Four:
Carside Confessional

Once they were on the road, Harry asked the question that Ruth was dreading. "So… this Iain chap?"

"He's not you," Ruth said quietly. "He's not honorable or stoic or anything like you, Harry." She tried to justify it, had tried for years now, but their 'relationship' had been business and nothing more. Iain kept his business with the firm because she slept with him on occasion, and she told herself that his wife already knew and didn't care enough to stop it. Which may or may not have been true; he slept with many people. She swallowed hard and mumbled, "I don't know why, Harry. I gave up on lollipops and rainbows a long while ago."

Harry sighed over in his seat. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I meant… are you going to see him again when I go home?"

She licked her lips, considering her answer. "No," Ruth finally said. "We're over and done. I can't do it anymore, Harry. I've been… playing a part for so long I've become the role. I'm stupid and shallow and an adulterer and I can't do it anymore." She glanced over at him. "A good legend has some basis in truth, right?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

"My truth was always that I'd walked away from everything I could have had, and I've punished myself ever since," she admitted very quietly. "The Ruth you knew is so far in the back of my head, I don't know if she'll ever come out again."

"Don't say that," he murmured, reaching over and resting his hand gently on her thigh. "I just want to know that you won't start running because I show you affection, Ruth."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Harry, I –"

"There's no reason for you to run anymore," he promised.

She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't. Her default mode now was 'no' – denial first, then look at alternatives later. It kept her sane; it kept her alive. She knew she was paranoid – maybe even too much so – but ever since he'd appeared next door, she'd been looking in the shadows for someone who wanted too much to kill her. It was habit.

"Let's talk about you for a minute," Ruth said quietly. "Seeing anyone? Married yet?"

"No to married, yes to seeing someone," Harry said; his voice was gentle and silky.

She nodded sadly; of course he was seeing someone. Harry Pearce was a prime catch: he had position, a title, money laid away for a rainy day… who wouldn't pounce on that? "Well, then," she said very quietly, "seems like neither of us should have fallen into bed this morning."

"I'm seeing you," he added for good measure. "It's been you, Ruth – it's always been you."

Her gut twisted and tears sprang into her eyes. "Oh, god, Harry, I wish you wouldn't say things like that," she whispered. "You make me feel so… horribly guilty."

"You've done what you have had to do in order to survive," Harry said softly, his voice absent of any recrimination. "You've kept Portia safe and as close to happy as possible. That's… more than I could have done. I don't envy you any of the choices you've made in the last decade, Ruth, but I need you to know that I love you and have done for a long while. And I will support you and my child in any way I possibly can." He sighed. "I can't say that I will be any good at it, or that you won't hate me after a while."

"I don't hate you," she said quickly. "I could never hate you, Harry." She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the tears before they started. "I love you; why do you think I… I did what I did?"

"I know why," Harry murmured. "And I've repaid you a thousand times in kind, but you've never seen it. The grand gestures, the saving the world…"

"I've seen the saving the world bit," she admitted quietly. "Thank you, for that."

"For…?"

"Saving the world," she said with a small smile.

"Ah," he said with an equally small smile. "Well, it's not my job anymore – being a superhero is a job for all these young kids. I used to be one of them, but now I'm decrepit."

"You're not," she shot back quickly. She'd had first-hand evidence of his lack of falling to pieces. "Look, Harry… I don't – wait… you got fired?"

"No, I retired," he said cheerfully. "When one has a heart attack like event, it tends to change your way of thinking. Saving the world is a kid's game."

She almost slammed on the brakes. "You had a bloody heart attack?"

"A heart attack like event," he corrected. "My blood pressure went through the roof and I blacked out for a couple of minutes. I'm fine – I'm retired, I'm on tablets to control my pressure, and I'm sort of on a diet. Except I don't really follow the diet much, since my blood pressure's down."

"You daft, stupid man," she exploded, on the verge of tears. The very thought of losing him, even if he wasn't really hers to lose, was enough to break through that tough, no-nonsense take-no-prisoners façade she'd spent so long cultivating. In that moment, she felt weak, powerless, and more terrified than she ever had in her life. It made no sense – he was sitting right there, beside her, and she hadn't lost him… not really. But she knew, god, she knew, that she couldn't, wouldn't be able to stand living without him. Not again. Not when he was so close, right there, and telling her such sweet things like that he was in love with her, and had been for so long.

Something wonderful that was never said; well, now it was said and the words were jagged like the edge of a shattered piece of glass. They hurt, but they made them both stronger, didn't they? Not weaker. Stronger together than apart? Yes, that was how it felt.

"Ruth," he said softly.

"No," she whispered. "I – I'm not okay, Harry. I could have lost you and I would never have known. You daft, stupid man… you were supposed to take care of yourself."

"I only got shot twice," he said lamely.

"Only twice?" Ruth echoed. "God, Harry –"

"I'm not that man anymore," Harry sighed. "I'm… settled. Stable. I guess you'd say I've been put out to pasture and let rest. But the first time I got shot, I remember thinking, 'Well, Ruth's going to be very cross if she ever finds out…'"

"I'm not cross," she spat. "I'm livid."

"Does it matter one time I was wearing a Kevlar vest?"

"And the other?" she challenged.

"It was unexpected," he admitted. "Just a through and through in my upper arm, though – nothing particularly galling, just annoying, really." Harry sighed and moved his hand off of her thigh. "Ruth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Then you should stop being so flippant about yourself and your health," she snapped.

They were at a stoplight; she turned and looked at him, and was surprised to see a smile on his lips. "There she is," Harry said very softly. "There's my Ruth."

She was silent for a long time; the light went green, the cars moved forward, but she felt like she'd left a piece of herself at the intersection. When she finally had the courage to speak again, she said, "I didn't know she was your Catherine, Harry."

"Hmm?"

"My neighbor. I didn't know she was your Catherine. I saw her file, remember? But… I didn't know. I don't want you thinking that I moved in next door deliberately because she was your daughter and I had this weird fixation or summat." She closed her mouth and inhaled deeply through her nose. "She and Stephen moved in next door a couple of months after Portia and I moved in. When the landlady died, her son let us both buy the property under a joint account, since it's really one property with two houses on – they're A, I'm B." She snuck a glance at him. "I swear, I didn't know, Harry."

"I believe you," he said softly. "But how will Catherine react when she finds out her baby sister has been next door all this time?"

"I'm scared of how she'll react," Ruth admitted. "She's the only friend I've got. I don't want to hurt her, Harry."

"You've got me," he pointed out.

"You've got a vested interest," she countered.

"I do," he agreed. There was a long silence, then he said, "I've always wondered what would have happened if Cotterdam hadn't exploded such as it did. Would we have got married? Had children? Left the Service together?"

"Pipe dreams," she murmured. "Fantasy, conjecture, speculation; we have no idea. I might have just kept running away from you, straight into someone else's arms."

"No," he said with such stalwart conviction that it warmed her through. "That wouldn't have happened, Ruth. Not after… not after we spent the night cuddled in the bath, whispering nonsense."

Two days before Mik Maudsley had ruined her life, they had had a quiet takeaway and talked, which had led to admissions of guilt and a figurative and literal washing away of their joint sins. It had been beautiful, and she'd almost forgotten it had happened, despite it being so profoundly lovely.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. "I would have married you in a heartbeat if you'd asked," she whispered. "I don't know what I'm going to do when you go home. Not now. Not when you've gone and got me so bloody worked up…"

"Come home with me," he said softly.

"I can't," she whispered. "Not without my passport and our daughter is American, Harry – not British. All of her papers are American. I can't leave with you. Not now. Not till we unpick this and make it right – but will that ever happen?"

"I'm still owed favors," Harry said. "It will happen, Ruth."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then… we'll make something else happen," he promised. "I'm not exactly tied to London anymore."

She nodded and wished, not for the first time, that she'd had the courage to go after what she'd wanted in the first place. Now it all seemed too little, too late, and it hurt to know that he might feel the same way.

A few minutes passed, and he said, "You're awfully quiet…"

"Traffic," she pointed out. It was difficult to have an emotional discussion when she was meant to not be crashing the car.

They got to the Zoo eventually, but they weren't able to park too near Catherine. It gave Ruth a moment to breathe, to contemplate, to be quiet and still. She had just gathered up enough wherewithal to kiss him and tell him what she wanted when Harry reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She turned to look at him, startled, but he was smiling hesitantly. And in that moment, she saw more love and acceptance in his eyes than she'd ever seen in her entire lifetime.

She swallowed hard and whispered, "I want… to be with you, Harry. I just… I'm not sure you'll like me now."

"I love you," he said simply, as if it were all the answer she could ever need.

Maybe it was.

She'd sacrificed herself for him on a noble altar – but in reality, it had been as twisted a gesture of love as Romeo offing himself, or Ophelia drowning. He might love her, but he might not like her in the morning when she was taking out the trash or when she was late home from work because she was stuck in a dinner meeting with a client. Everything was so big and scary, now. What had seemed tiny, minute before was really not. And it frightened her.

Ruth was not the same as Janet, could never be. Janet did things that Ruth never would have; Janet was a smokescreen, another personality to hide behind. Janet was a role; a brash, hedonistic role, full of pitfalls and stealthy maneuvers beneath a veneer of civility and ruthlessness. Ruth was still hiding in the corner, scared to face the love of her life and just bloody tell him how much she loved him.

Her hesitation clearly broke the moment, because he looked away and started fumbling with his seatbelt. Before she could muck it up any further, Ruth grabbed him by the arm. He turned to face her and before she could think, before she could stop herself, she was kissing him. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much, Harry."

He kissed her back, smiling against her lips, nibbling on her lower lip. A tapping on the window brought them back to reality quickly, as Ruth pulled away and looked guiltily at her daughter through the glass. Once the car door was open, Portia said, "What did I tell you about just kissing people, mom?"

Catherine stood there, staring at them both for a long time, then she said, "Is there something that you want to tell me? Either of you? I don't care which – but someone better explain to me what the hell is going on."

Harry looked at Ruth. She was petrified, at a total loss for words, and he looked bloody well like the most suave, debonair version of James Bond! He smiled just a little, then said, "Well, Catherine, if you must know… I was kissing my fiancée."

Ruth's eyes flew into her hairline and her jaw dropped.

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

He might have bloody asked first; she might have said no.

But the little voice in her head that reminded her so many times just how much she loved him refuted that. She would never say no.

He only had to ask.

The answer would be yes. A thousand times yes.

He came around the car and took her hand, his finger tapping against her skin. It took a moment, but she suddenly realized he was using Morse code. M-A-R-R-Y M-E.

A thousand times yes.

She pressed her fingertips into the palm of his hand in a similar rhythm. Y-E-S.

END PART FOUR