Picks up where the last chapter left off.
They sit, side-by-side, on the sofa. Harry starts slowly, choosing his words carefully. He tells her about Zaf and Adam, and holds her when she cries for them. She asks about the others; he tries to avoid going into too much detail but Ruth knows she's not being told the whole story. Eventually, he gives in to her questioning and tells her about Jo being taken. Ros' duplicity is a more difficult subject but he knows he has to explain what happened.
"But she came back for you?" Ruth asks, after a long pause.
"Yes." He waits, wondering if she will say anything else on the matter but she doesn't.
"Do you want some more coffee?" She's on her feet and halfway to the kitchen before he acknowledges the change of subject.
"No, not for me. Do you have anything stronger?" he calls after her. He hates himself for needing the crutch of alcohol to help him confess his sins to her.
She returns with a bottle of whisky and two glasses, pours them both a generous measure and settles herself beside him again.
He takes a large mouthful of his drink, welcoming the familiar burn of the spirit as he swallows it down.
"I've done things, Ruth, things that you may never forgive me for. You may not even understand why I did them." He takes another sip of his whisky. "I wanted revenge for Adam's death. Not just for myself but for the others, too."
Harry finishes his drink, picks up the bottle and refills his glass. Ruth's gaze never leaves him and she is absolutely still; something he finds unnerving. He stands up, walks across the room and stops by the window. He looks out over the street below, only vaguely aware it's started to snow.
"I found out that Arkady Kachimov, the FSB London station chief, was responsible for Adam's death." He turns around to face Ruth. "We lifted him. He thought we were going to interrogate him, keep him as a source of information but I took matters into my own hands. I murdered him. I stood in front of him, looked him in the eye and shot him through the heart."
"You shot him?" There is a slight tremor in her voice when she speaks.
"Yes. In cold blood."
"What else have you done?"
He's surprised at her question and it takes him a few seconds to collect his thoughts. As he tells her about Connie's betrayal, he is briefly sidetracked by explaining who Ben was but skirts the issue of his own, temporary, incarceration in Thames House.
"And then we found out the Russians had set up a huge network of sleepers in the UK. A Russian asset of mine tipped me off that one of the sleepers was about to be activated. The only person who could help us was Connie. We knew she would probably have some kind of insurance policy for when she got found out so we…removed her from the holding centre-"
"Unofficially," Ruth interjects.
"Yes. We made it look like the Russians and upset the FSB quite spectacularly. Turned out they were planning on silencing her before she was transferred to Nemworth. So they came after all of us."
"And?"
"I killed an FSB officer who was following me. I garrotted him."
There is silence as they both look at one another. Harry moves first, turning away from her and looking out of the window again. He drinks his whisky in one go and closes his eyes. He isn't sure what he was trying to achieve by finding Ruth and telling her these things. Regret burns through him. He should have left her alone, left her in her new life. What is lost can never be found.
"I'll go now." He sets his empty glass down on the table.
"Is that it?" Ruth grabs hold of his hand to stop him. "You come here, tell me all that and then think you can just walk away?" She is incredulous, and not a little angry. "Harry?"
"What else can I say?"
"You can tell me why! Why you felt the need to come here and unburden yourself!"
"I'm not sure...I suppose I wanted you to know the truth, about me. About what I'm capable of."
She laughs, a bitter, humourless sound. Harry realises, somewhat ironically, that he finds her anger far more terrifying than anything else he's been through over the last few months.
"I'm sorry," he offers, helplessly. "I shouldn't have come here. I've no right to turn up, out of the blue, and upset you."
There is something in his words, in his expression, and it dissipates her rage. She realises there are things he hasn't told her, and probably never will. He has been through some unspeakable horror; she can see it in his face but he won't use it to get her sympathy.
"Where will you go?" Her voice is calmer.
"I, uh, I don't know. I'll find a hotel for the night and then head back to London in the morning."
"For God's sake, Harry, it's Christmas. You won't find anywhere to stay and every flight, train and ferry will be fully booked."
"I'll find something." He heads into the hallway and takes his coat from the hook by the door. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
"I always worry about you."
Her words stop him in his tracks and he stares at her.
"Every day I wonder how you are, whether you're putting yourself in danger. Every day, Harry."
"You shouldn't." His voice is so quiet she can barely hear him.
"Why not?"
He doesn't reply straight away, turning his attention to zipping up his jacket. "I'm not worth it, Ruth. I never was."
"You know you're worth something to me." She moves closer to him. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."
The words are honest, heartfelt, and he knows it.
"Stay," Ruth continues, "get some rest and decide what you want to do in the morning."
He nods his agreement.
She finds him blankets, a pillow from her own bed, and shows him where the bathroom is. With the domestic arrangements sorted out, they stand in the middle of her living room, awkwardness enveloping them.
"Thank you," Harry says, politely, breaking the silence.
Ruth smiles at him. "You'll be fine in here. The sofa's quite comfortable and the heating will be on for a bit longer so you should be warm enough." She starts to retreat from the room. "Night," she calls, softly, from the doorway.
After she closes the door, Harry sits down, wearily. Maybe tonight he will sleep.
More after Christmas