They make their way to a pub that Harry chooses. It's one of his favourites, old, with a pleasant atmosphere, not large enough for someone to hide in the crowd, or small enough for him to stand out. He has a list of pubs and bars that he visits where he can maintain his anonymity. He makes sure that his visits are irregular and it's been a while since he's been here.
They walk side by side in silence, each lost in their thoughts and worries about how to proceed from here. Harry's terrified that he will do or say the wrong thing and send her running for the hills again. He tries to reason with himself, remembering that it was Ruth who asked him out, that he has already told her what he would like from their relationship, and that after all this time, hopefully, she's less likely to bolt at the first sign of difficulty. Plus he's learned a lot about Ruth since their last date, and he'll make sure that he maintains their privacy at all costs. That's another reason why he chose this pub; he's only ever encountered someone who knows him here once, and that was more than three years ago. He feels slightly calmer and in control when they reach their destination.
Ruth is slightly surprised and dazed at her daring in asking Harry out on a date. Of course, she knows that she had no other option if she wants to have a relationship with him, but still she feels uncomfortable being so forward. She tries to calm herself by remembering that this is hardly the first date she's been on, and that she's very capable of dealing with this situation in a calm, mature manner. The fact that it's Harry she's with should fill her with joy, not this ridiculous anxiety and fear of doing or saying something wrong. She promises herself that, no matter what happens, she won't run. After all, she's with Harry, the man she trusts above all others.
They reach the pub and he holds the door for her. She steps through it, smiling timidly as she glances up at his face though she doesn't quite dare meet his eye. "Thanks," she murmurs and he nods before following her into the building.
Once inside, Harry leads them to one of his favourite tables in the back room.
"This okay?" he asks and she nods before beginning to remove her coat. Harry steps behind her, and helping her take it off, he drapes it over the back of her chair before pulling it out for her. She takes the seat and murmurs her thanks again. Harry removes his jacket and gloves and sits down on her left. His seat affords him a good view of the only doorway leading into the room and also the fire exit, which is not far from them should a quick exit become necessary.
"What can I get you?" he asks quietly.
"I think I'll have a dry Martini, please," she replies with a little half smile.
He raises his eyebrows at that and is tempted to make a James Bond joke, but he thinks better of it and instead just nods and gets up, going to the bar in the next room. Ruth takes the time he's away to look around in an attempt to settle her nerves. The pub really is lovely. The walls are covered in wood panelling and the lighting is soft, making for a quiet, private atmosphere. There are a couple of windows on the wall opposite the door, away from where she's sitting. The ceiling is low and the wood tables and upholstered stools and chairs fit perfectly with the rest of the décor. It makes Ruth smile; she loves old pubs.
Soon she senses Harry watching her and turns her head towards the door. He's standing in the doorway with their drinks and immediately moves forward towards their table. There are several other people in the room, which makes for a nice babble of conversation in the background, making it easier to have some privacy. Harry places her drink in front of her and takes his seat, gently putting his whisky down on the table.
"Thank you," she smiles.
"My pleasure," he replies quietly.
They're silent for a moment, both of them unsure of what to say next. Eventually Ruth murmurs, "This is a nice place. I haven't been here before."
Harry nods and replies, "I like it. It's one of the best on my list."
She smiles and shakes her head as she looks down at her drink, saying, "I should have known you'd have a list. How many are on it?"
"Probably about two dozen," he answers after a moment, unsure of how to take her comment. "I daren't frequent the same place very often," he explains.
Ruth nods and says, "This reminds me of a place in Oxford I used to like."
"The Bear Inn?" he asks, and she nods in surprise before she remembers that he spent his student years there too. "It was my favourite pub back in the day. They had the best cheap beer and best full English breakfast," he adds.
Ruth smiles and replies, "It was my favourite too though I was never a big fan of beer, and I don't recall ever having breakfast in a pub."
He looks at her in surprise as he realises that she's teasing him. She blushes and looks down at her drink again, making him smile at her embarrassment.
"The proprietor, Gwen, was an excellent cook though," she continues quickly. "The food was always good."
"Gwen," Harry says softly as a small, fond smile appears on his lips. "I remember her. She was excellent." Ruth raises her eyebrows at his tone, and he adds hastily, "I mean, she was always generous, funny and an excellent cook. All the students loved her."
Ruth looks down to hide a smile, and suddenly remembering something, her head snaps back up and she says, "You're not the Harry, are you?" Harry looks confused and Ruth elaborates with a smile, "When I was at Oxford, Gwen loved to tell stories about student escapades over the years, and her favourite one involved a student called Harry who managed to convince all the girls in the pub that day to let him kiss them so that he could win a bet." Harry looks down at his drink uncomfortably as Ruth continues, "And apparently he was so good at it that some of them even tried to pretend that he hadn't kissed them yet, so that they could get another one." Ruth's sure that Harry's the hero of this story because, although when he looks up his face is impassive as usual, his ears have turned pink, and she can't resist adding, "I rather got the impression that Gwen was still half in love with this Harry as she always lamented that her husband had been present at the time and she couldn't take full advantage of the situation."
Ruth looks at him enquiringly, and though he remains silent for a few moments, eventually he clears his throat and murmurs, "I... um... was somewhat..."
"Of a lady's man?" she asks mischievously.
He realises that she's teasing him again and finds that he likes this hitherto unseen side of Ruth. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly as he replies, "I was going to say reckless, but your word fits too."
She smiles and then suddenly her eyes widen, and looking swiftly down at her drink, she whispers, "Oh, God," and shakes her head at herself. Every time she'd heard Gwen's story, she'd always thought that she would never have succumbed to the charms of this Harry, but would have refused to kiss him. It wasn't the kind of thing she did. Now, however, it suddenly occurs to her that she almost certainly would have fallen for him. In fact, she probably sealed her fate when she was in her twenties and declared that she would never kiss such a man as Harry, so inevitably, fifteen years later, she fell in love with him instead.
"What?" Harry asks quickly and with a little concern.
"Nothing," she murmurs and blushes scarlet.
"There's definitely something, Ruth," he insists quietly.
"I... um.. it's nothing really," she replies and adds hastily, "What shall we drink to?"
He studies her for a moment and decides to let it go, so picking up his glass, he replies, "Old friends and second chances."
"Old friends and second chances," she repeats, and they clink their glasses together before taking a sip of their drinks.
They fall silent again, unsure of what to talk about next. Fortunately, Harry thinks to ask her about her choir, and they happily begin a discussion on singing and music that lasts for some time. By the time they've exhausted the topic, their glasses are empty.
"Another?" Harry asks nodding at her glass.
"Yes, please," she smiles, "but I'll get them."
"You most certainly will not," Harry replies in the no-nonsense voice that he uses so often on the Grid as he rises from the table.
"That's a rather sexist attitude, wouldn't you say?" Ruth says in a serious tone as she frowns at him.
Harry looks at her in surprise, but it only takes him a moment to figure out that she's teasing him again. "Quite possibly," he replies with a small smile, "but after all, I am a knight of the realm, Ruth, and it is my duty to act in an appropriately manly fashion."
Ruth laughs at his retort, and his smile broadens. It's been so long since he's heard her laugh, and it warms his heart to hear it. Ruth's laughter subsides slowly to be replaced by a warm smile as she looks into his twinkling eyes. He looks almost boyish when he smiles like that, she thinks and her stomach does a little flip. Half of her wishes that he would reach down and kiss her, while the other half is scared that he might actually do it. His gaze flicks to her lips briefly before he brings it back up to her eyes, and her pulse quickens. He can see the fear in her eyes and also something else, which he thinks might be desire but he can't be sure, so he turns away to get their drinks.
Ruth feels the disappointment wash over her, and she chastises herself for her stupidity. Why is it that physical contact with Harry scares her so much? So what if she feels a hundred times more for him then she's ever felt for any other man she's dated? Surely, that's a good thing. She can't keep doing this to herself and to him. No wonder he finds it so difficult to make the first move. She must be driving him crazy with all the mixed signals she keeps giving him. She'll try her hardest to stop doing that, she decides, and if Harry doesn't kiss her tonight, then she'll have to do it. All she has to do is imagine that this is the last night they will ever spend together and that tomorrow she'll have to leave him forever; it worked last time.
"Here you are," Harry says, braking into her thoughts.
"Thanks," she replies and takes a sip of her drink.
"I ordered us some sandwiches," he adds as he sits down. "A BLT and a Tuna-Mayo. Is that okay? I thought you might be hungry."
"Yes," she smiles. "Thank you. That was thoughtful of you."
He nods and brings his drink to his lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid. He's removed his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and he looks so very sexy that it takes her a little while to recover from the sight. She watches the muscles of his forearm move as he lowers the glass back to the table, her mind conjuring up images of his hands running sensually across her skin, and when he brings his drink up to his lips again and her eyes follow the motion of his arm, she suddenly realises that she's been staring at his bare skin for quite some time. She blushes and quickly lifts her eyes to his to see if he's noticed.
He's noticed. In fact, he's watching her intently, his warm, hazel eyes twinkling at her with pleasure, hope and just a little bit of mischief, and it makes her blush deepen. She drops her eyes back down to her drink for a moment, and then taking a deep breath, she looks back up and begins a discussion on books, keen to distract herself from his state of undress, which is playing havoc with her senses. It's quite a heated discussion, and they both enjoy the clashing of intellects and good-natured argument that it provokes.
Their food arrives, and after Ruth chooses the Tuna sandwich, they both tuck in hungrily as they suddenly realise that they haven't had anything to eat in a while. They finish their drinks and have another, turning the conversation to places they've visited in Britain. Harry's travel has been much more extensive that Ruth's, but his has been more a result of business trips rather than an exploration of the history and character of the places. Ruth's many questions on the places Harry's visited are frequently met with shrugs from him, and noting her frustration at his lack of information to offer, he eventually suggests with a mischievous smile that she consult a book or a website. She glares at him in response and he chuckles.
Ruth is feeling slightly drunk by now, but Harry's used to this quantity of alcohol and is merely feeling relaxed. A group of rowdy students enter the room and draw their attention for a moment. Ruth studies them quietly as they make their way to the table in the corner, talking and laughing loudly. Harry shakes his head at them and turns back to Ruth, ready to make a comment about their behaviour, but when he sees her face, he decides against it. There is a small, almost wistful, smile on her lips, and he wonders what she's thinking. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the room and the alcohol, and her blue eyes sparkle in the half light. She is truly beautiful and Harry's breath catches in his throat as he watches her. He wants to reach over and touch her, but he holds back, wondering if he will ever feel free to do so.
Years ago, when they'd been on that one date, he'd dared to take her hand in his when he was helping her out of the car. He still remembers it vividly; their touch had been electric. She had released his hand quickly at the time, and he hadn't attempted to take it again that night as he could tell that she was too nervous. He'd realised then that, with Ruth, he'd have to go slowly and he'd been prepared to be patient and give her space, but then she'd called the whole thing off, and he'd had to step even further away from her. When the whole Cotterdam fiasco had happened, they'd began to draw closer again, and he's sure that, if it hadn't ended so badly, they would have found their way to each other in time. But now, after so much time, he's still no closer to her, and if she hadn't been the one to ask him here today, he still wouldn't know where he stands with her. As it is, he's sure that at least some part of her wants him. But how fast can he move without risking her running from him again?
Ruth watches the group of students and smiles. She used to be like that, she thinks. She used to joke and enjoy being with friends and lovers. Could one go back to feeling that way? She hasn't had a real friend or a lover since George died. It's such a long time to be alone and lonely. Her gaze shifts back to Harry, and she catches him watching her. For a split second, she sees love and desire radiating from his eyes before he slams down the shutters and regains control, and she feels her own passion rise in response, making her heart beat faster, and she involuntarily clenches her pelvic floor muscles. She desperately wants and needs this relationship, she realises. It all seems so much easier now that she's jumped in with both feet and has stopped sitting on the fence. She wants and needs Harry.
"Let's play a game," she says suddenly.
Harry smiles in amusement and asks, "What kind of game?"
"Truth or Dare," she replies, her confidence boosted by the alcohol in her system.
Harry chuckles and murmurs, "If we're choosing party games, I think I'd prefer Spin the Bottle to be honest."
"That would be a little pointless with only two players," she replies quickly without thinking.
"I wouldn't call it pointless, Ruth," he smirks, "I'm sure I'll get plenty of enjoyment out of it."
She laughs, and leaning towards him, whispers quickly before she can lose her nerve, "If I let you kiss me, Harry, will you play Truth or Dare with me?"
Harry stares at her for a moment, then he swallows, and pretending to consider her proposal for a little while, he replies with a thoughtful expression, "How many times?"
"Let's start with five turns and we'll see," she answers, deliberately misunderstanding his question.
"I meant, how many times may I kiss you?" he clarifies as the corners of his lips tilt up mischievously and he raises his eyebrows at her.
"So did I," she says with a cheeky smile and promptly blushes scarlet.
His breathing quickens in anticipation as her words register in his brain, and he turns his body towards her, his right hand griping the back of his chair and his left the edge of the table. He studies her intently, and she holds his gaze, convincing him that she really wants this. "Ruth," he murmurs as he leans forward.
"Harry," she whispers reassuringly and mimics his motions.
Their lips meet briefly before he pulls back to look at her again. He has to check that this is really okay with her before he moves further along this path because he knows from experience how difficult it is to stop once he's relinquished some of his self-control. He suspects that with Ruth it will be infinitely harder than anything he's ever experienced before. That's why he hadn't allowed himself to kiss her, really kiss her, on the docks all those years ago because he knew that she was leaving him for good, and if he'd let go even for just one second, he didn't trust himself not to do something stupid and selfish that would put her in danger.
Her eyes are luminous and beautiful, and in them, he finds the permission he seeks to continue. His hands reach up and cup her face, stoking her cheeks gently, before pulling her forward for a second, deeper kiss. She responds by shuffling closer to him, resting her hands on his forearms, running her fingers across his exposed, warm skin, and feeling his strong muscles move below it. His lips are soft and perfect as they massage hers gently, expertly. He tastes of whisky and smells oddly of cinnamon rolls. He pulls back and kisses her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, her chin and her lips once more. Her eyes are closed, he notes as he presses his lips against hers again. She smells of honeysuckle and mint and feels exquisite. He almost loses himself in their kiss, and he doesn't want to stop. He never wants any of this to stop. He has to fight hard for self-control before he manages to pull back, and when they part, they're both slightly breathless. Her eyelids open slowly to reveal her sparkling, blue eyes that are darker than he's ever seen them.
He swallows audibly and clears his throat before saying in a slightly husky voice, "I think I got a little carried away. That was definitely more than five. Sorry."
"Are you?" she asks quietly, tilting her head to the side slightly.
"No," he admits with a small smile, "not really. Are you?"
"A little," she replies and watches as concern clouds his eyes and he frowns. "That is, I'm sorry that you had to stop," she adds hastily.
"Yes, well," he grins in relief, "I did promise to play a game with you."
"You ask first then," she nods, and picking up her glass, she takes a sip. Dear God, but he knows how to kiss! Even though she's often relived in her imagination those two, wonderful, brief, chaste kisses they'd shared on the docks all those years ago, she'd quite forgotten how electric, how incredible his lips had felt against hers. It's as if, with just one touch of his lips on hers, he's flipped a switch somewhere inside her and has reawakened her sexual desire from a deep state of hibernation. Her heart's pounding in her chest, and her whole body's humming with excitement. In fact, she's surprised that her voice and hands are so steady, because inside she's quivering in anticipation. Would tonight be too soon, she wonders.
"Okay," he replies, breaking into her thoughts. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," she says, shaking her head slightly to clear it.
"I bet you always say truth," he smiles.
"And I bet you always say dare," she counters.
"I think you might be right," he replies, and then rubbing his hands together in glee, he adds, "Okay. What did you think of earlier today, when we were discussing Gwen's stories, that made you blush?"
"Trust you to pick that one," she murmurs in annoyance, and seeing him smile at her comment, she shakes her head at him and replies, "If you must know, every time I heard that story, I was sure that I would have been able to resist you, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was wrong."
"You can't resist me?" he asks in a silky voice as he places his left forearm on the table and leans slightly towards her.
Good heavens! Harry Pearce is being playful, she thinks, and rolling her eyes in irritation at his sudden overconfidence, she replies in an exasperated voice, "Heaven knows I've tried, but look where it's got me! Dead, resurrected, hurt, alone and lonely. Frankly, it's not worth it, and I give up." Her eyes widen in surprise at her admission, and she silently berates herself for having so much to drink. With that thought, she picks up her glass and downs the remainder of her Martini.
Harry watches her, surprised at her sudden frankness and more than a little hopeful that perhaps this time things will turn out differently for them.
She turns to him and says, "Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?"
"Truth," he replies.
"I thought you always said dare," she frowns.
"The spook inside me won't allow me to be predictable," he shrugs as his eyes twinkle at her in amusement.
"Okay," she replies with an impish half-smile. She thinks, and after a moment, she asks with a frown, "If you want me as much as you claimed the other day on the roof, why don't you touch me?"
"I..." he stalls, thinking hard. "You think I don't want you?" he murmurs in surprise almost as if he's thinking out loud. It never occurred to him before to think about what it might look like from her perspective.
Ruth looks down at her drink as she replies quietly, "What else am I supposed to think?"
The moment the words are out of her mouth, she knows that she doesn't mean them. Just minutes ago when they'd kissed, she'd felt how much Harry loves her and wants her. Then to her horror, she feels tears threaten to spill from her eyes. She tries to blink them away but it's no use; the alcohol she's consumed in combination with the tension and doubts that have been with her for years make it impossible to stem the flow.
Harry's horrified by her response. She can't think that, not after the kisses they've just shared. "Look at me," he demands.
She doesn't.
He lowers his voice and repeats gently, "Please, look at me, Ruth."
Slowly she lifts her eye to his, and he notices that her cheeks are damp with tears. His heart constricts, and he reaches out his hands and takes hers in them.
"Ruth, you are the most intelligent, most enchanting, most beautiful woman I know," he says seriously. "I would have to be either mad, or dead to not want you. There is nothing I want more." He pauses, letting his words sink in before he adds, "I want to touch you; you know I do."
She does know all this of course, but it's still good to hear it from his lips. She pulls her right hand out of his grasp and wipes away her tears, chastising herself for succumbing to her insecurities. Then she reaches her hand across the table again, and he takes it in his once more. "So what's stopping you?" she asks quietly, wanting him to confirm her suspicions.
Harry shrugs, "Habit... fear."
"Self-control, self-denial," she says, remembering his words from ages ago, and he nods. Then she asks softly, "What are you afraid of, Harry?"
He looks into her eyes, swallows and replies in a whisper, "I'm terrified that you'll leave again, or that you'll be disappointed." He pauses and then adds, "And if you do, Ruth, I'll never be able to go back to seeing you every day and not being allowed to touch you. It would kill me. Once I let go of my self-control where you are concerned, there will be no turning back for me."
She nods, and after a pause during which they both stare at their joined hands, she says, "I'm done running away, Harry... and you could never disappoint me in that way." She looks at him and smiles as she adds, "I love you."
He looks up at her then, and his eyes shine with a mixture of surprise, hope and love. He nods and squeezes her hands tightly before he lowers his gaze as the emotions threaten to overwhelm him, pressing his chin to his chest and taking deep unsteady breaths.
She can see that he's close to tears, so extracting her left hand from his, she lays it on his shoulder and rubs soothing circles on it. Then she leans forward, and pressing a kiss to his cheek, she whispers, "Let's get out of here, Harry."
He nods, and they get up and slip on their coats. The activity provides a distraction, and as they leave the pub, Harry's back in control of his emotions. They walk a little way side by side, retracing their steps from earlier. So much has happened in the last few hours. It never occurred to either of them this morning when they got up that this day could end on such a high note. Harry glances down at Ruth, and mindful of their recent conversation, he takes her hand in his, linking their fingers together. He catches a glimpse of a smile on her lips before she turns her head away, and he smiles in contentment.
They turn into St. James's Park and find a bench by the lake to sit. Despite the fact that it's late already, the night's quite warm by London standards, and the bench is dry as they've had a week without rain. Harry puts his arm along the back of the bench behind Ruth, and she moves closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He lets his arm slide down across her shoulders and pulls her close, turning his head towards her and pressing a soft kiss against her hair as they sit in companionable silence for a little while, enjoying their new found proximity. In fact, Ruth is so comfortable that she almost falls asleep. Harry notices her breathing deepen and even out as her head becomes heavier, so he whispers, "Ruth?"
"Mmmm?" she replies sleepily and shuffles closer to him.
He smiles fondly at her and says, "Let me take you home."
"Mmmm," she murmurs but doesn't move, so he begins to get up, forcing her to raise her head from his shoulder.
She blinks at him as he stands and turns towards her, offering her his hand and pulling her to her feet, saying, "Come on. Let's find a cab."
"No driver today?" she asks as they walk towards the park exit hand in hand again.
"I sent him home," he replies. "I'll make sure this time that no one knows until you're ready."
"Thank you," she murmurs and squeezes his hand.
He nods and turns towards her, but at that moment he spots a taxi out of the corner of his eye, and turning back towards the road, he hails it. He helps Ruth in, and getting in himself, he gives the driver her address. Ruth isn't surprised that he knows it, after all, she's memorised his. She surreptitiously checks the cab number to make sure that it's not a spook taxi, and after confirming it's not, she shuffles closer to Harry and places her hand on his thigh close to his knee. He's momentarily surprised by the contact, but the feeling is quickly replaced by delight. Carefully, he covers her hand with his own and sees her smile.
The effect of the alcohol on her system is already wearing off, so she can't attribute her boldness to being drunk any more. She's just finally realised what she's been missing out on all these years and is not prepared to do so any longer. In her work, she can be very determined, confident, and single minded when she needs to be, but this is the first time she's attempted to use these qualities in getting what she wants in her personal life, and it's about time she tried, she reasons. When she lived with George, she felt much more free to express herself, and she was much more self-assured and firm, especially when it came to mothering Nico. The trauma of what happened when she came back to Britain, coupled with her return to a job that requires constant vigilance and secrecy, seem to have robbed her of her self-confidence, and she feels that it's time to reclaim it.
She looks out the window and notices that they're approaching her house. They'll probably be there in less than five minutes. Beth will be home, she thinks, and suddenly, she doesn't want this evening to end. She looks over at Harry and again she wonders if tonight would be too soon. She wonders what he'd say if she asked him. She smiles as she pictures him answering in a gruff tone, "Not soon enough, Ruth, not nearly soon enough."
"Harry?" she murmurs before she can second guess herself, and all the while reminding herself to pretend that it's the last time she's ever going to see him so that she can find the courage to go through with it.
"Yes?" he replies as he turns to face her.
After all, she reasons quickly as she works up her courage, in their line of work, it might well be the last time. Dear God, she hopes not. They deserve more than one night together. However, even if it is only one night, she won't make the same mistake again. Because all those years when she was away, her biggest regret had been not knowing what it was like to be loved in every way by the man she was totally, completely, and irrevocably in love with.
"Would you like to come in?" she says quietly, and she's surprised that her voice is steady and determined, because inside she's quivering with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
Harry stares at her for a moment in astonishment, and it takes him a second to recover. "Yes, I would, Ruth," he replies in a low rumble. "I would like that very much."
"Good," she smiles in relief. "The thing is, Harry... Beth will be home."
He ponders this for a moment, trying to work out what Ruth is thinking, and eventually he asks, "Would you like to come to my place instead?" His heart is hammering loudly in his chest, fearing that he's misinterpreted the meaning behind her words and that he's pushed her too far. After all, inviting him to her house doesn't necessarily imply that there will be sex, but accepting an invitation to his house is an entirely different matter.
He's about to add something to the effect that he doesn't mean to pressure her, and if it's just a coffee she wants, that's all she'll get, when she replies in a smooth, silky voice, "I'd love to, Harry."
Her swift reply leaves him in no doubt that she's more than willing to share his bed tonight, and it makes him feel a little breathless. Briefly he wonders if it's Christmas as he fights to control his breathing which has become noticeably heavier. He clears his throat and swallows hard. "Right then," he murmurs after a moment and gives the cab driver their new destination.