"I'm sorry about the other night."
They are the first words Graham's uttered while she cobbled together an adequate but uninspiring meal for the two of them out of leftovers from the fridge.
"I was rude, and it was uncalled for." He briefly flashes her an apologetic grin that is so Harry, she's taken aback for a moment.
"Why are you here? And why now?" She's treading on dangerous ground; she can't help but be curious about Harry's son, but this isn't her battle to fight, either.
"Catherine, I suppose. It would be nice if my father and I could be in the same room together, maybe. I don't want to ruin her wedding…"
"You and Catherine are close?" She already knew the answer to that, but she thought that getting him talking about something would be progress.
"She's always looked out for me…especially when my parents were too busy fighting to bother with us." There wasn't much she could say to that. They were silent for awhile, and then he continued,
"She likes you…"
"I like her. And if you thought that if you could get on my good side that would help you with your father, you'd be sadly mistaken." She smiled as she said it, and her gentle humor lit up her tired eyes.
"It was worth a try, however long the odds," he chuckled. "But I know my father well enough. It's all 'stiff upper lip' and 'no blindfolds while facing the firing squad' with him."
"But if you look closely, you'll see that the lip is not so stiff, sometimes." Her eyes were serious again.
"I just wish that I wasn't so rubbish with relationships…" he looked so young to her in that moment.
"I have news for you, Graham. Everyone is rubbish at relationships."
He looked shocked.
"But you and he…"
"We're spooks. How emotionally forthright do you think we are? I love your father with every fiber of my being, but that doesn't mean there aren't times I feel like killing him. Relationships are work. You're his son, and he loves you, Graham. No matter how much you push him away, he's still going to love you."
They talked a few minutes more, but it was apparent to Graham that Ruth was falling asleep where she sat. He left, but not before thanking her for dinner, and leaving her a slip of paper with a phone number on it to give to Harry.
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Daylight was seeping in through the curtains when Ruth was vaguely aware of Harry's presence, sitting next to her on the bed.
"I didn't hear you come in."
"I didn't want to wake you."
"What time is it?"
"Early enough." She moved to get up, and he stopped her. "It's fine, you still have some time. Dimitri located the bomb about an hour ago. We'll let them stew in the cells for a bit."
"You look tired."
"Thanks. So do you…late night?"
"Graham was here." He stiffened, and she reached out and stroked his hand.
"It's okay…We talked for awhile. He left a number for you to call him."
Harry was speechless.
"I have a theory about you two," she continued.
"I would be surprised if you didn't."
"You are so alike, it's like you're two magnets with the same polarity, keep pushing each other away."
He leaned down and kissed her gently.
"Go back to sleep."
She gratefully turned over, and before she drifted off again, she heard Harry's voice…on the phone.
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It was Christmas eve and the party on the Grid was winding down. The stresses of the last few days' operations combined with the prospect of a few days off were a heady combination. There was much silliness, and perhaps a bit too much alcohol, although not enough to get Harry to do any karaoke. Ruth, feeling a little smug after finally picking up Harry's present without him knowing and perhaps pushed over the edge by that last glass of champagne, had belted out a very creditable rendition of Nina Simone that would stay in everyone's minds for quite awhile.
Daylight was fading as Harry and Ruth made their way home. It had started to snow, the flakes so light that they never really hit the ground, just floated in the air. The sight of the still undecorated tree irked Ruth.
"It's not too late, Ruth."
Harry had unearthed a box of decorations of his own, and Ruth noticed that most of them were handmade creations from his children from years ago. She suddenly missed Nico enormously.
Things had been in such a tumult the last few days, Harry was glad a few hours with just himself and Ruth. He enjoyed watching her decorate the tree, taking pleasure in something so normal. He abandoned his place on the couch, and put his arms around her from behind. She settled against him, and felt, rather than heard him compliment her handiwork.
"You've been awfully quiet the last few days, Harry."
"Hmm."
"Graham?"
"Yes…no." He sighed.
"Harry…"
"I talked to him for a long time yesterday. It brought up a lot of things that I'm not proud of. I can't help thinking…" he trailed off, afraid of how to finish the sentence.
They were silent for a long time. Ruth knew he would find the words in his own time.
"The fact is I'm terrified," he admitted in barely above a whisper.
She turned around in his arms so she could look into his face.
"I was a horrible father, and an even worse husband…"
"You're doing alright so far this time around…"
He was totally perplexed.
"Harry, we may not have a piece of paper, but we've been married for a long time now." She took his face in her hands, and continued,
"I'm not Jane. I'm not giving up on you, us…and I'll be damned if I let you give up on yourself."
She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him hard.
"I think it's time to give you one of your Christmas presents," and she led him upstairs.
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