country, my work, my friends, my family, my cats, my books… and I've left you. Now I am asking myself why should I go on?
Who am I today? I have fled from my homeland and I am just a lost, lonely and terrified woman without any friends, without anyone to take care of me, to love me. Of course, I am pretending: I am smiling to the cashier at the supermarket and I am joking with the clerk at the hotel. I have even found a job very easily, but my heart is empty. Is there any sense in living this new life I am supposed to live? It would be so easy to fall asleep and never wake up.
I am not going to take the pills that are on my bedside though. I will not give up hope. What is still linking me to life is my need to talk to you. I need to see your face smiling at me. I need to feel your lips on mine.
If I believed in God, I would have something to cling to; everything would make sense. Nevertheless, I don't believe. So all I can do is hope that somewhere, someday, there will be a place and time for us to be together.
If one day Fate is kind enough to reunite us, I know you are going to ask me about my life on exile. So, I am going to keep a record of what is going to be my life without you. This notebook will be my memory, and a chance to share this part of my life with you.
This is how is had begun. At first, she had written to him repeating over and over again her loneliness and how she missed him. But after a few months, the notebook had become more a travel journal, where, day by day, she wrote about what she had done: the places she had seen, the people she had met, what she had heard and felt. For the last two years, the notebook had been her only bond to her old life, and she had written in it for him.
The small, leather-bound notebook never left Ruth's side, and over the last months, it had become her closest friend.
&
London, Saint Thomas hospital, 16th July 2008
The team was gathered in the corridor outside the operating theatre, waiting for the news. Five spooks silently sitting or pacing, asking themselves how it could have happened. They had thought that Harry was indestructible. He was the still point in their turning world. Yet, he had been shot, and this time he had no bulletproof jacket.
For Connie, Malcolm and Adam, it was their friend who was struggling for life. For Jo and Ben, it was their boss that the surgeons were trying to keep alive...a man they respected above all others.
They had waited for hours before a surgeon finally came out to speak to them.
"He's alive. We thought we had lost him twice, but he's a fighter! The bullet was very close to the heart and I am afraid it has done a lot of damage. For the time being, we are keeping him in a comatose state... his body needs time to heal after such a trauma."
After giving his update to the team, the surgeon discretely asked to speak with Adam more privately. He explained to him that Harry's injuries were serious, and that they did not know how he would react in the next few hours.
As Adam had arrived at the hospital, he had told the doctor that Harry was a senior Secret Service man and needed special care, including a private room with a guard in front of the door. The surgeon now confirmed that Harry had been transferred to a private Intensive Care Unit room.
The surgeon hesitated for a moment, clearly trying to choose his following words carefully. "I know that, given his position in life, I shouldn't ask much about Mr Pearce's personal circumstances, but I also know that people in comas have more chance of recovery, and recover more quickly, if they have the ones they love at their bedside. I would like you to contact his next of kin as soon as possible. It would help to have someone he cares about by his side."
Adam nodded solemnly. He knew that there was only one person for whom Harry would fight for...only one person he cared about so deeply that he was likely to wake up. The one person who had sacrificed her life for him. He thanked the surgeon and went to speak to Malcolm.
Thank you for reading this. If you feel like you want to leave me a message, please take a minute to write a review?
Next chapter soon.