A/N: More M-rated material.
Beach cottage – north of Lima – 7.27 am:
It is only the second time Ruth and Harry have made love, and this time it is the polar opposite of their frantic coupling of the day before. Harry had slid into her from behind, while she pushed her top leg back over his body. It is by far his favourite position, the only tradeoff being that he cannot see his lover's face, but this is balanced by his ability to last much longer. He has set up a gentle, but steady rhythm, while Ruth seems to enjoy it when he slides his fingers up under her camisole, and caresses her breasts.
Ruth is right. Sex is a wonderful de-stressor. He had forgotten, and in the few times he'd had sex with Lydia, he had ended up being more stressed afterwards than before. Should he tell Ruth about Lydia? He thinks it unwise. Maybe in a few weeks, should the subject ever come up.
"Faster, Harry," Ruth says, and he knows this means she is about to climax.
He has been lost inside their lovemaking, imagining that they can keep doing this for an hour or more. Maybe an hour has already passed, and Ruth is tired. He loves it that she is confident enough to tell him what she wants. He hadn't expected that. He speeds up a little, and slides one hand down her body, where he passes his fingers over her bundle of nerves. He pushes into her deeper and faster, and he hears Ruth's cries.
"Now Harry!"
He complies, and she comes so fiercely that he almost slips out of her. He closes his eyes, and lets go. That is all he needs – either his own, or Ruth's permission to climax. He groans against her neck as he comes inside her. He holds himself there by embracing Ruth from behind, all the muscles in his body watery, a sheen of sweat covering both their bodies.
"Thank you," he hears her say breathlessly.
"No …... thank you."
After a while, Ruth turns in his arms, and they lie together, their arms loosely around the other. Neither has the energy for anything more. Even post-loving kisses require too much effort.
"Tell me you didn't think of Mace while we were doing that, Harry."
"Only once or twice."
Ruth taps him softly and playfully on his shoulder, and he chuckles.
"I was thinking that if Oliver Mace had only once had sex like we we've just had, then he wouldn't be so obsessed with hurting other people."
"So …... you think all Oliver needs is a good women who will shag some sense into him?"
"It works for me, so it might for him as well."
Ruth throws both arms round his neck, and pulls him closer, before she kisses him, a lazy, half-hearted kiss. Harry returns the kiss, and holds Ruth by his hands on her waist. He then slides his arms around her, and again draws her close to him.
They lie together in comfortable silence for some time. They are not tired so much as temporarily depleted, and even a conversation requires effort. That is, until Ruth shares with him something which has been on her mind.
"Harry," she says carefully.
"Mmm?"
"I was thinking …..."
Oh, God, Ruth …... please don't think!
"I was thinking that you seem very …... skilled in bed."
"You mean at sex, Ruth, because when I'm in bed, it's normally to sleep, and to my knowledge, that requires no special skills."
"Of course I mean at sex. You don't have to answer this but …... when I was away – the first time, and then this last time – did you …...?"
"You're asking me about my sex life."
"Yes, and I know I have no right to even ask, so if you don't want to tell me -"
"You'll keep asking, but you'll couch the question differently each time."
"Perhaps."
Harry draws away from her slightly so that he can watch her face. He doesn't want to open this particular door, but feels that he must somehow satisfy her curiosity, otherwise the issue will drive her mad, and she'll not ever let it go.
"Keep in mind, Ruth, that while in Cyprus, you had a committed, sexual relationship with a man, so by comparison my few one-night stands -"
"How many?"
"I wasn't counting. Four, maybe five."
"Did you see any of them more than once?"
"Yes. There was one woman whom I saw maybe three times. She reminded me of you, and when I realised that, I couldn't see her any more."
"And this past eleven months?"
He'd have to give her an A for persistence.
"Up until around three weeks ago, I was having sex with a woman I met at one of those awful dinners for security personnel. She was widowed, and all she was after was sex. I told her I was also widowed, and just sex suited me fine."
Ruth suddenly quietens. Even her body goes very still, and Harry pulls back and watches her. She appears to be staring at the middle of his chest.
"It was nothing, Ruth. I wanted to feel a warm body next to me, even if it was only for a half hour or so. I thought you were dead, and I felt dead inside, but my body required release. We only met maybe four times. It was meaningless for both of us. It was just sex – nothing more."
"It's never nothing, Harry. If you did it with her more than once, it wasn't nothing."
He doesn't know what to say to that, although he knows he should. He wishes he had the words to convey to her how lonely he was, and how much he was missing her, and how sex – even meaningless sex - was his way of attempting to fill the void.
Harry is just about to launch into an explanation when Ruth turns away from him, and climbs out of bed. She puts on her robe, and heads to the bathroom.
"Ruth," he calls after her, but she ignores him.
He lies in bed, listening to the sound of the shower running, and inside his chest his previous joy turns to a muddy slurry of shame, guilt and anger. You are such a fucking idiot, Pearce. Why couldn't you just lie?
Harry waits until the shower is no longer running, and still Ruth has not returned to the bedroom. He waits a few minutes longer, and then he goes looking for her. She is nowhere in the house. He stand at the front windows, and then he sees her. Dressed in a red swimsuit, she is walking in the shallows, kicking the water as she goes. Her actions are not those of a happy woman tripping through the water, but an angry one, taking out her ire on something that will not kick her back. He longs to go down to the beach and join her, but he knows she needs this time alone, so he heads to the shower.
Lima – 8 am:
Dimitri has followed Oliver Mace to an outdoor cafe only two city blocks from his hotel. He watches from across the road while Mace makes several phone calls, but it is apparent that the person on the other end has not picked up.
What Dimitri doesn't know, but suspects, is that Mace is ringing Juan Carlos, and the lazy young sod isn't picking up the phone. Well, we'll see about that, Oliver thinks, having to review his plans. Perhaps a visit is in order. Not now, though. Perhaps much later.
This gives him the day in which to stroll around Lima, looking at the sights. Such a lovely city, a blend of the old and new.
Ruth's Beach house – 8.45 am:
Ruth returns from the beach, and goes straight to the bedroom, ignoring Harry, who is in the kitchen making pancakes. When things are going wrong, he thinks, it is best to keep busy.
Ruth returns to the living area just as Harry is putting the plate of pancakes in the middle of the table. He had already distributed the plates and cutlery and place mats. He looks up at her, and sees kindness and apology in her eyes.
"Truce?" she says, holding out her arms to him. Harry's shoulders sag in relief as he steps into her embrace, and slides his arms around her, pulling her against him.
"I know it wasn't fair to tell you that. I even felt that I was being unfaithful to you, even though I believed you to be dead."
"I know," Ruth says, lifting her head to look him, before she places a chaste kiss on his lips.
Temporarily relieved, Harry steps away from her, and pulls out a chair for her to sit at the table. "I've left the tea brewing, but I didn't know what you like on your pancakes."
"Lots of butter, and honey," Ruth replies, so Harry brings those from the kitchen, before he sits on the chair opposite.
Both are too occupied with eating, although they are each aware of an underlying current of tension. There is much which remains unspoken, and so after he pours them each a cup of tea, Harry decides to once more open up the subject of Lydia. He waits until they have each added milk and sugar to their tea, and is about to speak, when Ruth beats him to it.
"I'm not cross with you for …... shagging that woman," she begins, looking at her cup of tea. "How can I be? I know that you were sad -"
"I was beside myself with grief, Ruth. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't think straight. The only thing I did properly was work."
"I'm so sorry you had to live through that, Harry."
"I imagine your life wasn't a picnic, either. After all, you were on the run ….. again."
"You're right. I didn't enjoy my second exile, although I tried to see it as a necessary sacrifice."
Harry sighs heavily at Ruth's use of the `s' word. Bloody security services, and the bloody necessity for sacrifice! Well, those days are behind him …... behind them.
"While I was down on the beach I began to feel so angry with you, and it was all about what transpired in the weeks before I was stabbed. I was so jealous of Elena Gavrik, and that doesn't make sense to any thinking person. After all, at the time you were with her, I was a child, and I didn't even know you then. I hadn't exactly returned your interest in me, especially after I came home from exile. The first time, that is."
"I did …... wonder about your jealousy of Elena. I was confused by seeing her again. I'd forgotten how manipulative she could be, and I felt myself being taken in by her all over again. I didn't love her, and I knew back then how hurt you were. I think that's why I decided to tell you the truth about Lydia."
"Lydia," Ruth repeats the name with obvious distaste. "What a pretentious name."
"I imagine she couldn't help what she was named."
"Was she …...?"
"Ruth …..." Harry puts down his cup, and pushes his plate to the side. "I'm not about to divulge anything about her, other than we had sex – just sex, and no intimacy – a handful of times. We didn't talk, I know nothing about her, and she knows even less about me. She thinks my name is John. I made the decision to stop seeing her even before I found out you were still alive. That's it. To say any more about it is to give it an importance it never had in the first place."
"Alright." Ruth sighs. "I agree. I'm just being ridiculous. I've had this idea of you lusting after me all these years, and …... to be honest, it made me feel rather good, even though I was often afraid of …... of that …. of being that close to you. I was afraid that if we got that close, I may lose you. It seemed easier to not be intimate with you, and that way I could never lose you. To learn that you could have sex with another woman – other than me – was …... well …..."
"A blow to your ego?"
"Yes. You're right. I should just grow up."
Harry says nothing to that, because he has to agree with her. They both have to grow up. Ruth has to take responsibility for her own erratic emotional responses, and he has to stop being so passive where she is concerned. Truth be told, he is afraid of losing her, and that leads him to putting up with a lot from her that he shouldn't. They will have to address these things, otherwise they will not survive as a couple.
A/N: It's in the next chapter that things heat up, but this time outside the bedroom.