Set after 10.3…spoilers up until that point, but pure speculation after.
Sleep was a relative stranger to her these days, so it was with not a little irritation that she was awakened by a knocking on her door a mere hour after she had finally drifted off. It was so soft at first that she thought she had dreamt it, but soon there was no doubt whatsoever as the knocking soon progressed into pounding. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly two in the morning; she thought of ignoring the summons, but quickly realized that her night visitor was not going to be put off. She had her pepper spray at the ready, more out of habit than anything else, reasoning that if someone were out to kill or kidnap her, they'd hardly announce themselves to half of her neighborhood.
It was Harry, of course. Damn him. It wasn't enough for him that he occupied her thoughts during the day, he had to take the night as well. He looked, as did so often lately, as if the all the despair of the world was heaped solely on his shoulders. Wordlessly, he stumbled through the open doorway and for a split second, she had visions of how Tariq must have been in his final moments. But the instant panic was quickly smothered as he passed her to go through to her living room. Harry Pearce, master spook, smelled like a distillery.
"You're drunk."
"Brilliant observation."
She had to give him credit, he wasn't slurring…much. She turned on a lamp, and he blinked in the sudden change of light. He turned an angry gaze on her.
"When were you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
How my heart has been trampled on so many times I can't begin to count?
"You're leaving."
"It's time, I think."
"Ah yes, it's all about timing isn't it?" His eyes are ablaze with fury, and Ruth starts to wonder if Harry is one of those belligerent drunks.
"You've made it clear you don't trust me any longer." He looks like she's just shot him.
"Christ, Ruth." He considers her face carefully, before continuing,
"Is that what you think? Well, if that's your analysis of the situation, then maybe it's better if you do go 'assist' Towers." His voice is dripping with sarcasm.
"Don't you dare…"
"Were you even going to tell me? Or were you planning to slink away without a word? Leave everything unsaid?"
Even in his inebriated state, he knows he's gone too far, and is shocked when she doesn't slap him in the face. She stares at him, somewhat coldly, her arms crossed in front of her.
"What do you want from me, Harry?"
"I thought that's been obvious for some time."
"Well then, here I am." She opens her arms and flings a cushion off the couch and on to the floor for emphasis,
"Is the living room floor OK, or would you prefer a quickie in the kitchen?"
It takes him a second for his scotch-addled brain to catch up.
"That's not what I meant, and you damn well know it."
He looks at her, and he can tell that despite her anger, she's on the verge of tears. As he flops ungracefully unto the sofa, he wonders if it is possible to screw things up anymore than he has already.