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Chapter 10 – Contact
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Harry did not actually manage to get home, between Juliet's captured assassin arriving at the Grid and everything falling to chaos the following morning. As per usual, there were just too many things to do. As Erin disappeared off, with the rest of the night shift, he was left to corral the Monday staff into a morning of paperwork and surveillance reports. Nobody was less enthusiastic about this than Calum Reid, who spent half of his time complaining and the other half expressing more interest in what was happening downstairs, with the assassin, than Harry thought was entirely healthy.
Downstairs, things were going poorly. Thanks to the assistance of Interpol, they had managed to identify the man they had in their holding cells and indentify what horrors he had been linked with in the past. They had him on six counts of murder and implicated in the disappearance of three Chinese business men, in Taiwan. So far, however, he had not said a word, regarding who had employed him for this latest venture. And, with each passing minute that he was silent, Harry grew more sure that they were going to have to go take Juliet's offer of help – which would, of course, mean offering her some sort of deal in return. The idea made him feel faintly nauseous. Or perhaps that was just the sheer exhaustion. He could not tell anymore.
It remained fairly hectic until around half one, at which point the requests and phone calls stopped streaming in. Grabbing a cup of coffee, Harry took advantage of the lull in proceedings, slinking back to his office, locking the door and closing the blinds tightly. Throwing himself down on the couch, he promised himself that he would just close his eyes for a few minutes and fell promptly fast asleep. Quite uncharacteristically, nobody called/knocked/or dropped by to disturb him for nearly three hours.
He woke to a sore neck, a dry mouth and the momentary confusion of waking somewhere that was not his bed. For a moment, as he rolled over onto his back, craning his stiff neck and looking frantically around himself, he was not entirely sure where he was, who he was, or even – to his mild consternation –what he was. The office around him was dark, the only light coming from the narrow gaps beneath his blinds, where the Grid's blue glow seeped through. His cold coffee sat on the table, next to his couch. His desk was stacked with a few files he had yet to look at. The light on his phone remained thankfully unblinking. Nobody had called while he slept then.
As his brain rolled gradually into gear, he slowly realised what the sound which had woken him had been. A triple rap across his door. Someone's knuckles.
"Harry?"
A familiar voice. Ruth's familiar voice.
His body gave a strange half-pleased, half-nervous reaction, both emotions interlaced with a healthy dose of half-asleep confusion. Ruth was here? Why was Ruth here? He was at work. Wasn't Ruth off? Wasn't she at a meeting? What time was it? How long had be slept? Seizing hold of the arm of the couch, he dragged himself upright, rubbing one hand over his tired face. Wake up, he told himself harshly, go answer the door. Staggering to his feet, he made his way over to the door, checking that his clothes were arranged in a vaguely presentable manner. He didn't think of turning the light on before opening the door – something he soon regretted as the hallway was glaringly bright in comparison. He squinted as it burned his eyes.
The world had barely come into view before a frowning Ruth thrust a file forwards, into his hands.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice carrying a dangerous edge that it rarely held – especially when directed at him.
Harry faltered, caught off-guard, a little sleep-dazed and a lot confused.
"Going on?" he asked, giving his eyes one more rub before looking down at the file. Had something happened on the Grid, in his absence? Had he missed something? "I don't understand," he frowned down at the file – an asset number, printed on the front, dated today with Erin's signature. "What's wrong, Ruth?"
"What's wrong?" Raising an eyebrow, she reached over, flipping the front page of the file she had handed him open. "According to Erin, there is a man downstairs in interrogation who is, apparently, the assassin who tried to kill Torrance Wood. Apparently, this woman brought him in, last night," she said, jabbing a finger downwards, at a photocopy of one of MI5's high-quality false driving licences which was paper-clipped to the inside of the asset file. It pictured Zoe Reynold's face.
Oh god. Of course.
Everything slid into place.
"Ah." Harry's eyes darted down at the photograph of Zoe then back up to Ruth again. "That..."
Ruth looked unimpressed.
"I was going to tell you-," Harry began, but she cut him quickly off, looking halfway between angry and distressed.
"Erin mentioned it, when I came in to debrief, earlier. She assumed I already knew."
Harry winced. "You shouldn't have found out that way," he admitted.
"No, I shouldn't." Ruth's eyes narrowed. Somehow, it made her simultaneously more frightening and more attractive.
Knowing now was not the best time to tell her she was beautiful when she was angry, Harry kept his mouth shut, clearing his throat and shifting against the doorframe, crossing and uncrossing his arms. He remained silent for almost half a minute, but the tension soon became unbearable.
"I thought it could wait until after your meeting," he started to explain, defending his actions, but Ruth overrode him.
"She's the asset who called in, last night, isn't she?"
"Yes," he admitted, wincing slightly at the hurt in her eyes. "I didn't want to distract you from your meeting and there was a lot of vetting to be done before they could-,"
"She was my friend, Harry. I thought I'd never see her again!" Ruth's voice crescendoed from its normally soothing tones, reaching a decibel which could not have failed to catch the attention of their colleagues, out on the Grid. Perhaps she realised this herself because she paused, for a moment, and when she began speaking again it was in lowered tones. "How could you not tell me that she was back?" she asked, with accusing eyes.
It was unfortunate that she had found out about Zoe the way she had, Harry thought – but if he had done something wrong, in keeping the information back, he couldn't see it. When an asset came to them, with information, requesting asylum, they had to go through a very stringent procedure of vetting and safety protocols. He could hardly have just brought Zoe into the Grid and reunited them. Ruth would not have been able to see her anyway. Nobody but Erin and Harry himself had access to where she and Juliet were being held.
"You were going to a meeting with the Home Secretary," he insisted, trying to calm Ruth down. "It was rather important. I thought you could do without the added complication."
"Complication?"
"Complication, yes."
"No, not a complication, Harry, a person. Zoe."
"Who came to me with intelligence, as an asset," Harry stressed. "I needed to follow protocol. Would you really have wanted me to wake you up, to tell you that she was back in the country but you could not see her yet, you could not even talk to her?" he asked, incredulously.
Her lips parted and she mouthed wordlessly for a second, before indignantly spluttering; "YES!"
She sounded exasperated. Her eyes were flashing, brighter than ever in the light of the hall. In contrast with them, her hair seemed very dark, her skin very milky. God, she had beautiful skin, Harry mused, watching shadows shift across it in the half light of the hall. Soft. Sweet. He swallowed, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, trying not to look like he was staring. She was beautiful and he wanted to hold her. He was not sure what it was, about her anger, which made her so infinitely attractive. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of her rage against her usual gentle demeanour. Whatever the reason, all he wanted to do, in that moment, was pull her to him and press his lips to hers – pull her back, into the dark confines of his office, and crush their bodies together.
This was ridiculous, he thought, washing his gaze over her one last time. Why were they fighting? Surely Zoe coming back was a good thing? He wanted to make it all better, make the tension slide away. Unfortunately, he had no idea what was going on, behind Ruth's beautiful aquamarine gaze, and no idea which words to say.
"Would you like to come in?" he asked, lamely, gesturing to the office behind him. "We can talk about this."
Ruth opened her mouth, perhaps about to accept, then her eyes swept over the room behind him. The light was still off and the want must still have been evident in his gaze because her expression shifted, becoming suspicious. She closed her mouth again, shaking her head.
Never one to be dissuaded by failure, Harry tried again.
"We can't really have this conversation in the corridor, Ruth," he pressed, gently.
"We've managed thus far," she pointed out.
Touché.
Realising that she was feeling a little more combative than he had previously assessed, Harry decided to change tact. Give her something, he told himself, try and coax a little warmth out of her, bring her around to the idea that Zoe is back and that is all that matters. How she found out about Zoe's return should not be the priority here.
"I'm going to see Zoe later," he told her, warmly. "You should come. It would be nice to all be in the same room again."
"Me, you, Zoe and Juliet Shaw?" Ruth asked, a little tartly.
Ah. Bloody Juliet Shaw.
"Yes." Harry hid another wince. He had not been intentionally holding back the detail of Juliet's presence. In all honesty, for a blissful few moments, he had just forgotten about her. "Juliet will be there too," he confirmed. "Apparently she and Zoe have been working together for some time."
Ruth glared.
"God, it's like drawing blood from a stone," she muttered, darkly.
There were a few seconds of heavy silence, during which Harry swallowed, hard. Her few quiet words were more emotionally loaded than all of the previous anger. They summarised what Ruth was most afraid of, in pursuing a relationship with him – the secrets and lies, the distance that would always be between them. Up on that rooftop, on New Years' Eve, Harry had promised it would not be a problem. He had promised that he would not to keep anything from her unless it was strictly necessary and he thought he had stuck to his promise. Obviously, however, the parameters of what he was required to share were somewhat different than he had expected.
"I was going to tell you," he insisted, a little lamely, "as soon as you came in, to debrief, this afternoon."
Ruth breathed out, slowly, and they continued to stand in silence for almost a minute. It felt somewhat like they had reached an impasse.
Beyond the hall, Harry could dimly hear the noises of the Grid and he wondered, to himself, whether anyone had overheard their conversation. Unlikely, he thought. Even Ruth's most heated comments had been tempered. At the end of the corridor, someone scuttled past, carrying a heaped pile of files. Somewhere on the Grid, he could hear Calum complaining loudly to someone – probably Tariq, who was the only member of staff too polite to tell him to shove off – about his paperwork. Someone was using the photocopier, next to the coffee room. The central heating was blowing overhead. Everything seemed perfectly normal except for him and Ruth, who were caught in some sort of stand-off. The irony of it was, Harry would have been only too willing to raise the white flag, if only he knew what to say. As it was, he had no idea. So, he just stood there, in the doorframe, watching Ruth watch him back.
It took a very long half minute before the hardness left her gaze and then it was only to be replaced by a softened sort of resentment. Letting out a heavy sigh, Ruth folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She still looked very beautiful, mused Harry, a little timidly. She was dressed smartly, from her meeting and her skin looked deliciously pale against the dark navy. He just wanted to reach out and touch her, to pull her back to him, but he didn't think it would go down too well. So, instead, he offered another mumbled apology.
"I wasn't trying to keep it from you," he insisted.
Ruth's jaw tightened, then released. She continued to watch him for another five seconds or so, before the smouldering resentment dulled a bit in her eyes. Apparently coming to some internal decision, she sighed again and threw back a grudging. "I know, Harry."
They stood a while longer.
Harry's heartrate slowed a little, into a more healthy range.
Eventually, the tension in Ruth's shoulders seemed to slide away and it was replaced with a strange weariness. "Listen," she began, running one hand over her forehead and sounding very slightly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to snap." Raising her eyes to his, she added, "I know you would have told me, eventually. I was just so surprised, really..."
Harry accepted the apology as quickly as he could and, at a loss for anything else to say or do, reiterated that he had intended to tell her about Zoe – and about Juliet.
"I had to follow protocol, in bringing them in," he told her. "Besides, Zoe and the others needed to rest. They had been travelling for over twenty-four hours when they called in for me." Giving a little shrug, he hoped to God this explanation was good enough. It made sense to him. "I just assumed it would be fine to brief you on the matter when you came in."
Ruth sighed, looking back up at him with a strange expression in her eyes.
"That would be perfectly fine," she explained to him, slowly, "if I was just your employee."
Ah. Their dual relationship as equals and non-equals.
As realisation dawned, Harry shifted awkwardly on the spot. His reaction spurred a change in Ruth's expression, which softened into one of grudging affection. Underneath the anger, she must have understood this was not easy for him. She must know he was trying his best. Still, Harry doubted she could ever understand just how difficult this all was, for him. He had spent the last thirteen years by himself. He had had lovers, some long term and some short, but no partners. He had not shared his space or his life and he had certainly not been accountable to anyone – beyond a professional capacity. This was new and completely uncharted territory and, much as he wanted to make it work between them, he did not have the first clue how to proceed.
"You know that Zoe was a friend, as well as a colleague," Ruth repeated softly, her cheeks turning a little red as she explained herself. The boldness she had shown in the early stages of their argument must have been borne of anger because she was retreating into herself now, thought Harry, watching her. She bit at the inside of her lip before continuing, in that way he was so used to. "I just wish you'd told me she was back," she repeated, softly. "And that I didn't have to hear it from Erin. You could have called..."
Erin would be equally surprised he hadn't shared this information, though Harry, shoring himself up for days of curious looks – as the staff all re-evaluated whether or not he and Ruth were actually in a relationship. Part of Harry could not wait until everything was out in the open. His spooks already knew something going on, of course, but neither he nor Ruth had said anything about it yet. Not explicitly. God, wouldn't it make a nice change if everyone was on the same page, for once? thought Harry, with a sigh. He didn't want to hide it anymore. It was just male pride talking, probably, but he wanted them to know. He wanted them to know they were together – that he was bound to this woman, in all her beauty and her brilliance and her occasional completely confusing rages.
"I'm sorry for getting it wrong," Harry told her, sincerely.
There was a bit more awkward shifting, then Ruth apologised too. "I didn't mean to overreact," she added, her words directed more at Harry's feet than at his face. Just a minute or so on from her anger and she was back to the woman he was used to; slightly timid, hiding her fire. It was altogether startling, the change in her, thought Harry, as she continued. "You had to do what you did and I understand that," Ruth told him. "I was just so surprised to see her face again and it's been a strange day..." Her lips parted again, as if she were about to tell him something else, but she decided against it.
Harry stored the matter away for analysis later. Right now, they had more pressing problems to deal with.
"How did your meeting go?" he asked her, softly, trying to change the subject from Zoe and their argument.
"Fine."
"Have you debriefed, already?"
"Yes. Erin's got a report of what happened. Nothing big, I'm afraid, just a few small victories on our intelligence sharing agreement with the MSS."
"Well, they don't like sharing," Harry commented. "Any victory is good."
Ruth nodded her head, in agreement.
They both stood in silence for a while.
"We're not very good at arguing, are we?" she noted, softly, after half a minute or so had passed.
A smile split Harry's face, warmth blossoming within his chest. No, he thought with a little smile, they weren't good at arguing. They were too reserved, too terrified of pushing each other away to truly vent their frustration and grievances. It came from years of avoiding conflict and tension, probably. Harry had no doubt that it would be rectified by years, too. Over time, they would become more comfortable with each other. Over time, Ruth would be able to air everything they wanted to, without fearing repercussion and Harry would be able to defend his choices a bit more vehemently – not that he intended on giving her cause for arguments, but life was life and they would fight. Hopefully, not too often, but they would fight.
"We'll get better," he assured her.
"Not too much better," Ruth cautioned, a little attempt at a joke. Her eyes had truly softened now. The resentment was gone, replaced by the bashful sort of warmth he had seen in her eyes during their early years of knowing one another – back when she had not known her emotions well enough to hide them.
Harry smiled.
"Not too much."
Ruth nodded, biting her lower lip then releasing it, her eyes drifting over to the dark office behind him. "Can I still come in?"
Harry faltered, momentarily, then realised that the caution he had felt, at her words, was simply a remnant of old cautions that now no longer applied. There was a want in her voice and it had ignited want in him too – but that was okay now, he reminded himself. He could let her into his darkened office, in the emotional aftermath of a heated conversation. He could trust that, whatever happened, Ruth was okay with it. So, he nodded, mutely, moving to one side and allowing her past.
Their shoulders brushed as she walked by, throwing him a tiny smile at him. Taking in the darkened surroundings, she walked over to his desk and set Zoe's file down on top of it. As Harry followed her inside, closing the door and locking it behind them, Ruth ran her fingers over the photograph on the driver's licence. A small frown had appeared across her forehead.
"She looks different," she said softly.
"She is different," Harry admitted, padding quietly up behind her.
The carpeted floor muffled his footsteps. It was something he had always appreciated about his office – the small design quirk which had left his space the only space on the Grid that was so devoid of noise. It was comforting. Late at night, when everyone else had gone home and he had been left, he could almost imagine like it was somewhere peaceful. With the blinds drawn and the lights out, and Ruth's silhouette faintly illuminated in the blue light from outside, it seemed peaceful now, too.
"Six years is a long time," he reminded Ruth. "Zoe has a daughter, now, Daniela I think her name is."
Ruth looked up, smiling.
"Danny," she said, softly.
Harry blinked then nodded, deciding not to admit that the link had not even occurred to him – startled that it had not even occurred to him. Zoe and Danny had been close. They had worked together as partners, lived together as friends. At one point, Harry had even thought they might be lovers. It made sense that she name her child in his memory. Daniela. Danny. He should have seen that. God he was tired...
"How old?" Ruth asked.
"Five, I think," Harry answered, watching her smile widen. "The same age as Erin's girl."
"It's funny, I never saw Zoe with a child."
"Neither did I," Harry admitted.
"Maybe I didn't know her so well after all."
"I think we knew the important bits," Harry countered, gently.
"I suppose so," Ruth murmured, looking back down at the photographic driver's licence, at Zoe's face. The picture was very different from the woman they had said goodbye to, all those years ago – with long dark hair, instead of short and light, with a few more wrinkles around her eyes and slightly plumper cheeks – but it was still definitely Zoe. Ruth had a very soft expression as she looked down. "I think she'll have taken to it well, though," she mused. "Motherhood, I mean. It's nice she had the opportunity to have a family. So many of us don't."
There was something strange in her tone, something almost envious, which startled Harry. She did not have a child, he realised, with a strange twist of guilt. He had two – he knew the pleasure and the pain of it – but she had no idea what it meant, to watch a part of yourself grow into another human being. He had taken her chance of that when he had let her George die and their boy return to Cyprus, fatherless. Nico. The boy's name had been Nico.
Ruth must have read what he was thinking in his eyes, because her expression instantly shifted. Her brows drew closer together, the hint of a frown forming across her forehead. As Harry forced his face back into a neutral mask, her lips parted to forming words but they never quite made it into sound. Instead, she just stood, watching him for a few long heartbeats. Tension fizzled in the air. One heartbeat passed, then two, then ten. Eventually, Ruth spoke, shattering the horrible silence.
"Harry," she sighed his name, offering her outstretched hand with its palm upturned. An offer of forgiveness through contact.
Harry's body physically relaxed. This was not going to be a stumbling block, he realised, with overpowering relief. He had not ruined them, again, by reacting badly. Stepping over, he took her hand eagerly and wrapped her fingers in his own. Pulling close, they stood, barely brushing. Ruth turned her head into the warmth of his neck, her breath heating his skin as she lifted their linked hands, resting them between their chests. Her thumb ran circles over his, rubbing along the edge of his nail, looping over the top and back down again. It was just a small movement, but infinitely reassuring. Harry leant forwards slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of her head.
"I didn't mean anything by that," she whispered, into the shadow of his neck. "I really didn't."
"I know... I know."
Harry smiled, a little sadly. They had so many demons, between the pair of them, so many horrors in their past. It would take the best part of their lives to assure each other they were forgiven. They would have to learn to communicate and not to skirt around dangerous topics, just as they would have to learn how to argue and say what they were actually feeling. Still, Ruth did not seem to begrudge their predicament. She had signed up for this, Harry reminded himself, she wanted them and all the awkward history that came with.
Slowly, she nudged her face closer, her forehead brushing his cheek. Her skin was incredibly soft against the rough of his cheek. Harry dimly thought that he needed to go home and shave. He needed to go home and sleep. He longed to bring this beautiful woman with him, even if just for the contact. It did not have to be more, Harry told himself, he would be quite happy just to curl up beside her and sleep. Perhaps, for the first time in years, he would not wake in the night with that terrible feeling of having something wrenched from him. Perhaps having her there would soothe his nightmares before they even began. As she pressed against him, he thought it might be possible. She felt safe. And good. And Ruth.
Their fingers widened and loosened, before tightening again, around each other.
Grip, release. Slip, release.
"Were you sleeping in here, before I woke you?" she asked, swaying slightly against him.
Harry nodded, mumbling an affirmative-sounding noise.
"How many hours did you get?"
"Three, maybe a bit more."
He felt her frown. "Harry, you need to go home. You've been in for two days."
"I'm going to see Zoe, soon," he told her, closing his eyes, drinking in all of the rest of his senses – filling them with Ruth. "I can get some sleep after that."
"Will Juliet be there?" Ruth asked.
Harry nodded. "And Zoe's husband and daughter. They're in a safehouse, in Chelsea." In truth, he had not really intended to tell her that part. He was not supposed to tell her that part, as a matter of clearance and security, but it did not matter so much, not when he was taking her there, later. "You should come with me to see them," he suggested softly, finally opening his eyes and looking down at her.
Ruth was looking back up, her pupils huge and dark.
"I'd like that, if that's okay."
He smiled – couldn't help himself. It was so strange, this blurring of the lines, between their professional and private relationship. They would never really be separate, he realised, as she watched him, waiting for permission. He would always have started out as her boss. It would take a long time before they adjusted to the change. In the meantime, there would continue to be awkward moments and moments like this – where both of them were fully aware of how rubbish they were at this, but determined to continue trying anyway.
"That's okay," he told her, softly.
"Good."
Ruth smiled, a brief flash of white in the darkness of the room, and some of the weariness fled from Harry's body. Drawn by some ancient instinct, he dipped his head down and their lips met.
She was soft. Beautiful. She tasted wonderful.
After the initial touch, it was like magnetism. He did not seem to have a choice in the matter as they leant further into each other, their lips meeting lazily, again and again. They started out with some degree of control, but it quickly began to slip away and soon their embrace had become a hungry one. Bodies pressed close, they grew more confident. Their lips met, hard and fast – hungry lovers, denied contact for far too long – as their feet carried them back to the hard edge of Harry's desk. It was a good desk, Harry mused, as Ruth leant back against it, bringing him with her. A really bloody good height. It was probably strong enough to take their combined weight, too. Not now, though, he told himself forcefully. This was not how they happened. They were more than a cheap, quick, sweaty screw, with their colleagues in the next room, he told himself, between their ever quickening embraces.
Ruth's hands found the back of his neck, her fingers working their way across the tense muscles there. It was just a shadow of a massage but it was contact and, having watched her and not touched for over six years, Harry could not help but revel in it. Her fingers were against his skin. Her face was inches from his own, then touching again, as they kissed. Soft lips, warm tongue, wet mouth. Harry's resolve began to slip away, slightly. She felt amazing. They felt amazing. They would be amazing, too, but they were more than this, Harry reminded himself. They were more than a hard, satisfying, amazing shag in his office...
She kissed him again, tongue flicking briefly against his lower lip, fingers tightening against his skin. Their chests were pressed softly against one another. He could feel her heart beating. Suddenly, everything seemed to be moving a lot faster. Adrenaline surged and the rest of the world fell away. All the mattered was Ruth and him and touch. Despite having only had three hours of sleep, Harry felt absurdly awake. His heart felt strong and fast within his chest. His skin tingled, all over. As Ruth's hands slipped from his neck down to the sides of his shirt, tugging him nearer, he gave a soft noise of pleasure. They were leaning back against the desk now, Ruth almost sitting on it. Harry was pressed against her thighs, one of her calves had hooked half around his, desperation rising through them.
They kissed. Her back arched out towards him and their bellies pressed together. Warm. Soft. Good. Fingers gripped and slipped, then released again, searching for a better hold. More than anything else, Harry wanted to be inside her. Her taste and scent was threatening to become intoxicating, but they were more than this, he hastened to remind himself. They were more than a beautiful, mind-numbing, heart-stopping, fantasy-fulfilling screw on top of his desk.
Hot, perfect fingertips were smoothing down his sides, tightening against his hips. He had to remember they were more than this...
Fuck...
It was only a sharp inhale from Ruth, as his palm brushed against her breast, that drew him back from the brink of self-control. As it punctuated the silence, they both halted abruptly in their ministrations, Harry still pressed up against her. For a couple of seconds, they just hung there, breathing heavily and lost in their still-tingling senses. Then, slowly, reality came dripping back in. Much to Harry's surprise, the world had not stopped, while they had been devouring one another. Behind his desk, the clock read a few minutes had passed. Outside his office, he could no longer hear the drone of the photocopier. Inside, his body was no longer tired and sleep-limp, but singing out with so much sensation that it was almost painful. One of Ruth's hands cradled their faces close together. As they panted into the silence of the office, Harry could taste mint and chocolate on her breath.
"Sorry," he whispered, though he could see her face in the half-light and she looked far from accusing. "Got a bit carried away."
"It's okay," she leant in, pressing one last soft kiss against his lips. "I think we are both a little responsible," she admitted.
"I suppose so."
Ruth breathed out, shakily, against his skin.
Harry felt his heart trying to keep up with the rest of him, thunderously fast inside his chest.
"We should probably get back to work," Ruth said, eventually.
"I know." Harry did not want to, but she had a point. They couldn't stand like this forever. "Things to do..." he murmured, against her skin.
They did not draw immediately away from one another, preferring to loiter lust-drunk and dazed, a few inches apart. Eventually, however, Harry realised that his heart rate was not going to return to normal until he had put some distance between them and he reluctantly drew away. Ruth let go. Unwrapping her hands from around his neck, she lowered them to curl around the edge of his desk, for support. Both breathing raggedly, continued to watch each other as they retreated. Ruth's chest was heaving, throwing the shadows of her collarbone up against her neck. Her lips were slightly reddened from their embraces. Licking said lips, she slowly straightened up.
"Are you going to see Zoe now?" she asked.
Harry nodded.
"I said I'd be over sometime in the next hour. She'll have a lot of questions and we'll have the same for her. Erin's agreed to debrief Juliet while we work with Zoe and her husband." He shifted from one foot to the other, his skin feeling slightly over-sensitive in her absence. Mind on work, he told himself, just get your mind back on work – you have plenty of time for that later. If Ruth would come home with him, that was. Much as he wanted that, he was a little too hesitant to ask, just now. She might take it the wrong way. "Are you good to go? To Zoe's?" he asked her, instead, his voice still slightly hoarse.
Ruth nodded, her eyes dragging over him once more. Harry felt them loiter over his groin and the semi-erection he was nursing there.
"I'm fine," she murmured. "You might want to give yourself another minute."
As she raised her eyes to his again, Harry cringed, slightly. It was like being seventeen again, like being seventeen and being stood on front of a girl he had wanted for years, watching her judge him. Though there was a slight smile playing about her lips and only fondness in her gaze, it was still a little uncomfortable – well, maybe vulnerable, was a more suitable word. He felt vulnerable and completely exposed, beneath her gaze. Ruth could see how much he wanted her and all he could see, in return, was the softness in her eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek, shifting to one side, brushing his trousers down.
"Probably a good idea," he granted, shyly.
Ruth's mouth twitched slightly into a smile.
"Probably," she murmured, softly, then added, "I love you."
Harry nearly fell over in surprise. His lips parted, wordlessly staring at her.
To her credit, Ruth gave him a few seconds to acclimatise to the idea, then cleared her throat and stepped away from him, towards the door.
"I need to finish up a few things and talk to Calum about a lead," she told him softly, clearly far less intimidated by her sudden admission of love than Harry was. "Just give me a shout when you're ready to leave."And then she walked out the door, leaving Harry to stare after her.
He would never understand this woman, he realised, in wonder. Seven years of skirting around the subject and she chose a moment like this to tell him, quite calmly, she loved him. She was just completely beyond him; too young, too beautiful, too alive and smart and wonderful for a creature such as him. Too much. He did not deserve her, Harry knew he did not deserve her, yet she had chosen to be with him. His Ruth had chosen him. She loved him. And she could say it, now.
Letting out a slow breath, Harry waited until her footsteps had faded from his earshot, then made his way over to his desk and sat behind it, placing his palms flat against the table top. She was going to be the end of him, he knew. But, he thought with a little smile, he could not imagine a better way to go. Turning his attention to his desktop, he started to tidy up his files. It was time to go. To see an old friend, to field an old enemy, then back home. To sleep. With Ruth.
That simple thought made him happier than he had felt in years.
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