A/N: This is a story of 6 chapters only. Thank you to the readers, and the kind reviewers of this story so far.
Same day - late evening:
"What's wrong, Harry?" Ruth asks. "Something's wrong."
"He asked me did I feel guilty."
"And do you?"
He nods. "He said given I'd had no part to play in his upbringing, I had no right to that guilt."
They had both visited Jack in hospital - first Ruth, and then Harry had briefly spoken to him alone. The drive to Ruth's flat had been a quiet one, with Harry answering her in monosyllables. Ruth is more aware than most of Harry's moods, but that doesn't mean that she finds them easy to navigate. Harry had bought them an Indian takeaway, and they had eaten in near silence.
Ruth turns from the counter, where she's making them each a cup of coffee. She turns to watch him as he sits at her kitchen table, his pout in full bloom, his eyes focused on his hands, which are folded on the table in front of him.
"But your guilt over this evening's events has nothing to do with his upbringing," she says quietly, handing Harry his mug, before sitting opposite him, her own mug cupped between her hands.
"I did have an involvement in his upbringing, Ruth. I just wasn't there for enough of it, and when I was there I wasn't fully present." He lifts sad eyes to her, and she detects from the depths of his sadness that he is suffering from more than fear for his son's safety in the present. Again he focuses on the mug in front of him. "I took my son and daughter camping. They were in their teens. Graham was about thirteen. Catherine hated it. She was already umbilicly attached to her hair straightener, and some boy called Trent, so she whined for most of the five days we were away. But my son loved it. He helped me pitch the tent, and he'd make the fire each evening. He even insisted we sing songs around the camp fire. Catherine perfected her eye roll on that trip. I suspect she's never forgiven me for putting her through it." He lifts his eyes, and Ruth can see that he is beginning to relax. "With the wisdom of hindsight, I should have taken Graham on his own. Unfortunately, we only went the once. Had I my time over again -"
"- you'd make the same choices." When he lifts his eyebrows in a question, she takes that as permission for her to qualify her statement. "You'd still put your job, your ambitions ahead of your children. After all, they had their mother there every day."
"A mother isn't the same as a father."
"True. We all have to make choices, and sometimes such choices are impossible."
They watch one another then, as they are both thrust back to the time when an impossible choice Harry had faced had led to the death of Ruth's partner, and then the choice he'd made to send Jo into the underground bunker, a choice which had ultimately led to her death. Some things continue to be too painful to talk about.
"Maybe one day, Harry, we can talk about ... everything, but for now, we only have today."
Harry nods, giving her the ghost of a smile. Then he reaches out with one hand, and Ruth grasps his fingers in hers, allowing their hands to rest on the tabletop. Harry passes the pad of his thumb back and forth across her knuckles while they watch one another for a long moment. It is clear to her that Harry has something to say to her, something important and personal, something he is not free to share while in their work place. She wishes he'd just say it. After all, it's just words. More important than the words spoken is the behaviour, and mostly he is a kind and supportive man. Nights like tonight, when he is experiencing depths of guilt she can only imagine, are - fortunately - rare.
"Harry .." Ruth begins, "perhaps you should just -" and she never finishes that particularly important sentence, one which had taken her minutes before she'd had the courage to begin articulating it, the ringtone of Harry's mobile phone interrupting the moment.
"Bloody phones," he says, removing his mobile from his jacket pocket, "I hate the bloody things. Yes," he barks into the phone, as he gets to his feet and wanders into the living room from the kitchen.
Ruth overhears enough to know that the caller is Lucas, and that he has details about the outcome of the evening's operation. When the call is over, Harry returns to the kitchen, again sitting at the table, but this time choosing a chair closer to where Ruth sits. Tentatively he reaches his hand towards her, and she allows him to curl his fingers around hers. His grateful smile makes her gesture worth it.
"And?" she asks, hoping he is able to accurately interpret her meaning.
"Waleed Mostafa got away at the scene. He knew the terrain better than Lucas, who returned to the lane to offer assistance to Jack. From where he was on the ground, Ed grabbed Karim Mostafa around the ankles, bringing him down, which had him falling badly, so that he dislocated his shoulder. Meanwhile, Tony ventured down the lane, and to the Thames, to find not only a cache of imported automatic weapons, but around a dozen illegals hiding beneath the deck of a barge. All were young men under the age of thirty, and all were either Egyptian or Libyan. The problem for the Mostafa brothers was that they were meant to be met by a couple of dealers, who failed to show up. So ... they not only lost the sale, but they were apparently betrayed by someone who'd overheard Karim Mostafa speaking to a UK based small arms dealer."
"I believe that Ros and Jack had already spoken to two men who'd overheard such a meeting."
"They'd become over-confident, and with cockiness comes carelessness. It's only a matter of time before we pick up the other Mostafa brother."
Ruth hesitates before she speaks, dropping her eyes for a moment. "Aren't these brothers ... small fry, Harry? It's not as though they've imported enough arms to stage a major terrorist attack."
"They are, but every little bit counts, and now we have the name of at least one person who deals with arms and illegals at this end. Ali Khalil. He also buys women illegals, and sets them up in brothels. The women are promised riches and freedom, and rarely see either."
"So, despite Jack's injury, the operation was largely a success."
"I'd call it that, although the Home Secretary might not agree. He's more invested in the numbers and the money." Harry twists his mouth in a lop-sided grin. "Andrew Lawrence, despite his worship of all things cool, is still an ambitious little shit."
Ruth nods, hiding her shock at his blunt assessment of their esteemed HS. She has no doubt Harry is right.
In another part of the city, Ros Myers, accompanied by Tony Griffin, who has already had a long and physically taxing day, are sitting in a late night coffee venue sipping black coffees. While Tony is prattling to Ros about their newest field operative, Ros pretends to ignore him while touching up her lipstick. In the small square mirror of Ros's cosmetic compact, she is watching the man in the corner booth behind them. When she has the man and his two companions all within the frame of the mirror, she presses the button beside the blue eye shadow, and the image is sent directly to the hard drive of Tariq Masood. To be on the safe side she presses the button once more, and a second image is sent.
"How are things, sweetheart?" Tony says, leaning dangerously close to Ros.
"Call me sweetheart again, and you'll be changing your name to Antonia."
Tony grins, and pulls away. "I love a scary woman."
"Then we're made for each other," Ros says, standing. "I have what I need. Time to head home."
"Together?"
"Only if you have a death wish."
As they leave the coffee house, Ros strides ahead, her face expressionless, while Tony chuckles to himself. He hasn't enjoyed himself this much since his wayward teenage years.
"Right," Ros says, once they're clear of the coffee shop, "here's where we part company. I'll see you in the morning," and she turns on her heel and walks away.
Tony watches her until she's lost in the crowd outside a pub. He thinks that it's a shame there are not more women in the world like Ros Myers.
While Harry had been on the phone, Ruth had made them each a fresh mug of coffee, so that once Harry had shared the gist of Lucas's phone call, they sit in silence over their coffee. The charged atmosphere from before Lucas had called Harry has dissipated, but both would be happy were it to return. Harry is just about to say something when again his phone rings. He throws Ruth an apologetic look, and she nods slightly in reply. He has no control over who calls him, and he is a section head, after all.
This time Harry stays seated while he takes the call. It is a thankfully brief call, which he ends with the words, "Thank you for that, Ros." He pockets his phone, and then leans his forearms on the table, his hands encircling his mug of coffee. Ruth would rather he once more hold her hand, but if people keep interrupting them, they may never return to the hand-holding. "Ros and Tony tracked down Ali Khalil to an Egyptian coffee house. He was in the company of two other men of Arabic appearance, so she photographed them, and sent their images straight through to Tariq, whom I'm told is still working."
"He'll spend the night at work. He usually does after an operation." She sits back, putting further distance between them. "So, apart from Jack's injury, the operation has been a success."
"It would seem so. The mop-up will take place over the next few days. I've asked that, pending something out of the ordinary occurring, Lucas or Ros ring me with a verbal report on Sunday evening."
"Aren't you even a little bit curious?"
Harry shakes his head slowly, his eyes holding hers. "No. Jack's injury has put everything into perspective. And then there's you."
His last sentence takes Ruth by surprise, leaving her uncharacteristically tongue-tied. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing emerges. Whatever does he mean by that? Well, she probably does know, but she'd rather not form a conclusion which may not be true. "Me?" she says at last.
"Yes, Ruth, you." Suddenly he sits up straight, and runs the fingers of one hand through what little hair he has. "And as much as I'd like to explore the subject further, time is against me. It's late, and I have a full day tomorrow."
Having said all he is about to say on `the subject', Harry watches her closely. Why can't he just come out and say what he means? Why allude to the subject of `them', only to immediately drop it because he has to go home?
Harry gets up from his chair, and Ruth indicates his mug of coffee. "You've barely touched it," she says.
Harry looks at his almost-full mug, shakes his head, and then leaves the kitchen, so that she almost has to run after him to catch up.
Harry reaches the front door first, and turns towards Ruth, gazing down at her. What little light there is filters through from the kitchen, so that the nuances in their facial expressions are hidden in the shadows. For the first time, Ruth notices the lines of tension and exhaustion around Harry's mouth and eyes. As he watches her watching him, he appears to relax slightly.
"Please drive carefully," she says quietly.
"I will."
"Ring me when you get home, otherwise I'll worry."
Harry's smiles into her eyes, and then nods. He takes a step towards her, so she reaches up and places one hand on his cheek. His skin is warm, and beneath her fingers she feels the beginnings of stubble. She scrapes a fingernail gently across the stubble, and they both smile at the scratchy sound it makes. He bends his head to hers, and the kiss is light and gentle, but is soon over.
One quick kiss is not nearly enough for her, so she places her other hand on his other cheek, effectively entrapping him. As she reaches up to place her lips on his she presses her body against him. It is that last movement which breaks him. This kiss is different. It is a proper kiss, his belly pressed against her abdomen, while he sighs into her mouth. Their tongues meet, winding around each other, and Harry's hands slide down her back to her buttocks, where he grasps her and pulls her flush against him. Ruth's hands no longer cradle his face; they are wound around his neck, with the fingers of one hand sliding up into the hair on the back of his head.
It is when she feels him swelling against her belly, and her body responds with a surge of heat, that she decides perhaps they have gone far enough for one night. She begins to slowly and carefully pull out of the kiss. They are still standing very close, watching one another wordlessly. Ruth again touches his cheek with her hand before trailing her fingers to his chin, and then down his neck. She feels him shudder beneath her touch. Ruth wonders is he thinking what she is thinking, and that if they can kiss like that, then what they will some day soon share in the bedroom will be worth waiting for.
Taking a breath, Harry steps away from her, severing their body contact. In the half light his eyes are dark, and his breathing still heavy. "Goodnight, Ruth," he says, and then he is gone, and Ruth presses her forehead against the closed door, listening for the sound of his car door, and then the growling of the engine as it kicks over.
As she tidies the kitchen, rinsing their mugs under the hot water tap, she contemplates the irony of Harry's son having joined Section D. In some strange way, and without his knowledge, Jack Daniels has, in an act of unconscious sorcery, woven a spell around her and Harry, so that they have suddenly and remarkably moved closer, until neither are prepared to ignore the powerful attraction they have for one another.
Ruth ambles through her pre-bedtime rituals, then climbs into bed, reading a few pages from the book on her bedside table until her phone rings. Noting the identity of the caller she breathes out her relief.
"I'm home in one piece," is all he says.
Ruth smiles. "I can sleep now," she replies.
They end the call there. They are both so tired, and everything they need to say has been conveyed in just nine words. Ruth closes her eyes. It is a very long time since she has experienced such contentment.