Ruth waits for Harry in his office. She has little interest in joining the others who remain on the Grid, now huddling over a pot of coffee prepared by Tariq, and talking quietly among themselves. Some of the younger ones, the girls in admin, and two of the junior agents, had already left, preferring more exciting venues. Ruth is sitting on the sofa reading when the office door slides back to reveal Ros, accompanied by a very tired and bedraggled Harry. She wants to tell Harry he looks terrible, but she's sure he already knows that.
"Here he is," Ros says, "battered and bruised, but basically intact. I'm a bit behind in the celebrating department, so I'll leave you to give him the required bollocking in private."
And as quickly as Ros had arrived, she leaves to join the others on the Grid. Harry looks at Ruth, and Ruth looks at Harry. Ros had rung ahead, describing Harry's injuries. Ruth had expected him to look a lot worse. A large bruise is already forming on his left cheek, along with puffiness beneath his eye, and there is a small cut across his cheekbone. His clothes, especially his shirt and trousers, are dirty, and he walks with a pronounced limp, which tells Ruth that he is in pain. His hair is uncombed, and discoloured by streaks of grease. She fights a powerful urge to reach out to him, and put her arms around him.
"I'm sorry, Ruth," he says meekly.
"It's not your fault. Do you have any idea why you were taken? Did they tell you?"
"They told me nothing," He looks around him. "Do you mind if I sit down? My hip -"
"The sofa is comfortable," she says, pointing towards it, just in case he wonders what sofa she's talking about.
He moves slowly to the sofa and sits, and then he pats the seat beside him. "Will you join me?"
"Have you taken anything for the pain?" she asks, practical as ever.
"I was thinking I might pour myself a whisky," he replies wryly.
"That's not the best idea. I have some paracetamol with codeine. They work for me … when I take them … monthly." Ruth colours under his intense gaze.
"Do they work on man pain?" he asks with a small smile.
"I .. imagine they do. I have some in my bag .. if you want to try them."
"I know I should soldier through the pain, but right now my hips hurts, and I'm not feeling terribly brave."
Ruth is surprised by his honesty. It is not like Harry to admit vulnerability. She hurries from the office to retrieve her bag from under her desk. When she returns, Harry is sitting on the sofa, leaning back, and with his eyes closed. Warily, so as to not disturb him, she sits beside him, and when he doesn't move, she places one hand on his forearm. He opens his eyes wearily, and smiles at her. Again, she would like to put her arms around him, and let him rest against her. "I brought you some painkillers," she says. "Shall I pour you a glass of water?"
"Thank you."
Ruth is surprised that she is enjoying looking after Harry. Injured Harry is nothing like Grid Harry, the man with high expectations of others, and even higher expectations of himself. This Harry is quiet … and malleable … and gentle, and she wants to protect him.
Once he has taken two of the painkillers, he sits back and sighs. "I think I recognised one of the people who kidnapped me."
"Ros told me there was a woman ..."
"I called into a small pub not far from here." As he continues to speak, Harry turns to look at Ruth. "The woman approached me. She offered me … company. I want you to know that I turned her down. Judging by her reaction, she hadn't expected that. Ruth," he says, slowly turning his body to face her, "I was there to buy some wine … white burgundy." Noticing her eyes widening, he quickly continues. "I had plans for this evening … for us."
Before she can reply, they hear a cheer from those still on the Grid. When Ros had left, she hadn't quite closed Harry's office door. They look at one another, both thinking of what might have been, had Harry not been kidnapped.
"That sounds like 2010 has begun," Harry says quietly, and not very enthusiastically.
"What happened to the wine?" she asks.
"I didn't even get a chance to order it before they marched me out of the pub, and to their car. To resist them would have been ..."
"… unwise," she finishes for him, and he nods.
They both fall quiet, then Ruth remembers what he'd begun to tell her. "From where did you recognise the kidnapper?"
"It wasn't until I heard his voice that I remembered where I'd seen him. I believe I once saw him .. at Vauxhall Cross. He's Mi6."
Ros is the only one drinking .. alcohol, that is. Tariq and the others, including Dimitri, have moved on to coffee. Lucas and Dale have driven back to the place where they'd found Harry, searching for leads. It has certainly been her strangest New Year yet. Tariq, who, along with his sidekick, Kareem, has been busy at his work station, sidles towards Ros, who recognises his expression as the one he wears when he has solved some incomprehensible digital puzzle.
"I thought I'd run this by you first," he says quietly, "before I tell Harry."
"Is it important I hear this now, Tariq? After all, it's New Years Eve."
"Well, technically, it's already New Years Day."
Ros glares at him. "Go on."
"What I have uncovered isn't good, Ros, and I believe you need to know this as soon as possible. Were Lucas here, I'd be telling him."
"What's so important that you have to tell me now?"
Tariq moves closer to Ros, and shares his findings. When he finishes, she is stunned into silence. "Are you sure?"
"I'm certain. I stumbled upon the Home Office memos."
"By `stumbled across', you mean, you did an intense search."
Tariq grins widely. "They were encrypted, of course, but using a regular encryption, which for me is a piece of cake."
Ros nods, and places her drink on the desk behind her as she listens to what Tariq has to tell her. Then she strides across the floor to Harry's office. If she's about to interrupt a tender moment between her section head and his analyst, then too bad. What she has to tell them is far more important.
"It was what?" Harry explodes, standing unsteadily.
"You heard me the first time, Harry. It was a drill. A test. A sick joke."
"But why choose me?"
"Short of lifting Ruth off the street, it appears you were the preferred kidnapee. Who else has the loyalty of the whole team?"
Harry is still standing, unaware that Ruth is standing beside him, waiting just in case he loses his balance. She had made them both a cup of tea, and she'd been about to hand Harry his mug when Ros burst into the office.
"So ..." Harry continues, glaring at Ros like the whole thing had been her idea, "as well as testing the commitment of my team, they were testing the team's ability to act … without prior warning."
"That's what was written in the memos."
"And I suppose you're not about to share with me whose idea this was?"
"What difference would it make? Those people are like a colony of ants. They work as one mind. All it takes is for one to come up with a stupid idea, and the rest of them say yes."
"At least you got that right."
"And Harry," Ros continues, "you know that these things .. these drills … are part of what we have to expect. It's just that they're usually -"
"Unexpected. Yes, I know."
To Ruth's relief, Harry sits back down on the sofa, his mood and his blood pressure dropping along with his body.
"You all right?" Ros says, glancing from Harry to Ruth, and back to Harry.
"We're fine," Harry says.
"It's just that ... you probably need to go home," Ros says, staring at Harry meaningfully.
"I was about to ring Harry's driver," Ruth interrupts, "to take him home."
As Harry darts a sharp look at Ruth, Ros adds that she is about to call Lucas, suggesting he come back to the Grid. Noticing Harry staring hard at Ruth, Ros uses the distraction as her opportunity to leave the office. This time she slides the door closed.
"You haven't asked me whether I'm ready to go home," Harry says, sounding annoyed.
Ruth hesitates, wondering for a moment whether she has misinterpreted the signals. He'd mentioned planning to buy white burgundy … for them both, and she has a fair idea what that means. "I thought you might be more comfortable at home, Harry."
This time it is he who waits, his eyes on the face of the woman he adores. She's probably right, but what does this really mean? "I don't want to be … leaving you," he says quietly.
"I thought we could leave together," Ruth says, just as quietly. "I can .. go home with you … if that's all right with you."
Harry watches her face closely, waiting for some sign that she doesn't mean what she says. Her deep aquamarine eyes hold his, but he finds them difficult to read. It's possible she's feeling sorry for him, and is planning to go home with him as a safety precaution … for his health. Were that the case, he'd be devastated all over again. It would be like her return to London nine months earlier – bittersweet, and yet ultimately painful. Despite the risk of Ruth dropping him off at home, checking his temperature, and then leaving, he is prepared to take that step. They must act now. Tomorrow may be too late.
"Very well," he says, "but perhaps I should be the one to ring Thomas. If you ring, he might think the worst. He … worries about me," and Harry's face softens in a smile. "Ouch," he says, placing his palm over his injured cheekbone. "Smiling hurts."
Ruth had watched, amused, as Thomas had fussed over Harry, helping him into the back seat of the limo, when they all knew Harry to be as capable as anyone; perhaps sore, beaten and bruised, but still functional.
Ruth sat in the back seat beside Harry, and had not objected when he reached out to grasp her hand in his, curling his fingers around hers. She glanced up at him to see him watching her. His expression had said, `is this alright with you?' She'd nodded, squeezing his hand, before she'd turned to stare out the window as London by night whizzed by.
"Do you need me to drive Miss Evershed home?" Thomas had asked as Harry had awkwardly stepped from the limousine ahead of Ruth.
"Thank you, no. Ms Evershed will be staying with me," Harry had said. As Ruth had followed Harry from the car, she'd seen the surprise on Thomas's face, and she'd smiled to herself.
"You said that to shock him, didn't you?" Ruth asked, once the front door was closed behind them, and they were removing their coats.
"Maybe."
"There's no maybe about it. You were being deliberately provocative, Harry."
"Are you hungry?"
"Now you're changing the subject."
Harry leads her into the living room, turning on lights as he goes. He then ignites the gas fire, which slowly begins to glow. Ruth moves to stand in front of the fire, while Harry limps towards the doorway. "I need a bath," he says, "so while I'm … doing that, you might like to … relax. There's wine in the fridge through there .." He points towards the kitchen door, "and there's whisky on the sideboard. Help yourself."
Ruth had listened while Harry had dragged himself up the stairs. He is more exhausted than battered, his working day having begun at five am. She had waited while the water ran in the bath, and then she'd given him another ten minutes before she headed to the kitchen to find the makings of a pasta dish ready and waiting by the cooker.
With part of her she had hoped that Harry would call to her for help getting into the bath … or getting out of it. She'd half expected him to ask her to join him in his bath, but since he'd left the living room, Harry had remained silent. Ruth believes she may need to be the one to push them closer.
By the time Harry returns downstairs, looking healthier, and dressed in fresh clothes, dinner is prepared, and the table set for their meal.
"But I was going to do that," he says, standing in the doorway, looking from the table to the cooker, and then back to Ruth.
Ruth ponders a reply, but the statement, `you need looking after', won't go down well, even with an injured Harry. "Sit, Harry," is all Ruth manages to say.
As they eat their meal, they find conversation difficult. Harry has commented on the meal - `this is lovely, Ruth' – and she has praised the wine – a light red from southern Spain. Harry declines talking about his ordeal; `it was embarrassing' is all he has to say about it, and while Ruth knows he wants her with him, she is still in the dark about exactly what that means. Where will she sleep? In the guest room? On the sofa? In Harry's bed?
"You look exhausted," she says at last.
Harry looks up at her, startled. "What does that mean?"
Ruth smiles, dropping her head. To give herself thinking time, she grabs her napkin and wipes around her mouth, before carefully placing the napkin on the table, out of the way of her wine glass, now empty. Harry had already offered to top it up, but she had covered the glass with her hand.
"I know you've had a very long day," she says carefully, "and you must be tired."
This time it is Harry who drops his eyes. "Are you trying to tell me you want to go home?"
"No, Harry. I'm attempting to make conversation. The buses have stopped, taxis are probably all in use, and so it looks like I'll be spending the night here … with you."
When he lifts his eyes, they are dark, and wary. "Is that what you want?"
"Is it what you want?"
Ruth watches him struggle as he formulates an answer. "You know it's what I want. It's what I've always wanted."
"It's already .." Ruth glances at the digital clock on the microwave oven, "past two o'clock, and I'm ready for bed. So ..." and again she hesitates, "where do you want me?"
Harry's face becomes a diorama of all his private thoughts and emotions. For once, the spy in him is cast aside as she observes his shock, then pleasure, followed by lust, which eventually gives way to joy. "If I answered that question honestly, Ruth, you'd probably run all the way home."
"I think I … know what you want, Harry. Have you ever considered it might be the same thing I want?"
Ruth barely sees the slight shake of his head. She is on her feet, and around the table to Harry's side. He turns in his seat, one arm outstretched to gather her to him. She very carefully holds his face in her hands as she leans down to kiss him. The kiss is very careful, and very tender, and he wants it to last for the rest of his life. They pull apart to gaze at one another. Ruth feels her heart beating rapidly, and she's sees her own desire reflected in Harry's eyes.
He is still sitting, with one arm around her, his hand warm against her lower back. "I don't know if I'm .. fit for what you're suggesting, Ruth."
"I'm sure you're not, but we can still go to bed together … can't we? I need a quick shower, though. It's been a long day."
Harry nods, barely able to believe that this is happening. "My bedroom is at the end of the corridor, and you can use my en suite bathroom. The second drawer in my dresser has t shirts. You might like to wear one of them to bed, especially seeing we're ... not about to ..."
And the rest of his sentence remains unspoken. They both know what he means.
Harry tidies the kitchen while Ruth showers. By the time he enters his bedroom, Ruth is lying on the far side of the bed, the duvet pulled up to her chin. "I'll just go in there," he says, pointing to the door of the en suite.
Only minutes later he returns to the bedroom, dressed for bed in track pants and a t shirt, his navy blue dressing gown open down the front. He is aware of Ruth's eyes on him as he shucks off the dressing gown, and slides into bed beside her, wincing as he does.
"Is it your hip?" she asks, and he nods, turning towards her. "Why your hip?"
"What do you mean?"
"Were I a large man trying to do you damage, I'd not be kicking you in the hip."
"It was rather dark inside that building. I suspect he was aiming for … somewhere rather more tender."
Ruth nods, and she can't help the smile which softens her features. "I'm not smiling because your attacker wanted to damage you … there. I'm smiling because I'm relieved he had terrible aim." She reaches out under the duvet to slide her arm around Harry's waist, but when she grabs him, she unwittingly grasps his hip.
"Ruth ..." he says, drawing in his breath.
"Sorry," she replies, lifting her hand higher, "I miscued. Can I see it?"
The lamp beside the bed on Harry's side catches the widening of his eyes. "See what, exactly?"
"Your hip. What did you think I meant?"
"Now it's you who's being provocative." Harry slides up the bed, and turning towards her, he pushes the duvet to just below his hips, and then very carefully pulls down the waist band of his track pants until the dark and angry bruising on his hip is revealed.
Ruth stares at the bruising, her mouth open, as though about to speak. What happens next surprises and shocks Harry all over again. Pushing the duvet away from between them, she leans down to place her lips on the bruise, leaving her mouth against his skin for a long moment. Harry feels a response in his body, surprisingly rapid for his age, and his level of weariness. "Ruth," he says, placing a hand on the back of her head.
For one mad moment he wonders whether she plans to go down on him, but he shakes that thought away. As nice as that would be, he doesn't want that for their first time. It would be best were their first time to be in this bed, but they both need to be fit, rested, and with neither of them suffering an injury of any kind.
Ruth lifts her head from his hip, and he quickly pulls up his track pants, covering his evident excitement with the duvet. "I'm not about to ravish you, Harry," she says quietly, leaning close to him. "I know we need to wait … a few days."
Harry turns onto his side. Ruth has pulled away from him, so he reaches out to draw her closer. They watch one another closely while he lifts her t shirt so that he can explore her skin. He knows it is unfair – to both of them – but he needs to know how her skin feels under his fingers, and she needs to know that away from the Grid he is a gentle man, and a sensitive lover. Her eyes hold his as his fingertips glance across her abdomen, back and forth in a mesmerising rhythm. Ruth relaxes against the pillow, her eyes still holding his, as his fingers venture further. He cups her breast, while his thumb glances back and forth across her nipple. Ruth closes her eyes and sighs. He is almost fully aroused, but aware they should not attempt anything more on this night.
Reluctantly, he removes his hand, placing it on the bed between them. He leans towards Ruth, and places a soft kiss on her mouth. Her eyes fly open, before she closes them again, sighing against his mouth, reaching around his neck to draw him closer. The kiss continues, but it is still a gentle kiss, never quite tipping into passion. When Harry pulls away, Ruth moans. "Don't," she says.
"Don't what?"
"Don't stop. That's unfair."
"I know it is. It's just that I'm ..."
"Teasing me?"
"I prefer to call it … giving you a preview of what we can be like together." He is still lying on his side, his weight on one elbow. She is the most exquisite, engaging, arousing woman he has known, and he can barely believe his luck, but he is incredibly tired, and they need to sleep.
"I suspect … I already knew … what we could be like, which is one of the reasons ..."
".. you have denied us this delightful pleasure?"
Ruth nods, and he can see the regret in her eyes, followed by tears. "Don't, Ruth. We need to be happy .. that we are here together."
She quickly wipes her eyes with the pads of her fingers. "I know that now. It's just that … the time we've wasted .. makes me sad."
Harry allows himself to lie back on his pillow, and he reaches out to turn off the bedside lamp. "As soon as I'm match fit, Ruth ..." He feels her hand slide across under the duvet to grasp his own hand, which he squeezes. "I just don't want you to … turn away from me again. Next time I make a decision – one which is difficult, and results in terrible outcomes – I need you to understand .. even if you don't agree with me."
They both know to what he is referring. They are silent for a long time, and Harry wonders is she already asleep.
"I need you to know," Ruth says quietly after some time, "that even had he not died, I'd still be here now. He and I could not have continued once he knew the truth about me … and I wouldn't have wanted to continue with him. I couldn't have done that to him .. or to us."
They both understand what she is saying. Harry releases his breath in a sigh. He really wants to tell her he loves her, but he suspects she already knows.
Ruth's eyes are closed, and through his hand she feels the tension leave Harry's body. She squeezes his hand, receiving the lightest squeeze in return. She wants to tell him she loves him, but perhaps that can wait until morning. After all, were she to say that, what would follow would be more kisses, and as nice as that might be, Harry needs to sleep. "Goodnight, Harry," she says quietly.
"Sweet dreams," he whispers in reply.
She imagines that from now on, her dreams can never be anything else.
Fin
