Much later that night
It's late, past midnight, but she can't sleep. She's been tossing and turning since she got into bed, unable to settle down despite her initial relief in finding herself at home, among her things and with her cat. Every time she closes her eyes she's plagued by images and emotions from the last seventy-two hours, her capture, her time in the cabin with Adam, Harry, swimming to shore, the terror of the storm, of thinking Harry dead, of the sexual assault. It's only the thought of what came after, of Harry and what happened between them, that keeps the daemons at bay and stops her from losing control and breaking down completely, but with the feelings of pleasure, come the doubts that make sleep just as elusive.
And then, on top of everything else, returning to the grid had been hard – having to relive it all during her debriefing conducted by Adam and Fiona, and then write up her report which, to be fair, she'd insisted she do today though Adam had suggested she leave it until tomorrow. She'd wanted to get it all over with, put it behind her and move on, but by the time she'd finished, she'd been utterly exhausted.
Adam had insisted that she go home early for a change, making sure that she was off the Grid by the very reasonable hour of five o'clock. He'd even offered her a pool car, but she'd insisted that she'd rather make her own way home. She'd wanted to walk for a bit along the Thames to clear her head and she's still not sure if Adam would have let her go, but luckily he'd been called away to deal with a phone call from Juliet Shaw as Harry had been with the DG, and she'd escaped before he could return and insist she be driven home.
She'd enjoyed her walk by the river, managing to shake off the fear of being abducted again and ending up feeling renewed by it and the chance to get lost in the crowd, become an anonymous citizen going about her business like everyone else. It helped to know that all the people who'd done this were safely under lock and key in the bowels of Thames House, being interrogated and unlikely to see the light of day any time soon. Besides she's always found it comforting to walk and take the bus to and from work. It relaxes her, makes her feel normal, like she fits in and belongs, as well as serving as a reminder of why she does her job as she watches the people around her, all of them so different from each other and yet so alike too. And anyway, as touched as she'd been by Adam's concern for her, she was getting a little tired of it and needed a break.
She sighs and gets out of bed, grabbing her phone and pulling on her dressing gown and slippers before she goes back downstairs and into the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea and some mindless TV will help her get her mind to slow down and stop analysing everything that's happened in the last seventy two hours, particularly the events of last night with Harry, she thinks as she fills up the kettle and flicks it on. She pulls a mug out of the cupboard, but no sooner has she put it on the counter, when her phone chirps. She glances at the kitchen clock as she slips her hand into her pocket to retrieve it. It's twenty two minutes past twelve, she sees, frowning as she opens the text she's just received.
'Hi. Are you awake?' she reads.
Harry. Dear, sweet, wonderful Harry, she thinks with a smile as all her worries melt away for a few moments and she basks in the knowledge that he's been thinking of her too. 'Yes. Are you still at work?' she replies quickly and hits send before she can change her mind, or spend too long analysing what she should write and how he will interpret it.
'No. Meeting's over. I'm in the car,' he answers a few seconds later.
'You shouldn't text and drive,' she admonishes lightly, practically grinning as she turns towards the kettle that's just finished boiling, enjoying this new and exciting medium of communication with him; it's so much easier to say anything to him like this – when she can't see his reaction, hear his voice or get flustered by his physical presence and what it does to her, and she finds herself feeling a new appreciation for texting in general. She's never quite seen the point of it before and the shorthand people use just drives her crazy, particularly when it creeps into other forms of written communication that don't have a character limit.
'I'm not driving,' is his quick reply, distracting her from her musings on the deterioration of English grammar and spelling use today.
'Right. I forgot. Geoff or Mike tonight?'
'Neither. I sent Mike home earlier.' She frowns, rereading the message and trying to make sense of it. A taxi, she wonders, another driver?... And then it comes to her as, with her heart trying to practically leap out of her chest in excitement and hope, she dashes to the living room and peers through the curtains, trying hard not to make them move. The car is in shadow, two houses down and on the opposite side of the street, but she's almost certain it's his even though she can't see anyone inside. She straightens up and hesitates for a moment before she quickly types, 'Come in, Harry. The kettle's just boiled,' and presses send before she can change her mind. Then with trembling hands, she slips the phone back into her pocket, moves back to the kitchen, pulls out another mug and makes them both a cup of tea, needing to keep her hands and mind busy to stop her doubts, apprehension and excitement from overwhelming her.
The sound of the doorbell, though half-expected, has her jumping out of her skin, a bit of milk spilling onto the counter-top at the sudden jolt, and she curses before mopping it swiftly up and hurrying to the door. It's only as she glances at her appearance in the mirror that she realises she's dressed for bed. "Bugger," she mutters under her breath, hesitating for a few seconds until she decides that there's not much she can do about it now. If she goes upstairs to change, he'll likely have gone home by the time she comes back down to answer the door, so taking a deep, calming breath, she pulls open the front door.
"Hi," she smiles as she steps back, pulling the door with her, her right hand nervously holding the top of her dressing gown closed.
"Hello," he murmurs, stepping through the doorway and into her hall, his gaze warm and gentle as he scans her face and quickly skims over the rest of her before returning to her eyes.
She closes and locks the door behind him, trying to swallow her nerves before turning to face him again, but failing quite spectacularly. How does he do this, she wonders as she gazes into his eyes that are alight with guarded hope and joy. How does he make her feel all these emotions simultaneously and render her suddenly inarticulate and unable to think straight? At work, well, there's work to distract her and give her something to focus on, but here or anywhere else when they're alone, she can't breathe, let alone think or speak. And what's more, since yesterday, it seems to be a thousand times worse. She keeps feeling the echo of his hands and lips on her skin, the way his eyes had gazed at her and he'd moved inside her.
"How... how's your head?" she stutters, latching onto the first coherent thought that flits through her mind as she scans his face and voicing it.
"Fine," he smiles. "And you? How are you feeling, Ruth?"
"Good," she nods, dropping her gaze for a moment before lifting it to his again. "Fine."
He takes a step towards her and she finds her gaze falling to his lips as his does the same and he whispers, "May I?"
"Yes!" she screams inside her head, "God, yes. I've been waiting for this all day," yet all she can manage is a small nod. It is enough, however, and soon his lips are softly pressing against hers, and before she knows what's happening, they're locked in a tight embrace, her hands gripping his jacket, his arm wrapped around her waist, his tongue delving deeply, deliciously into her mouth, sending shivers of pleasure up and down her spine.
"Come upstairs," she pants when they break apart for air before she even has time to think.
"Ruth," he murmurs softly as he pulls back a little to look at her, and she can hear the hesitation in his voice though his eyes are brimming with desire, and it makes her doubt herself, bringing her back to her senses like an ice cold shower. What if he's here to end it, to let her down gently?
She looks away in embarrassment and pain, murmuring, "Tea. I... I've made us some tea," and turning towards the kitchen, but she doesn't get very far before his hand grips her wrist, halting her motion.
"Ruth," he says urgently, moving to stand in front of her and blocking the doorway to the kitchen, "look at me, Ruth... Please." It takes her several seconds to regain her composure so she can lift her eyes to his, but she can't hold his gaze for long despite its warmth, dropping her eyes to gaze at his throat, noting for the first time that he's not wearing a suit and tie, but what looks like a dark blue polo shirt and a casual black jacket. "I want to, Ruth," he says huskily. "If only you knew how much, how very tempting it is to just follow you upstairs and make love to you until-"
"Don't, Harry," she objects, feeling the pain grip her heart like a vice, believing that he's lying. How could he be telling the truth? She's never been a very good lover, men have told her so before, and she's certainly not the type of woman to turn a man's head, especially a man of the world like Harry. She knows she's not bad looking, though she's far from beautiful, and that she has a brilliant mind, but she doesn't do relationships very well as she's timid, unsure of herself, and very guarded; she doesn't open up easily or allow herself to lose control. "There's no need to expl-"
"There's every need to explain!" he growls, releasing her wrist and taking her hand in his, pulling it towards him and holding it against his chest. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, Ruth. You're the most wonderful, intriguing woman I know, and what I'm trying to say, rather inarticulately as it turns out, is that I want to spend time with you... to get to know you... away from work. And I know that's never going to happen if we keep jumping into bed together at every opportunity before we've had a chance to talk... as incredibly tempting as that might be."
"Twice could hardly be classified as 'keep' jumping into bed together, Harry," she murmurs softly, glancing up and smiling shyly at him, a mixture of relief and hope blossoming in her chest.
"Perhaps not," he agrees with a shy smile of his own, "but I don't want you to get the wrong idea about my intentions here, Ruth. I was serious last night when I said that I want to build a relationship with you... and I'm not entirely sure you believed me."
"I..." she begins and tails off, not wishing to hurt his feelings by telling the truth and yet not wanting to lie either.
He leans forward, whispering close to her ear, "You can tell me the truth, Ruth. It's one of the things I really value and like about you. I can always rely on you not to mince words and give it to me straight. You have no qualms about telling me when you think I'm wrong... and I seem to recall you calling me a bastard on more than one occasion."
She blushes and lifts her eyes to look at him as he pulls back smiling. "Yes, well," she says, "you deserved it at the time."
"No doubt," he smirks. "And yet I'm still standing here, in your hall, at past midnight on a Friday night, wanting to spend time with you... So you see, you don't have to be scared of me, Ruth."
"I'm not scared of you," she replies indignantly, regaining some of her normal confidence as she realises that he's right; he's the same man he is at work – well, almost the same man – and seeing as he likes her enough to attempt to pursue a relationship with her, she should probably try to just be herself.
"Good," he smiles. "Then perhaps you can find us some glasses and we can share this," he adds, lifting his left hand and showing her a bottle of Argentinian Cabernet Sauvignon that, to her amazement, she's failed to notice he's been holding all this time, "while we have a nice conversation about why you think I'm a bastard."
"I don't..." she begins but tails off when she sees the twinkle in his eye. "Watch it, Harry, or I might chuck you out on your ear," she warns playfully, narrowing her eyes at him as he chuckles and sweeping past him into the kitchen to get the glasses.
"I'm not worried," he smiles as he puts down the bottle on the kitchen counter and pulls off his jacket, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair and stepping behind her. He wraps his arms around her waist causing her breathing to hitch and her heart rate to sky-rocket as he presses a soft kiss against her jaw line before murmuring in her ear, "I know I can change your mind, Miss Evershed. You appear to be quite susceptible to my charms."
"I think you'll find," she sighs as she leans into him, marvelling at the absolute... perfection of the moment, the feel of him against her, the heat radiating from his body and the churning of desire deep in her belly, "that I have rather more will power than you anticipate, Harry."
"And I think you'll find, Ruth," he chuckles, pressing a kiss against her cheek and releasing her to open the wine, "that I'm rather more persistent than you anticipate, not to mention extremely talented in... certain areas."
He winks at her and she can't help giggling, feeling herself begin to relax in his presence like never before, and as she turns to retrieve the corkscrew, hands it to him and watches as he opens and pours the wine, she can't help marvelling at how different he is from the Harry she sees at work. She would never have believed that he could be so relaxed, warm, playful and happy... and just as sexy in a polo shirt and black jeans as he is in his Savile Row suits.
"Penny for them," he says, turning towards her and handing her a glass of wine.
"Back to mere pennies now, are we?" she smiles, taking a sip of her wine. "Mmm," she hums in appreciation. "This is delicious."
She watches him take a sip too and nod in agreement. "Quite quaffable," he agrees, then putting down his glass, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few coins from which he extracts a two pound piece and holds it out of her, saying, "Here. Two pounds for them. How's that?"
She laughs, and taking the coin from his palm and setting down her glass next to his, she pretends to examine it carefully. "Seems genuine," she volunteers, grinning up at him.
"As if I'd ever try to cheat you, Ruth," he says in mock outrage, but it doesn't make her smile. In fact, it serves to remind her of all the doubts she has about this, them together, and she drops her gaze to the coin in her hands and begins toying with it nervously. "So... what were you thinking?" he prompts after a beat before taking another sip of his drink, seemingly unaware of her shift in mood, or perhaps just unsure of what to make of it or do about it.
She picks up her glass to take another generous sip of wine, shaking herself free of her depressing thoughts before she says quietly, "I was thinking that you're very different tonight... away from work, I mean."
"In what way?" he asks softly.
She doesn't answer straight away, needing more time to compose herself and her thoughts, so instead she leads him through to the living room, taking a seat on the sofa and watching him sit down beside her and place the wine bottle on the coffee table before turning to look at her in expectation. "You're softer somehow," she says eventually, "happier, more relaxed, funny."
"Well, I can hardly go around cracking jokes all the time at work, Ruth," he objects.
"Yes, I know," she smiles, remembering that awful joke he'd made on her first day, but deciding against teasing him about it; she can't quite find the courage for that yet, so she turns to her wine instead and is surprised to find that she's almost drunk a full glass already.
"No one shows all the sides of their character at work, Ruth," he shrugs eventually, lifting the bottle to top up their glasses, "especially in our business. You're quite different yourself tonight."
"Oh?" she queries, wondering how he sees her and fearing to hear it at the same time.
"You're a lot less confident," he smiles. "You're shy and more tense, and yet... playful, witty, and a bit of a tease." She looks down nervously, but he won't let her get away with it. He leans towards her and lifts her chin gently with his fingertip until she's looking into his eyes. Then he smiles and murmurs, "And I'm finding you quite as irresistible as the brilliant, confident, no-nonsense, brave Ruth I see daily at work."
He leans forwards then and presses his lips softly, chastely against hers before pulling back and taking another sip of his wine. He leans back against the cushions, watching her, and after the silence drags on a bit, she can't help trying to fill it. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing," she admits quietly, surprising herself by opening up so quickly on what is, to all intents and purposes, a first date.
"This sort of thing?" he asks, his voice soft and warm, inviting confidence.
He must be one hell of an interrogator, she thinks fleetingly before explaining, "Getting to know people... relationships... opening up... I know where I am with work and I know I'm good at it, but this..." She shrugs helplessly and takes another gulp of wine.
"Well," he frowns thoughtfully, "if it's any consolation, I'm quite rubbish at it myself."
"No, you're not," she objects. "You're quite... smooth."
"That's just training," he says, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "Anyone can learn it and, when you've practised it enough, you don't feel self-conscious any more and it's easy."
She swallows hard at his admission and takes another gulp of wine. "Well, that's reassuring then," she blurts out, feeling all tense and agitated again, and half-wishing they'd skipped this and just gone to bed instead because she can't quite bring herself to wish that none of this had happened. Besides, she's quite desperate to find out if their first time together was so... spectacular just because of the situation they'd found themselves in, the relief of having survived, or if it was a result of them really being such a perfect fit.
He sighs and lifts his hand to rub his face before admitting, "See? What did I tell you? Rubbish at it." He sits up then and leans towards her, reaching for her hand and murmuring huskily, "The thing is, Ruth, charm and seduction may be easy to come by and use as a means to an end, but they don't work long term. And that's the part I struggle with. Like you, I don't trust or open up readily, so it's been easier for me to remain unattached. I haven't wanted to do this, spend time with someone like this, in years, Ruth. But in the last few months, I've found myself... longing for it, for this... with you."
She exhales heavily, releasing the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, pulling her hand out of his, and exclaiming, "God, Harry! How am I supposed to trust you when it's so easy for you to get a woman to want to just... drop her knickers and climb on top of you?"
He blinks in surprise before grinning at her in pleasure at her admission. "Give in to the temptation?" he suggests cheekily.
"I'm serious!" she exclaims, glaring at him even as she blushes, the wine making her bolder.
"I know you are. I'm sorry," he repents, gazing at her with soft, tender eyes. "But I'm afraid that I don't know the answer to that one... All I can say is that I hope, with time, when I'm with you, and only you, every chance I get for months on end, you'll believe me when I say that I... care for you, Ruth, and I want you, this, us... together. This is the best evening I've had in ages. You said that I'm relaxed and happy just now?" She nods. "Well, that hasn't happened since... well, last night actually, but before that it had been years. You do that for me, Ruth."
She sighs and leans into his side, allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders as she rests her head on his shoulder, remembering when he'd mentioned the English Patient at Fred's place and how embarrassed he'd been when she'd teased him about how long it's been since he went to see a film, and realising that he's probably being honest right now; he probably hasn't dated much since he became Section Head. After all, she knows how hard he works, how many hours he puts in at the Grid in addition to all the meetings he attends. He's almost always still there when she leaves every night, typically late enough to catch the last bus, and she knows his driver picks him up at six each morning. Her heart expands at the realisation that, for whatever unfathomable reason, he really does think her special, and it makes her chest fill with a warm glow as she smiles softly, reaching for his hand that's resting on his thigh and taking it between her own.
"But aren't you nervous, Harry?" she asks softly after a bit as she strokes his large fingers absently.
"Of course," he nods. "Aren't you?"
"I'm terrified," she admits.
"Terrified?" he frowns. "Of me?"
"God, no!" she exclaims. "Of messing this up, of not being any good at it and making you hate me."
"I could never hate you, Ruth," he murmurs softly, running his thumb across the back of her hand and squeezing her shoulder.
"You might," she counters, "if I hurt you, or shot you, or something."
"Even then," he chuckles, thankfully realising that she was joking, at least about the shooting part. "Tom shot me, and I don't hate him."
"Well, that's a relief," she smiles, looking up at him. "I bet you'd like it if someone shot him though, so he knows what it feels like."
"Oh, he knows," he sighs. "And I suspect he suffered quite a bit for what he did. Must have been hell to see all you've built crumble around you, to have no one to trust, no one to turn to, not even your partner or friends."
"Yes," she nods, thinking of Tom and all that had happened to him and the team, Zoe, Danny. "I'm glad you're here, Harry," she whispers eventually.
"I'm glad I'm here too," he smiles, pressing his lips against her forehead.
"No, I meant here in section D," she explains, adding hastily, "and here with me," when she sees his face fall. "What I mean to say is that I'm glad we... I have you to rely on at work."
"Not just at work, Ruth," he murmurs. "Here too. Everywhere. If you ever need anything..."
"If you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there on the double just as fast as I can?" she quotes with a smile.
"Yes," he replies. "Where's that from?"
"Ain't no mountain high enough," she smiles. "You know, the song. I was watching a film earlier. I don't remember what it was called. Something with Julia Roberts."
"Any good?" he asks.
"Don't know," she sighs. "I was trying to get my mind off... everything. It didn't work, so I really couldn't tell you much about the film."
"Everything?" he murmurs softly.
"The boat, the storm," she admits, "and especially... you."
He twists his body round to face her, pulling his arm from around her shoulders and shifting forwards on the sofa. "Ruth," he asks softly, "do I make you... feel uncomfortable? Would you prefer me to go?"
"No," she shakes her head, "not if you want to stay."
He smiles tentatively, but then his face turns serious again as he murmurs, "Ruth, I need to know... Do you feel that you have to do this, be with me after... what happened between us because I'm your boss? Is that why you invited me in tonight?"
"No, Harry," she replies quickly. "No, that's not why I invited you in tonight. I'd never sleep my way to the top, and if I thought for a moment that you were the type of man to use your junior staff in that way, I'd resign immediately and probably call you something much worse than a bastard." She sees him smile at that before she adds, "I feel... I've wanted... this for ages. The attraction between us is mutual, Harry, and if you... want... feel..." She sighs in frustration, unable to articulate what she wants to say without laying herself wide open to him, and she's not ready for that yet. "Can we just... talk about something else, Harry? I've had too much wine to think straight and it's late."
"Of course," he smiles. "You're right. It is late. I should go home and leave you to sleep. I didn't mean to disrupt your rest. I just... I needed to see you. I haven't had a chance all day."
"How did you know I'd be awake?" she asks, remembering that he'd been texting her from right outside her house at past midnight.
"I didn't," he admits. "I couldn't sleep, so I got in my car and drove here only to find the house in darkness. I don't know what I was thinking... But just as I was about to drive off again, I saw your light come on upstairs, and then the one in the kitchen. I almost rung you, but then I thought that might be a tad presumptuous. So I sent a text instead... that way, you could ignore it if you wished."
"But I didn't," she smiles.
"No, you didn't," he agrees with a warm smile that has her heart skipping a beat. "You worked out where I was, invited me in, and almost dragged me up to your bed to ravish me in the moonlight."
"Harry!" she exclaims, blushing furiously and lowering her gaze. "I didn't... I don't..." He laughs, a warm, rich sound that has her raising her eyes to watch him despite her embarrassment. "Insufferable man," she grumbles, making him laugh harder, so she glares at him, gets up and carries the glasses into the kitchen in mock offence.
He sobers instantly and follows her with the empty bottle of wine and an apologetic look on his face, stopping in the kitchen doorway. "Sorry," he murmurs as she turns and walks towards him, looking at her with puppy-dog eyes. "I couldn't resist."
"Try," she admonishes lightly, handing him his jacket that she's retrieved from the back of the kitchen chair and taking the empty bottle from his hands, determined not to let him see how scared she is of being alone again with her daemons tonight. If he wants to go home, she's not going to beg him to stay just to keep her company. Disadvantage number one of dating the boss, she realises – you can't let him think you weak.
"I will," he nods before he slips his jacket on and moves to the front door while she puts the bottle down and follows him. He turns to face her, murmuring, "Thanks for a lovely evening, Ruth. I'll see you tomorrow... actually, later today... at work."
"Yes," she smiles, stepping closer and turning her face up towards his in invitation. She wants to reassure him that she's not angry and desperately needs to feel his lips on hers again before he goes.
He smiles and steps close, lifting one hand to cup her cheek and wrapping his arm around her waist as he leans slowly towards her, watching her intently. She sighs and closes her eyes in anticipation and when she feels his lips press against hers, it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. They're so soft and gentle, so... loving. Could she be so lucky, she wonders, deepening their kiss and feeling him respond.
It is their most passionate kiss yet, the wine, or perhaps their honest conversation, making them bolder and deepening the connection between them so that, soon, she's moaning in his arms. "Stay," she whispers against his lips before coming back for more, her hands gripping the back of his jacket and her body pressing against his. He groans and pulls her harder against him, his right hand slipping behind her neck to cradle her head as his left arm tightens around her middle and it's only the feel of her hand slipping down to stroke him through his jeans that has him pulling back.
"Ruth," he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers, "I should-"
"Stay," she interrupts, needing him desperately, not just to keep her daemons at bay or for the physical pleasure, but also because she needs to know for sure that what they have is special and worth her risking so much for it. "Let me take you upstairs and ravish you in the moonlight." He groans, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on her hips, where his hands are now resting, and she knows she's almost seduced him. "Please, Harry. I need this. I need to know."
"Know what?" he asks huskily, lifting his head to look at her.
"If... if it was just a... just the adrenaline," she whispers, dropping her gaze from his to her hands that are resting on his chest now. Then she lifts her eyes to his again and murmurs, "Please, Harry, if you want me, stay. Plea-" But she doesn't get to finish her sentence before his lips are on hers again, hungry and insistent, and his body is pressing her into the wall behind her.