Looks

"The truth is, I'm fine."

Her voice was so cold, so resolute. It took Harry a moment to process her words and realize she'd already walked past him and out the door. He turned and jogged to catch up with her quick, angry pace. "Ruth, wait a moment." He knew better than to try and grab her arm to stop her.

She paused and turned back to him. "I just want to go home, Harry. I just want to take a bath and wash all this away and go to work tomorrow and move this all along."

He nodded. "Let me take you home."

"You can't stay...Beth..." she protested.

"Come to mine, then. You'll have more privacy. My bath is nicer than yours anyway," he pointed out.

"Harry..." she warned.

"Please, Ruth. I need to know you're safe," he murmured quietly.

She understood his meaning. She'd been rather unkind to him recently. She'd put a lot of blame on him that he didn't deserve. She had been trying for weeks now to push away his love and devotion, somehow believing that they'd both be the better for it. But the truth was, she was always safer and happier with Harry than anywhere else. And she knew she needed him as much as he needed her, though she had hidden her side better than he. Perhaps she'd hidden it a bit too well.

"Ruth," he whispered, interrupting her long silence as she stared at her shoes.

She looked up and found his face inches from hers. "Alright," she replied quietly.

Harry nodded and led her out to his car. They didn't speak and they didn't touch the whole way to Harry's house. When he parked the car, Ruth put her hand on his when it rested on the gearshift.

"Thank you, Harry," she said simply, giving his hand a small squeeze.

He just nodded again and got out of the car to open the door for her. He carried her bag inside. "If you'd like to make some tea, I can run a bath for you. You know where everything is."

Ruth let Harry take her things upstairs. She made her way into the kitchen and started the kettle. It had been a while since she'd been to Harry's house, but he was right, she did know where everything was. He was a creature of habit when he was home. That was rare in and of itself. Probably why he enjoyed the regularity of it.

She was just sitting down to a cuppa when he appeared in the kitchen. "You can take yours into the bath, if you like," he told her. "It's all ready for you. I still have that lavender whatsit you liked."

"Thank you." She took her teacup and stood to make her way upstairs, but she paused. "I may need some help to wash my hair..."

Harry turned to her in surprise. "Ruth, I don't think we should..."

"No, I know. You're probably right. The thing is though, I thought I wanted to be alone but now I don't think I do."

"I shall sit beside you while we drink our tea, and I shall rinse your hair if you need assistance," he replied kindly.

Ruth very nearly smiled at that. He was always so sweet to her when they could be alone. They didn't get nearly enough moments like this. And because of that, they'd been far too snippish with each other at work in recent days. Ruth had hoped that keeping her distance after his disastrous proposal would be good for them. Obviously she was wrong.

They remained in companionable silence as Ruth lay in the warm bath, covered in bubbles. She had no embarrassment with Harry seeing her; he'd certainly seen everything before. Though she had noticed the way his eyes roved over her body with a nearly-clinical gaze, inventorying every cut and bruise and healing injury. That was a bit unusual. Not at all like the way he usually looked at her in such a state of undress. She sat down in the bath quickly, feeling unspeakably sad all of a sudden.

She leaned back and closed her eyes to relax. She could still feel his eyes on her, though she didn't dare allow herself to look up and see if he still looked at her the same way or if the softness of his gaze had returned. Ruth couldn't quite bear to face him if it hadn't.

Harry sat on the floor, leaning back against the bathroom cabinet, sipping his tea. He watched Ruth with worry. She'd been so closed off from him and every attempt he made to bring her back had proved disastrous, only serving to push her away even more. But this time, this time she'd invited his presence and seemed to ask for his care. He stayed quiet and still, though, lest he scare her off again.

As he watched her, however, he could practically see the bruises on her body darkening. "Your neck," he observed aloud.

"I do have one, yes," she replied sarcastically, not bothering to open her eyes to respond.

"You were strangled."

"Yes." She admitted it without reservation.

"I'm so sorry."

"It isn't your fault, Harry. So long as your hands never mark me in anger, I'll never blame you for my injuries. And you shouldn't blame yourself either," she advised.

Her words were carefully chosen, he knew. He had bruised her in the past. Her skin was so pale and sensitive. The exuberance of his kisses and his grip on her in the midst of passion had left marks on her before. But they both knew the difference. His marks were borne only from love. "Regardless of whether it's my fault, I don't like seeing you hurt. In any way."

"I know."

"I wish I could make it better for you."

Finally, she opened her eyes and lifted her head to look right at him. She saw a very familiar emotion in his expression, one of desperate apology. "You do make it better, Harry. I wouldn't be here if you didn't." She reached out to him so he would take her hand. "It's probably not fair for me to ask this of you..."

"Ask me anything."

"I'm afraid I'm bone tired and horribly sore. Would you mind just...just holding me tonight?" she asked with a slight blush.

"Of course." He was glad of her request. Harry had worried that she had asked him to join her as she took her bath as the beginnings of seduction. He would have been powerless to resist her sexual advances, as always, but he didn't want to lose control with her tonight. He didn't want to cause her even a moment of further pain. He wanted to comfort her, and he was grateful that she was going to let him. "Would you like me to help with your hair now?"

"Yes please."

Harry made his way around to kneel behind her, his bad knee resting on a bunched up towel. He rolled up his sleeves and cupped his hands to wet her hair with the bath water. He did the same after lathering her hair with shampoo, during which he elicited the most wonderful sounds of contentment from her, and then again after putting some conditioner in her silky tresses as well. Neither of them mentioned the fact that he'd kept all her bath products right where she'd left them.

When she was all rinsed clean, Harry helped her stand up and wrapped her in a fluffy towel. This time, he looked at her with that twinkle of affection she loved so well. The look in his eye that told her beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her. She leaned against him, getting his shirt all wet as she nuzzled against his chest.

He pressed a kiss to her wet hair and murmured, "I assumed you wanted me to hold you in bed, but I'm happy to do it right here as well."

She just hummed happily. Though soon she began to shiver. Harry left her to dry off and get dressed.

Ruth wiped the fog from the mirror and looked at herself. Sure enough, angry purple bruises in the shape of that awful man's hands marred her neck. Those marks would be impossible to hide. Though perhaps she wouldn't hide them. Everyone knew she'd been kidnapped and had fought for her life before shooting her captor four times in the chest. She didn't want to keep these marks a secret, not like the marks Harry usually left on her neck, marks she hid so that she and she alone could know they were there and be reminded of their cause. She'd never really minded when he left love bites on her. She was quite proud of the way he lost all sense of reason and rationality when they made love. Ruth wished she could recapture that with him now. It had been too long. But tonight was not the night. They'd find their way back to each other eventually.

Later that night, after Harry was certain that Ruth got her fill of leftover Chinese takeaway and was comfortable and settled, she donned the nightgown that had been left in her drawer of his dresser and joined him in his bed. It was like a forgotten dream, to be back together like this again.

Harry's fingers ghosted over her bruised neck, not quite touching her. "Are you in pain?" he asked worriedly.

"Not really. The memory is more painful than the marks. I don't like the thought of being grabbed that way, that the last man to touch me did so to try to kill me," she answered bluntly.

"If you'll permit me, I'd like to try to kiss it better."

Ruth could make out his smirk in the darkness. "I'd hoped you would," she replied. What better way to replace a memory of hurt than with acts of love?

Harry's breath was hot against her neck, his full lips soft as they trailed her bruises. His tongue darted out to soothe away all her hurt. And by the time he was finished, Ruth was nearly weeping at his gentle care, at the devoted adoration she felt from his touch. She loved him so much for the love he showed her. But she bit her lip to keep from crying out those words.

Finally, he pressed one final kiss to her lips. "Sleep well, Ruth."

She fell asleep in his arms, feeling guarded and protected and safe as she only did here, when Harry held her.