This chapter is all about Harry POV. I'm keeping with the serie, just giving him an internal dialogue. Harry has always been driven by his guilt and his failures, keeping his emotions from showing. How far could they take him?

Chapter 2

I didn't bother calling in. They know the reason I'm not on the Grid. I don't want to see the contempt on their faces. They know I didn't protect her. They don't know she's dead, they don't know what I did this morning. This morning I killed her. No way around it, I sealed her death.

At first, I felt hollow, like all the world's happiness had suddenly vanished, like the sun would never shine again. All the small details that make one's step lighter, one's lips spread in a smile, they were all gone. Something in me was broken, shattered. I feel all over the place… scattered to the winds.

I had to find Ruth. Ironically, I left her to go looking for her. I couldn't go through her death without her.

Right after I killed her, I called and ordered her name to be added on the Memorial Wall. How dare they refuse? I didn't care there was no death certificate yet. I'm Sir Harry Pearce, I pushed my weight around and got what I wanted and I wanted very much for everyone to know that she sacrificed her life protecting others… even if it was protecting me, someone unworthy of her sacrifice. In the end I screamed at them that if she was alive I'd be more than happy to pay for a new panel without her name on it. I knew I wouldn't have to, she was dead. I killed her.

Afterwards, I came out of the hospital, got in my car and started driving... aimlessly. I drove for about an hour when I realized I was on my way to Suffolk, to the house she pictured us living in.

Would I find her there?

Still driving, I had a goal now, a destination. That's all I needed, one simple objective busying my brain which was silenced by emotions rattling my body and my soul. I stopped at a café along the road, checked the internet and found the ad for a house with a green paint peeling door, looked up the real-estate agent and requested a viewing for later that morning and I kept on driving... Would I find her, I needed her... so much.

I get to the place and walk up the street leading to the house. Beautiful alley, lined with tall trees protecting me from the sun. How can it be sunny when she's dead? Didn't the sun know not to shine, that it is supposed to mourn the loss of an exceptional being. It should be raining, heavy cold rain. That would fit the way I feel, yet I'm standing here, the sun is shining and I want to cry.

Can't go on, must go on.

I look at the house and pain rushes through my body. She wanted that house for us. I can picture myself getting home to her opening the door, welcoming me with a smile. I'd walk up to her and she would gently kiss me and I would feel her love for me. The real estate agent arrives. It takes all I have to put one foot in front of the other and go in, but I do because I'm still looking for her.

The house is full of light. I can picture Ruth cooking, laughing and sitting across from me, having tea. In all my thoughts… she's smiling, her delightfully crooked and shy smile. God I miss her. I feel a gaping hole in me… in my body… in my heart and in my soul.

Where is the rain? I need it to rain. I can't stand the light.

The house is perfect, just like she described it. I hear her voice asking me to live in that house with her, the words she said to me only five days ago. My God, there's a pain in my chest that won't stop killing me slowly. I need to get out. I turn around and leave the house. I'm not ready to find her. Not ready to morn her. I get back to my car, sit behind the wheel and start driving back to London.

I'm so lost. I don't know what to do. I'm just all over the place. The Home Secretary's calls me, I don't answer, I just listen. How am I supposed to know what I want to do, where I want to go… what I want to be? All I know is my grief, the gut wrenching pain of losing her, the void her death has left behind. I also know what could have been…a life with her. The joy I had felt when she asked me to leave the service with her. I couldn't explain but it was bliss wrap in euphoria served on a bed of delight. I knew then I was going to see my dream come true, to be with her in every way possible. Merely minutes later my world crashed and she died in my arms for the first time. My heart stopped, my mask fell and the raw emotion of my sorrow came to the surface.

Alone in my car, I feel the overwhelming need to talk. I need to tell someone about her, the woman whom I loved. She is dead, I have killed her.

Without much thought, I dial Catherine's phone number. My mind isn't all there; I can't understand why I'm calling my daughter… I just feel the need to. It rings a few times before she picks up.

"Catherine." my voice sounds hoarse to my ears, don't know why, I haven't shed a tear for her yet… not since I killed her.

As soon as she hears me say her name, Catherine knows something is horribly wrong. "Dad?" Her voice is hesitant and careful.

I simply answer not really caring about the words. "I need you Catherine. Can you come to the house? I… I… really need to talk to you. Can I see you please?"

Who is talking? It can't be me. Harry Pearce doesn't need anyone… I needed her before but now that she's gone from my life, I don't need anyone anymore.

"Dad… I'll be there in 15." After everything I did… or rather didn't do, she doesn't hesitate in answering my plea. I don't deserve her, don't deserve anyone.

"Actually, I'm about an hour and a half from London. Will you be there when I arrive? I don't want to be alone."

My words shocked Catherine into silence. I know what she's thinking. Her father, to her knowledge, had never ask anyone for help, had never wanted not to be left alone but it isn't me speaking, it's the grief and it wants someone else to talk to. It won't talk to me. It knows who I am… what I did.

"I will Dad. I will be there." She hesitates a little before asking. "Do you want me to stay on the line while you drive back?"

"Thank you, Sweetheart, I'll be fine. I need to focus on the driving. I'm not all there and…" I take a deep breath before adding. "Thank you so much Catherine. For being… for me... I don't..."

"It's ok Dad, just be careful and get home. Ok."

"Yes… ok, I will see you then."

"Bye Dad" Her voice is soft and tender. Has she ever talked to me in that sweet tone of voice? I want to tell her not to worry that I'll be fine but she hung up already.

I hang up. I need to talk about Ruth. I never had before, never said how much I love her. It was just one of my many secrets but I can't let her die as one. Someone has to know who she was, what she meant to me. It is all bottled up inside and it is fighting to come out... to explode.

I snap out of my thoughts not knowing where I am. I'm on my street, my house, surprised to find myself back at home. I don't remember the last hour or so. I'm actually stunned that I didn't get into an accident and killed myself. Strangely, the thought is not so discomforting. Would I be with her if I did? Can I believe in an afterlife when I don't believe in God? Can my love for her supersede my faith or lack thereof?

I park the car and get out. I look up and stop dead standing with the door still open. Catherine and Graham are sitting on the stairs to my door. Both my children are here… for me. I have been an absent father, I've missed so many of their important days but here they are, now, for me. I feel humble and guilty, proud and sad… just a little more scattered.

Graham is here. My son, the son I haven't seen in years is here for me. I don't deserve them. I can't move, I'm paralysed with regrets, guilt and such a feeling of worthlessness. The pain of it all is killing me. How much can a heart take before it stops?

I close the door, I start walking to the front of the car to make my way to them but then I stop as I feel tears running down my face. What's wrong with me?

Graham looks at his sister totally shocked. Catherine grabs her brother's hand and walks up to their father. When she reaches Harry, she folds her arms in his. Looking at Graham, her eyes telling him to take the other arm, they walk slowly up to the door, Harry weighing heavily on his children oblivious to their silent dialogue.

They had never seen their father cry… never. What had happened? Catherine in a gentle voice whispers to him, trying to soothe him.

"It's ok Dad. We're here, it will be ok. We'll get you inside to a good cup of tea. Sweet tea, it will make you feel better. A cup of sweet tea, that's what you need."

No… don't say… Not these words.

Sweet tea, that's what you need. Once upon a time, I said these very words to Ruth. If only I had taken her more seriously, I might have been able to protect her. We might have come together years earlier. How different would our lives be? She might not have died. I could be coming home to her at this moment, to my home… to her… to our life together.

Graham meets his sister's eyes over their father, his body bent as if in pain. He's sobbing now, ravaging sobs wrecking his body. He looks physically unarmed but the pain is evident. What could be so terrible to break Harry Pearce?

As they step inside the house, Harry punches in the number into the security system… her birth date, his beloved birth date.

I have to sit down, I can't stand. I'm dying… I feel like I'm dying. Can someone die of grief?

The three of them move to the living room, they sit down and he starts start talking. No 'how are you', no 'thank you for being here', he starts talking about Ruth. He can't explain it. It's like a valve just open and Harry can't turn it off again. He talks nonstop and his children listen.

I have to tell them how much she meant to me. About the first day she came in the meeting room and the not remotely funny joke I made. How enchanting she was, like a breath of fresh air in my life. How utterly brilliant she was. I have to express how my feelings changed over time. I need to do so as if my life depended on it. Ruth deserves it… every words a testimony to what an incredible human being she was. How can I not speak how she sacrificed herself for me to keep on fighting? How can I explain our kiss on the dock; my most prized memory and how sad I was during her years in exile? Can I tell them my guilt over George's death, how she loss Nico? About when I kissed her before being taken by the CIA; my second most prized memory of us. To feel her lips, a taste of heaven I would never taste again. She lost her life to protect me.

I hold nothing back… the pain I have inflicted upon her and how in the end she still wanted to be with me, still loved me. I tell them how she asked me to leave the Service to be with her and how thrilled and grateful I was at having a life with her. I sob again reliving the moment she was stabbed and how she told me about the things we couldn't have. I described the house I visited that morning, how wonderful our life could have been and how I couldn't stay.

They just listen to him; both children overcome by the words and the emotions pouring out of their father… the man they thought didn't have a heart. Sometimes when tears are too powerful to allow for words, their hands run down his back, their arms holding him. Graham put glasses after glasses of water in his hand as if to offset all the tears he sheds and a way for him to feel useful.

I'm an emotional mess. It's like emotions are crawling right under my skin wanting to come out.

The children are lost to what they need to do. Their father, the formidable Harry Pearce, the man they hated as teenagers, despised as adults, is tormented with sorrow, his humanity lashing out. The realisations of his vulnerability making them feel the guilt of having crossed him out of their lives so lightly, not giving their father a second thought for years. It is obvious that their father wasn't without a heart. It was the opposite; his emotions ran deep. He was just very good at hiding them... hidden not unfelt. The three of them stay mashed on the sofa for hours, hurting and healing.

Still he talks and talks and talks some more… about Ruth, about his children… them, how he failed them… her. He admits not having any control over himself, over how he feels, but he doesn't admit not knowing what to do with all he's feeling.

It's the first time, I ever open up and really talked to my children or anyone for that matter. First time showing them the man I was, the one I am now… They move a little closer to me, holding me… hugging me closely, trying to give me the comfort I don't deserve. I'm terrified at how good it feels. They talk softly as if I am a fragile child. It feels like a bond is being created between the three of us. Could grief do that? Could it be that trusting them with my feelings made things better with them? Is it what they wanted all along, my trust in showing them who I really am?

That night, in a nice house, on a rather lumpy sofa, the past is forgotten temporarily. For that moment in time, resentments are buried. They will resurface eventually, but now isn't the time. They are in the eye of the tornado from a bottomless pit of desolation. The three of them find each other.

It's late by the time, at the insistence of their father, the children leave, promising to be back the following day.

I'm alone now. All alone. I'll be alone for the rest of my life, without Ruth. God… the walls are closing on me, my mind enfolded in darkness. All I feel is emptiness… my empty house, my empty life. I feel hollow as if my heart has been pulled out of my chest and I'm left empty, unfeeling and yet wrapped in immeasurable pain. I can't breathe. I need to get out of here. I can't, I just can't stay.

"Scarlet… Walk"

A man walking his dog. A man who doesn't look any different than thousands of other men walking to the park with their dogs. A normal and familiar thing to do. Reaching a bench at the edge of the park, he sits down under the shadow of trees, looking at his dog running around the park. He's hardly worthy of notice and he's unmindful of his surrounding or his dog. For Harry nothing is left but torment. No feelings of the cold going through his coat, deadening his body to match his heart. After minutes or maybe hours of running everywhere in the park, a shivering Scarlett jumps on the bench and pushed the hand of her master who's been sitting there… motionless.

"Poor girl, you're freezing. Let's go home."

I use to feel joy in these words. Going home, going to work, going anywhere. It didn't matter I knew she was there somewhere… now it's all the same to me.

He goes through the motion almost mechanically. The man and his dog walk back to a nice normal house and enter it. He locks the door, sets the alarm, takes off his coat and climbs the stairs to his bedroom.

I'm exhausted, cold and weary. I can't think and I don't want to feel anymore. I need to lie down and get into bed. I'm so tired… I want the pain to stop.

He lies on top of the duvet without undressing. He knows he won't sleep.

I haven't slept since she was stabbed… If I do the nightmares will wake me. What's the point? I don't want to sleep. While I'm awake lying here I know she will come to me. Ruth's face is all I see when I close my eyes. There is no escaping her face… I don't want to. I need every single memory I have of her. Every smile, every touch and every words; they are rocking my mind and stabbing at my soul.

God… 5 am, that's enough. I feel like I'm drowning in the depth of own dejection, may as well get up. I need to change, fresh suit, a shirt and a tie. Would she like this tie with that shirt?

Of course she wouldn't… I killed her.

Work, I need to go to work, I always find solace in my work, always have before. I'm in my dressing gown, did I shower yet? I missed that. Why am I facing the mirror? Oh! I need to shave.

Looking at his reflection he feels something swell inside, taking over. In the last 5 days, all he felt was grief, sadness and sorrow and every variation that tormented him. Now looking in the mirror, anger and guilt show up with a vengeance.

"Who are you? You're the man who killed her. That's who you are. The man who didn't protect her. Why didn't you move in front of her? Why didn't you push her out of the way? You should have known it was going to happen. Why didn't you give your sorry life for hers? Such a coward, you'd let a woman die for you. What a waste… and you're to blame."

What are these red dots in the sink? Where does the blood come from? Why is my hand bleeding? Why is the mirror broken into pieces? Did I do that? Did I hit the mirror? Who is the voice in my head?

"You're so pathetic Pearce, it's risible. You are useless, contemptible, you are pathetic. Look at yourself. Look Harry… look closely… carefully. What do you see? Pity? Shame? Guilt? Yes guilt, that's the one. You are guilty of her death."

Is this really him? The image the broken mirror sends back is fragmented, such a metaphor for who he is. He feels somewhat calmer.

I'm falling… I want to just give up.

"That's it Harry, fall into the abyss. Let go. See who you really are. You've never been a complete man, only facets put together under a mask. You know the mask Harry. The one you've been hiding behind for most of your life; the one that kept her from really knowing you... from loving the real Harry. Would she have loved the real Harry? Could she have?"

What's happening to me… Am I going crazy? I don't even know who I am anymore… I don't know who I'll be without her.

"Good boy Harry. Put it up; don't let anyone see how much you're bleeding inside. Don't let them see that you want to die. No point in that Harry. Just set the mask, make it strong and thick, it has to hide all you feel. Yes, just like that, put the mask on."

Yes… I'm so glad. The mask is up. No signs of turmoil showing on my face, the mask securely in place. Now razor in hand and start shaving Harry, make yourself look the part. That's me now, dead inside but closely shaved. Harry Pearce 101.

What happened? I'm dress and don't remember doing it. How much time have I lost? Who cares? I certainly don't. Time I lost is time spent away from feeling so much. I'm suitably dressed and going through the motion like this was any other morning… just a little slower.

I'm in the kitchen, I feel like throwing up. I take out a cup and saucer. God no! Why did I grab that cup? The few times she came over that's the cup I gave her. That's her cup. Her lips touched that cup. I don't deserve to drink from her cup. 6:30. I need to call Mike and sit down to wait for my drive to the office. My thoughts and my body are mercilessly rebelling, like they are trying to destroy me from inside out. The urge to vomit is overwhelming.

"You monster… you killed her. You don't deserve to live. Why don't you just off yourself. You'd do the world a favour. You killed her! Your fault. You lost her Harry, you didn't protect her and you lost her. You are nothing but a feeble old man. Settle this Harry. Her life for your life."