Four:
Unsaid, Unseen, Unheard
"I've got to finish my inbox," Harry said apologetically down the phone line. "So I can take tomorrow off properly for the funeral."
"Yes, of course," Ruth said softly. "Do you want help or…?"
"No, it's all classified bunk," he muttered with a sigh. "And most of it is to do with the arrival of the Cousins and the rest of the EU on Monday. Did you find a dress for the reception?"
"I've not had a chance to go look," Ruth said, frowning. "Besides, I'm meant to be wearing a wire and supervising security, not swanning about with the DG."
"You still have to appear like you're meant to be there."
"Can't I just wear the gown I wore to the Queen's party?" Ruth said. "I really don't have the time to go hunting something new –"
"Send Beth or Erin out for it," Harry advised. "Or give me your size and color request, and I can send Hermione out."
"Bloody hell, Harry, she's your assistant, not my personal shopper –"
"She's my assistant and she's meant to assist," Harry pointed out. "Tell me your size and what color, and I'll have her do it while we're off-duty tomorrow."
"Oh, fine," Ruth sighed. She listed off her size, the colors she would prefer, and generalities like no plunging necklines or backless, skin-tight models, and so on. She paused, then added, "And I suppose shoes to match. I've got jewelry and formal handbags to go with anything those colors."
"You certainly do," he said wryly.
"Watch it, now," she said. "Be good."
"I'll wait to see what Hermione picks in case I need to get the pearls from the safety deposit box," Harry added. "Will you need any new makeup or –"
"No, I'm fine, or I can borrow a lippie from Rose or Daisy," Ruth replied. "I just don't relish the idea of going to a party so soon after a funeral."
There was silence, and he said, "You and the children shouldn't go to the funeral. You didn't know my father. I'm sorry I've –"
"Stop kicking yourself," she murmured. "We're going because we love you and we are your family, just as much as your dad was. So stop being stubborn. Please, for me?"
He sighed. "Yes, of course, for you – always, for you," Harry said softly. "You'd best get home and check on the littles, my love. Give Emma and Jamie kisses from me, please."
"Of course," she replied. "Harry… please promise you'll wake me when you get home, if I'm asleep."
"You need your rest," he said.
"Yes, but we need to talk, too."
He sighed. "Tomorrow," he promised.
She gritted her teeth; there wouldn't be time tomorrow. "Fine," she said curtly. "I'll make sure there's dinner waiting for you –"
"I am capable of making beans on toast," he pointed out.
"I know you're capable of making beans on toast, but there's real food to be had, too, Harry," she said, completely frustrated with him. "Why are you being so god damned unreasonable?"
The only response was dead air.
The stupid old man had actually hung up on her!
It took a minute for her to process that, quell her rage, and set the phone back onto its cradle. By then, she'd subconsciously decided that if he wanted to act like a prat, he could damn well do it without her involvement.
As she was getting ready to leave, Malcolm texted to remind her that he was taking Emma and Jamie to the children's playhouse for Paddington Bear, and that dinner was in the oven. Which meant he would be taking the little ones for sweeties on their way home, and that Daisy was in charge of finishing her schoolwork and getting dinner out of the oven.
The drive home was tedious; she scrolled through the news headlines on her phone. Smartphones were becoming more prevalent, and she was loving every minute of being able to ease between normal things on her phone like calling, texting, etc., and things like reading the news. If this is where the future was headed, she was happy with it. Yes, Ruth knew that it could and would be exploited, sometimes for the greater good and others not, but it came in very handy at times.
Bruce walked her to the front door and hovered until she was inside. Such was the norm, now. Ruth sighed and kicked off her heels, preferring to roam the house in stocking feet. "Hello, love! What did Malcolm make for dinner?" she called out as she picked up a few stray toys that had made it into the entryway. When Daisy didn't answer, she shouted, "Margaret Eloise?"
There was a murmuring in the kitchen; Ruth's senses went on immediate alert. She took a couple of steps toward the kitchen, and Daisy suddenly said, "Roasted vegetable curry, mummy."
Ruth took a few more steps toward the kitchen, then stopped. "That sounds lovely, dear heart," she said, knowing that something was terribly wrong. She didn't know what, but it was so very, very wrong. Once she entered the kitchen, she saw in its full entirety that her instincts were bang on the money. She took in the young man with a gun pointed at her daughter's head, took in that if he chose to fire, there would be nothing she could do, and then she said, "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"
"Where is Harry Pearce?"
"Bloody well not here, as I think you've realized by now," Ruth said sharply. "Let her go, Sasha. She's a child."
"I was a child," Sasha Gavrik countered angrily. "How do you think it feels to find out that my mother was spying for the west all of this time?"
"She hasn't been," Ruth said firmly. "She was burned in 1982. She was not a reliable asset."
"What do you know about it?" he hissed.
"Everything," Ruth snapped. "Now stop pointing a gun at my daughter's head and we'll talk. Otherwise, you can go straight to hell." The calm boldness seeped through her veins like a drug; everything was out of her hands now, and until she gave him what he wanted, she knew that she and Daisy were both in dire straits.
Her quiet authority was enough, it seemed; Sasha removed the gun from Daisy's temple and pointed it at Ruth instead. "You are Lady Pearce, correct?"
"Correct," she said firmly. "I work for MI-5, same as Sir Harry. I know what happened, Sasha, just as I know that Harry is not your biological father." The young man's eyes lit up in surprise, and he held Daisy roughly around the shoulders, his arm around her neck. "Please don't hurt her," Ruth said very quietly. "She has nothing to do with what you came here to say."
"I will only say it to him," Sasha growled.
Ruth held up one hand, then fished in her pocket for her phone. She held it up, and said, "Harry won't take kindly to you threatening his daughter."
"Well, then, how about I shoot her instead? It will make my point far more clearly than this nonsense," Sasha growled.
Ruth started toward him, but stopped when his hold on Daisy tightened, and her breathing became labored. She took those steps back, and dialed the phone. "Plum-xi-alpha-four-six-blizzard," she said very quickly.
"Yes?" Harry snapped. "This better be good or I am sending someone to the Shetlands to investigate whether or not it's feasible to create a station up there –"
"Harry," Ruth said very quickly, "we have a visitor who will only speak to you. He currently has one arm around Margaret's neck and he's pointing a gun at me."
"What? Who?"
"A young FSB officer," Ruth said. "I'm going to put you on speaker." She hit a button and said, "Go ahead, Sasha."
Sasha's eyes were wild, feral, and she knew if Harry said the wrong thing, both she and Daisy were dead. She didn't wish that Harry was there, god no, but she did wish that he had sense enough not to exacerbate the situation.
"My mother isn't spying for you any longer," Sasha barked out. "Call off your dogs and do not contact her again, Pearce."
"I haven't contacted Elena," Harry said. "And I shan't be contacting her; any contact between us will be purely professional and in front of witnesses. You have my word, Sasha. There is a reason she has not had contact with anyone from Five or Six since 1984: she is not a reliable asset. Let go of my daughter. Now."
"She has received communiqués from you –"
"No," Harry said firmly, "she has not. If you have them on your person, give them to my wife. If you do not, we will have to meet in order for you to give them to us. No one has made contact with your mother in almost thirty years, Sasha. You must believe me: I would not jeopardize this summit for anything so trivial as an old flame being in town."
"So trivial?" Sasha laughed. He aimed the gun straight at Ruth and fired. She let loose a shocked cry, feeling the bullet whiz past her, a scant few centimeters from her face – so close she could feel the heat as it flew by – and bury itself in the wall. "It is not trivial, Pearce. You know that you are my father –"
"I am not your father," Harry shouted. "Ruth, are you –"
"I'm fine," Ruth choked out, staring Sasha down.
"You are my father; she told me so," Sasha growled.
"That is how I knew your mother was unreliable," Harry said, his voice pleading with Sasha to listen to reason. "The dates, the times, none of it matched up. And I was married, Sasha – I knew what it was like to sleep with a pregnant woman. Your mother was pregnant when we first slept together. I am not your father. I burned Elena as an asset the moment she told me I was."
Sasha glared at Ruth, then leaned down and kissed Daisy's temple. "Run along," he said softly, releasing his grasp on Daisy. Daisy's eyes were wide and she ran like all the hounds of hell were on her heels. "If what you say is truth, Pearce…"
Ruth took a deep breath and said, "It's true, Sasha. I've seen the files; I've collated the data."
Harry said down the line, "Please, Sasha, let my family go. There's no reason to harm either Margaret or Ruth. I will arrange a meet so that you can pass the communiqués on for analysis. There is no reason we cannot unpick this together; and if you harm Ruth or Margaret, you will not live to see another day."
"Margaret has already run away," Sasha said through clenched teeth. "But now, your wife remains and I want you to understand just how serious I am, Harry."
There was dead silence, then a strangled, "No, Sasha, please –"
Sasha picked the phone up off the floor and ended the call. He looked at Ruth with dispassionate eyes, and said, "He chose you for this burden. Marriage to a man like that… a liar and a fraud…"
"I chose him," Ruth said very quietly. "He didn't choose me." She felt panic welling up inside her belly as he caressed the side of her face with the muzzle of his gun, still warm from the earlier shot. He was going to make her an example, then, was he? Was it to be a slow death or a quick one, then?
The butt of the gun crashed against her head and she literally saw white hot stars in her vision before blessed darkness claimed her.
Her ears were ringing and she couldn't hear properly; it was like she was underwater. Then everything came into stark focus and her head exploded with pain. She couldn't even open her eyes; Ruth rolled over, feeling the coolness of the tile floor, and vomited before she could stop herself. It was a migraine magnified by a factor of ten, and even her teeth ached in her skull. She could feel the nerves in her teeth pulsing, aching, in her jaw.
"Mum, he's gone," Daisy whispered. "It's going to be okay –"
Ruth opened her eyes just slightly, but everything was a blur, and she closed them again as soon as the light became unbearable. "Help," she choked out. "Help me up, Daisy."
"No, you should stay down," Daisy insisted very quietly. "Daddy's coming, and I've called for an ambulance."
"How did he get in the house?" Ruth asked. The tile was cool and felt so good against the white hot pain in her head.
"He came through the back garden," Daisy said. "He forced his way inside when I let Scarlett in."
"I'm sorry," Ruth breathed, "I'm so sorry –"
The front door burst open, and Harry shouted, "Daisy!"
"We're in here," Daisy called back. "Mummy, dad's here – can you open your eyes?"
"No," Ruth exhaled weakly.
Harry fell to his knees heavily beside her, gently lifting her head onto his lap and whispering, "Ruth, god, I'm so sorry – I'm so sorry – I thought he might kill you."
Without mirth, Ruth mumbled, "I rather wish he had. My head hurts like nothing else, Harry."
He stroked her hair and wept, angry bitter tears that fell onto her face, into her hair. "I'm so sorry – I never meant to hurt you, Ruth –"
The ambulance arrived and the medics came in. Ruth submitted to their examination without a fight, and when they opened her eyes to check for pupil response, she threw up again from the sheer agony of the pain. Ruth was glad that the darkness of unconsciousness claimed her again; she couldn't fight it any longer.
When she woke up again, she was in a hospital bed with a IV line in her hand and the aching in her head down to a minimum. Harry was holding her left hand tightly, his head resting on the bed; he was asleep, but only just, because when she shifted, he jolted upright.
"Harry," she whispered.
"Hey," he murmured. "You've had a nasty knock to your noggin, my love." He looked scruffy and frightened and surprisingly sexy, and she squeezed his hand. "Malcolm is beefing up the security as we speak; there's no reason that should have happened."
"How bad?" she asked, using her right hand to gingerly touch the side of her face. She winced as fresh pain tore through her.
"No signs of a bleed," he said gently, "but you're going to have a hell of a time covering that bruise."
"Won't even try," Ruth murmured. "How soon till I can leave?"
"A few more hours," he said gently. "They're writing your prescriptions now."
She sighed. "I thought he was going to kill me," she admitted. "And it scared me to know that it was because of something I'd never been a part of. Just being your wife was enough to make me a pawn in that game. I was terrified he was going to hurt Daisy."
"She's your daughter, through and through," Harry whispered. "So brave, so strong…"
"Is she okay?" Ruth asked worriedly.
Harry nodded and gave her a gentle kiss. "She is," he promised.
"Oh god, we've got to go to the funeral…"
"Shut up and stop worrying," he whispered. "You're more important than my father's bloody funeral."
"No, Harry, I –"
He kissed her again. "Stop," he murmured. "Please. We have time."
She nodded and closed her eyes.
END PART FOUR