Almost eight months later
"Welcome home, Malcolm," she smiles as she hugs him.
"Thank you, Ruth," he replies. "It's good to be back. How have you been?"
"Fine," she replies, leading him through to the kitchen. "You know, busy."
"I'll bet," he smiles. "How are things?"
"Better," she says. "Tea?" He nods as she adds, "What about you? Tell me about your travels."
"Later," he replies, "first, tell me how much better."
"On a scale of one to ten?" she asks, her eyes alight with mischief.
"If you like," he smiles.
"Well," she replies thoughtfully, "if before I was at a one, now I'm probably at five or six most of the time."
He nods slowly. "That is better," he agrees. There is a pause while they sit down with their tea and they each reach for a biscuit and munch on it. "I was so sorry to hear about Jo," he murmurs eventually.
"Poor Jo," she sighs. "She was too young to die. I really miss her. When I decided to go back, I thought, 'At least I'll have Jo there, someone I know, someone from before I left, someone I care about, a friend to talk to.' Stupid to think that after everything that's happened. I should have know it wouldn't last... Some days, I'm not sure I made the right choice in going back."
He nods and dares to ask, "And Harry?"
She sighs. "Harry's Harry," she volunteers.
"Are things between you... better?"
"Yes," she nods. "I know it's not his fault, Malcolm. We're fine. It's nice to be back working with him; we always worked well together." She pauses, thinking for a few moments and then adding, "I realized something a little while ago. I realized that, even if George hadn't died, I would have lost him anyway, him and Nico. I don't think he would have been able to forgive me for the lies I told him about my past, Malcolm. He was a good, honourable man who valued honesty very highly. I don't believe he would have been able to move past that."
He nods sadly, "I'm sorry, Ruth."
"Me too," she sighs, "me too. We had a good life; we were happy. And I miss that so much... the companionship, the intimacy, the laughter, the joy. I hadn't had that in so long, Malcolm. Not since my childhood really. And though I didn't feel as strongly for him, for George, as I do for..." She stops herself just in time and glances at him swiftly, noting with relief that he's taking a sip of tea and seems to not have noticed what she almost let slip. Then she continues speaking swiftly to avoid arousing his suspicions. "We were content together and I felt that I belonged. It was a good feeling."
"And now?" he asks softly.
"Now there's just work again," she sighs. "I'm back to square one, back to being a lonely, workaholic, crazy, cat lady."
He chuckles softly. "Harry gave you back your cats then," he smiles.
"Yes," she nods. "I was very surprised that he'd taken such good care of them. I mean, I know I asked him to look after them, but I'd assumed that he would have found homes for them or something..." She tails off, reluctant to reveal how touched she'd been that he'd remembered and kept his promise to adopt them.
"Why would that surprise you, Ruth?" he asks gently. "He gave you his word that he would adopt them."
"Yes, but that was years ago, Malcolm," she explains, "and he's not really a cat person."
"They reminded him of you," he says simply, "and he loves you. He always has."
"Malcolm, please," she protests.
"No, Ruth," she shakes his head. "I'm not trying to interfere between the two of you here, but as he's not about to tell you and you seem to doubt it, I feel it's my duty to let you know. We used to talk from time to time while you were away, and I can assure you that his love for you never wavered or diminished."
"Malcolm," she interrupts desperately, not wanting to hear this now, feeling so guilty that she'd betrayed him with George.
"I'm sorry," he says as if able to read her thoughts, "I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable and no one can blame you for moving on, Ruth. You thought you'd never come back; we all did. I just don't want you to doubt the strength of his feelings. I feel... a little guilty to be honest about before, talking to you about your dinner date and embarrassing you. I was-"
"It's fine, Malcolm," she reassures him quickly. "Really, it wasn't your fault. It was me. I was... insecure, scared. I'd have backed out anyway, I think. It was all too much, my feelings... and his... I was... overwhelmed."
He nods silently, reaching for another biscuit. "And now?" he dares to ask.
"Everything's different now," she sighs.
"Your feelings aren't," he points out gently, "neither yours, nor his."
"So much has happened, Malcolm," she replies thoughtfully, not even bothering to deny her love for Harry. "He and I have seen things, done things that any normal person..." She tails off and falls silent for a few moments before continuing. "And then there's George and Nico and so much that has remained unsaid... and our... feelings are intertwined with our work, with the death and the suffering, and I can't unpick it all... And besides, he's so... repressed." She sighs and turns to look at him. "Am I making any sense?"
"Some," he nods. "You said before that George was very persistent, didn't take no for an answer, he wooed you and courted you, brought you flowers, coffee, kept asking until you gave in and said yes."
"He did," she agrees, surprised that he's remembered that. "He never made me feel uncomfortable; he just never gave up, but Harry..." She stops herself quickly.
"He's your commanding officer, Ruth," he replies simply. "If he had, he would have been guilty of sexual harassment."
"You're right," she sighs, "and perhaps I would have felt it as such before, but now..." She shakes her head not daring to go any further. How can she admit that the thing she misses most about George is the way he made her feel?... Beautiful, special, loved, desired. No other man had ever made her feel like that, not even Harry. Perhaps he would have if she hadn't been so quick to turn down his second invitation to dinner, but the bottom line is that, with George, she'd discovered that she needs that, just like any other woman; she needs to feel wanted, loved and especially desired. And Harry has failed dismally on that last front especially. She knows he still has feelings for her, but lately she's become increasingly convinced that he's not in love with her, but an image of her, an ideal that's based on what she was like before she left, but whose good qualities have been blown completely out of proportion to the point where this superlative Ruth of his fantasies bares very little resemblance to the real, live, flesh and blood woman that she is now, one who is far from perfect, who is a little damaged and who has all the normal drives and desires of an almost forty-year-old woman. She's actually convinced now that this love that he feels for her, or the perfect Ruth he's placed up on a pedestal, is platonic, chaste and wholly without passion, and she knows that, even if they could get past everything else, she could never be with Harry without that, without having the passion she feels for him reciprocated. But at least, they still have work, and at work, things are going well, even better than they've ever been between them, and she's very happy with the level of intimacy they share on that plane. She's still his right hand woman, still the most trusted member of his team, still his confidant.
They both remain silent for several moments as these thoughts flit through her mind until she pushes them resolutely aside and says brightly, "Anyway, enough about me, Malcolm. Tell me a little about your travels. Where did you go?"
So he proceeds to talk about what he's seen travelling around Europe and they compare notes over a second cup of tea, happily whiling away an hour more of this quiet Sunday afternoon.
