A/N: Has just been pointed out to me that there's a line in here that looks like I've nabbed the idea from a fic (think the authors in question'll probably spot it). Erm, not intentional in the slightest. Pure conincidence. On t'other hand, The One With the Wedding in Cancun (which I've just worriedly reread) is brilliant - give it a read.
When he can bear to loosen his grip on her, she pulls a chair from the edge of the room to the side of his bed.
"One last night together, then?"
Harry's voice is restrained and neutral, but Ruth leaps on his suggestive phrasing immediately.
"Harry, we're in a hospital. And anyway, you'd rip your stitches."
He laughs darkly, once more claiming her hand in his.
"You have a filthy mind, Miss Evershed."
She raises her eyebrows, and her lips purse in a familiar expression of bemusement.
"That's coming from you? 'It's your own room'. Honestly."
The awkward moment she is speaking about is forever ingrained in his memory.
"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that," he admits, wincing.
"How could I forget? It was such an odd thing to say."
"Well, I didn't know quite what to say, did I? You were giving me rather mixed messages."
"Actually," she argues cheekily, "I think you'll find that I was pretty consistent."
"Ah, yes. The 'not a hope in hell' signal. I was getting that loud and clear. But then," he switches to a more teasing tone, "There was all that seductive arm-stroking."
"What?!"
For the sake of the preservation of her dignity, she pretends to be ignorant of the reference. He wishes that he had thought to adopt the same tactic when she was the one doing the teasing.
"You remember." He humours her. "When Ros pointed out so sensitively that my personal life was essentially a train wreck – you came in to my office –"
"To comfort you!" she interjects, aghast at where he is heading with this.
"Yes. And then you stroked my arm." He grins boyishly, adding in an angelic voice, "In a rather suggestive manner."
Her face is stormy, but amused at the same time, and she with a very smug air about her, she makes a great show of being the mature one, and ignoring his jibes.
"All I'll say, Harry," she murmurs eventually, her tone measured and cool, "Is that if I had really tried to be 'seductive', you would not have let me walk out of that office."
She blushes as she speaks, but he is delighted, and pulls her face close so that there lips are mere millimeters apart.
"Careful," he warns, in a low, growling tone. "You wouldn't want me to rip my stitches out of mere anticipation, would you?"
She rolls her eyes, but closes the space between them nonetheless.
*
They spend the rest of the night in such a manner, talking and touching. They reminisce about old friends and battles long concluded. They remember scuffed floors, PMT, and call signs. Bus seats, rooftops, and restaurants. Memoirs and hackers, rock stars and LZs. Even exploding consciences. They seem to have come to a silent agreement that they will not discuss the fact that she will disappear again in the morning.
At about midnight she tells him about her experience in Syria.
He caresses her not-long healed fingers, kisses away her tears, and holds her tight against him as she recounts the details that they both know he will be the only one to ever hear. She tells him how she used to dream about him when she slept in her cell at night. She tells him how she cried and screamed as they beat her. She tells him how she was so scared sometimes that she though the fear alone might kill her. She tells him everything.
At twenty past one, he tells her about receiving her message.
He tells her of the hopelessness and despair. He tells her of the guilt and regret. He tells her how Catherine tried to make it hurt less, but even she could do nothing. He tells her how he began to wish. Wish for those five more seconds.
At just gone two, they discuss how long it will take Malcolm to ask Ros on a date.
At three they imagine Jo and Zaf's hypothetical wedding. They decide that 'spin the bottle' will probably feature heavily in the proceedings.
At a little past four in the morning, they fall asleep together. She sits in the chair, her head resting at the side of the bed. He keeps locks of her chocolaty hair wrapped around his fingers all night.
At eight, he wakes, and she is already gone.
*
She slips out while he is still sleeping, switching on her phone when she is exactly nineteen paces from his room. She is glad of the distraction provided by the realisation that she has a voicemail message waiting for her, but wary nonetheless. Only a handful of people on the planet have the number.
"Hi, Ruth? It's Jamie. Look, I wanted to leave you in peace after…what happened. But I've got some news for you, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist being the one to tell you. I know that nothing I can do or say will ever make you forgive me, but hopefully…"
'Get to the bloody point!' she thinks.
And then, he does just that.
One more chapter, then it's really all over. I'm sorry if it's not your thing, but prepare for a bit of fluff! Oh, and does anyone reckon they can put their finger on all the references I made??? Give it a go. You know you want to!