A/N: SO sorry for the fact that this update seemed to have come to you via some sort of internet equivalent of the Himalayas – I did mean to post it just after 'Alone and Lonely', but stuff happened. Anyways, this chapter now, and (as I am miserably ill (yes on the weekend!!!!) with the world's most evilest cold, and therefore have nothing to distract me today) next chapter later today, or tomorrow.
Yes, next chapter…this was going to be the last chapter, but after reading your feedback – particularly your requests for a happy conclusion – I did a rewrite. There; audience intervention works – this was gonna have a bitch of an ending originally. :)
This chapter, then one or two more (depending on how things pan out).
Adam does not shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot as he regards Harry across the desk. It is one of the things that he has always liked about the younger officer – he doesn't show any signs of intimidation. Ever.
"You've been like a bear with a sore head all week, Harry."
The tone of the reply is robotic. "Sorry. Meeting with Juliet. Impossible deadlines. You know how it is."
Adam raises his eyebrows. "Okay, so we've covered the line that I'm spinning to the others by way of explanation."
"I don't know what you mean."
Before, his voice would have been menacing, terrifying. Or even deceptively pleasant – like the lure of a black widow. Now, it is empty.
"You aren't in a bad mood because of Juliet."
"Then pray tell, Adam" snaps Harry, doing a pretty good impression of impatience, "Just what do you think is the problem – in your infinite wisdom?"
Adam isn't fooled by the outburst, and once more demonstrates his aversion to going all around the houses.
"You're hollow, Harry. Dead. Suddenly, there's nothing in you but rage and I don't know why that is. What worries me though, is how I can recognize it, and what that means for you."
They stare coldly at one another for a long while, the stench of testosterone almost unbearable. Eventually, Harry speaks.
"Ruth's dead."
Somehow, Adam knows. Knows as soon as the words leave his superior's mouth. But he doesn't want to know. He wants to delay the inevitable.
"Yeah, I know, Harry, but –"
"No, Adam, you don't know. Ruth's dead."
For a moment, Adam wants to sink to the floor, and weep for his friend, and he thinks that, if he were with anyone else, he might. But this is Harry – it would feel almost disrespectful to cry for Ruth in his presence. Harry and Ruth, Harry and Ruth, Harry and Ruth – they predated him, even.
"They found a body?" he gasps eventually.
"No. She was captured, tortured, and executed, and they let her leave me a voicemail message before they killed her."
Adam doesn't know what to say. They both know, from his own history, that what Harry really wants to hear – 'it gets better without it getting worse' – would be a lie.
*
That night, Harry sits on his sofa, Fidget and Nameless curled in his lap like Yin and Yang, Scarlet stretched out on the seat beside him.
This scene would not be an uncommon one, particularly not in the time following Ruth's abrupt departure all those months – no, years; he corrects himself – ago, but today it is markedly different. Today, Adam is with him also, his slim frame dwarfed by the other, larger sofa that he reclines on.
Both men clutch generous measures of their preferred poison in heavy glass tumblers, but neither drinks. They both have the same reason – one sip would lead to the inevitable quest to reach the bottom of the bottle in search of oblivion. Adam knows from past experience that this is not the answer, and does not want to be too ashamed to kiss his son goodnight when he checks on him later, upon his return home.
Harry knows that she would be disappointed in him.
"I wasn't particularly nice to her when she first started," he notes eventually, in a tone that would seem almost casual were it not for his voice cracking halfway through.
Adam looks up, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. "She was the only one who was particularly nice to me when I first started."
Harry regards him quizzically, silently inviting him to elaborate.
"Oh, you know how it is, Harry. There was me, waltzing in from six, replacing the man they'd followed loyally for years – they thought I was an arrogant prick."
Harry smirks. "Well, you could be most of the time."
"Yeah, thanks for that, Harry," replies Adam, in mock offense.
And suddenly, Harry's heart lifts a little, because she would approve of this. So very much.
He realises that Adam is talking again.
"–But she was lovely. I mean, a little trouble remembering my name…" He grins to himself at the private memory. "…but apart from that. Nah, she really did try her best to welcome me."
"Funny. She was as loyal to Tom as everyone else was," Harry muses. Except when I asked her to pick me over him, he adds silently. She picked me then, didn't she?
Adam looks solemn again. "Yeah. But that was the thing about Ruth, wasn't it? She didn't make snap judgments about people – she treated them all like individuals."
Harry thinks about how funny it is that now she is dead, people are making the same observations about her extraordinary character that he has always made.
Adam looks delicately at his glass, pretending not to notice when the older man covers his eyes with his hand, and begins to weep.
*
*
Much later, long after Adam has gone, and Harry has retreated to his bed, the phone rings. And for the first time in over twenty years, Harry ignores it. He knows that the answering machine downstairs will take a message, and if it's that bloody urgent, someone can call his mobile.
*
*
Voicemail, she notes. Again.
There is more than a hint of black amusement to this thought, more than a hint of indignant disbelief.
She regards the full moon hanging above her, as though asking for advice. She even looks about at the men that surround her, stamping their feet against the icy cold wind that whips about the docks. She looks, despite the fact that they have no way of hearing what she can hear. No way of knowing that, once more, he isn't there to hear her.
Eventually, feeling reckless, she decides to take the robotic voice up on its offer, and records the second most difficult message of her life.
"Hello, Harry. It's me…
…Ruth."