1 November 2005 - Ben
"Happy birthday, old man," Ben says when Harry answers the phone.
"Fifty two is hardly old, Ben," he protests, making him grin. He loves to tease Harry.
"It's a great deal older than forty-nine," he replies and he can hear Harry chuckle. "Where are you anyway? I don't hear any sounds of celebration. Don't tell me you're still at work!"
"Well, someone has to do this job." He sounds a little defensive. "The terrorists don't take a break just because it happens to be my birthday, Ben."
"Delegate, Harry. Delegate," replies in exasperation. "No progress in the love department then?" he adds, already guessing the answer. If Harry had sorted things out with Ruth, he'd be making love to her in a bed somewhere and wouldn't be answering his phone.
"This is not a secure line," he replies tightly, and Ben can't help suspecting that he's using that as an excuse to avoid an answer.
"Then get off your arse and come get me. I'm downstairs."
"Downstairs, where? At Thames House?"
"Yes. Security won't let me through without your authorisation." In reality, he hasn't even tried to get through, not being sure Harry was still in the building, but he knows he's spoken the truth – they won't let him in unless Harry tells them to.
"I'll be right down," he says before hanging up, and Ben can hear the note of pleasure in his voice.
He smiles and makes his way inside the building, slipping his hands into his pockets while he waits for Harry, his thoughts drifting to Sarah Whitman and the prospect of seeing her again tomorrow. He'd be lying if he didn't admit to himself that he's really looking forward to seeing her again. Last time he was in London, he'd followed Harry's advise and rung her, arranging to meet her for coffee. It had gone well and they'd shared drinks a couple of times too before he'd had to return to Germany. Tomorrow night he's taking her out to dinner and it's buoying his spirits considerably. Maybe before he goes back on Friday, he'll have finally made love to her after three decades of waiting and longing. He just hopes it lives up to her expectations. He has no doubt it will live up to his own.
"Ben!" a smiling Harry calls, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He grins and steps forward, waiting for Harry to arrange a visitor's pass for him with the security guards and signing the book they thrust at him.
Then he slips through the metal detector and embraces Harry on the other side, noting the bemused expressions on the guards' faces and guessing that they don't often see Harry looking this relaxed and happy. He's glad suddenly that he arranged this trip for the week of his brother's birthday.
"It's good to see you, Ben," Harry confesses as he leads the way to the lifts. "I have a few things to wrap up first. Then, I suggest, we go to my club."
"I was under the impression that you had a whole bar in your office, Captain," he teases, making Harry chuckle.
"A whole bar might be a bit of an exaggeration. I do have whisky though."
"Excellent."
By the time they reach the door behind which the pods, as Harry calls them, are concealed, they've caught up on everything of import in each other's lives except, of course, the women who've captured their hearts. Neither wants to broach the subject in the open where anyone could overhear and Ben has a feeling that several drinks will be necessary before Harry opens up about Ruth.
They step through the pods, Ben looking around with interest at the Grid, taking it all in for the first time. It's not nearly as busy as he imagined it would be, but he supposes that's probably due to the lateness of the hour. It must be a slow day, as Harry likes to call them, when no immediate threats have been found. He wonders what it's like when an attack is imminent.
"Ben?"
He turns and sees a man he's met before, a while ago now, when Harry had yet to be promoted. He smiles. "Malcolm! How are you?"
They shake hands and exchange a few pleasantries before Malcolm turns to Harry, glancing uncomfortably at Ben, who takes the hint and steps away, surmising that they need to talk shop. He makes a beeline for Ruth, whom he'd spotted a moment before, when Malcolm had called out his name and her head had shot up, catching his eye for a second and smiling.
"Hello, Ruth," he says, offering her his hand and shaking her smaller one gently. "It's lovely to see you again. How have you been?"
"Fine. Thank you. And you?" she asks, smiling softly.
"I can't complain." He sees her glance at Harry and Malcolm, who are still conversing. "Do you know that this is the first time I've been here?" he asks, looking around again. "I did visit Harry once at the old place on Gower street, but this is new to me."
"And how do you like it?"
"It seems so ordinary," he confesses, smiling down at her.
She laughs. "You should see GCHQ," she replies. "Compared to that, this place looks like a palace."
He grins. She seems much more confident compared to when he'd met her and he wonders at that. Is it because they're already acquainted, however briefly, is it that they're in her territory, so to speak, a place where she clearly feels confident and in her element, or has she changed, is she more confident because of what is or isn't going on with Harry?
"So where's Harry's office?" he asks.
"Behind you," she replies. He turns to look over his shoulder and spots Harry walking towards them and Malcolm's back retreating down the hall on the other side of the pods.
"I can see why you call it a fish bowl, Harry," he comments as Harry joins them.
"Tell me about it," he grumbles. "Though it does have its advantages at times." His eyes slip from him to Ruth who blushes and drops her gaze. Interesting, Ben thinks, noting that Ruth's desk is directly in Harry's line of sight when he sits behind his own and wondering if that's just a happy coincidence or if it was done on purpose.
"I suppose it's good to know when your employees are getting no work done," he says, just to see their reaction.
"But not so good when they can see that their boss isn't working either," Ruth retorts, surprising him. She blushes and drops her gaze again, while Harry smiles at her fondly.
"So where's that whisky you mentioned, Harry?" Ben asks, suddenly getting an idea. "You'll join us, Ruth, won't you? We're celebrating Harry's birthday."
"Oh! Well, I... er... I haven't quite finished-" she stammers, but he interrupts her.
"That's no problem. Join us when you're done. Alright?" He gives her his most charming smile, watching as she stares at him for a moment before she nods. "Excellent," he says and turns to Harry. "Shall we?"
Harry's face is impassive, giving nothing away as they turn and walk into his office. He goes straight to the drinks cabinet and pours them each a couple of fingers of scotch.
"You need to stop playing matchmaker, Ben," he warns softly, his attention still on pouring the whisky.
"Still no progress then?" Ben replies, taking the glass Harry hands him and sitting down on the sofa.
He hesitates for a moment, taking a gulp of whisky before replying. "I wouldn't say that."
Ben just raises an eyebrow, waiting.
"I asked Jane for a divorce," he confesses.
"Good for you. How did she take it?"
He sees Harry smile down at his drink briefly, but when he glances up, there is pain and guilt mingled together in his gaze. "Rather well, I thought. She'd been expecting it apparently." He falls silent and takes another gulp of whisky, draining his glass and getting up to refill it. "I'm renting a small flat now. It's closer to work, which is good, and it's got a back garden for Scarlet."
"Jane let you keep her?" he asks in surprise. He knows how much the little dog means to Harry, how much comfort and companionship she's provided for him these past few years since the surge in threats after 9/11 and Catherine and Graham had left home, but he imagines Jane has been home more than Harry these last few years and, he'd have guessed, equally attached to Scarlet.
"Yes." His voice sounds... odd.
"What?" Ben asks as Harry returns to his seat with a full glass and the decanter.
"Nothing." Harry quickly dismisses his question and Ben knows that, whatever it is, he's not ready to share it yet.
"I'm seeing Sarah again tomorrow," he says, leaning back in his seat as he changes the subject.
It was the right decision because he sees Harry relax, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he leans back too, saying, "Things are going well then?"
"Yes. Very well."
"I'm glad."
They talk a bit more about Sarah and then about Lizzy and Maggie before the conversation moves to Catherine and Graham. Harry tells him about his trip to Israel and Catherine's new documentary and her new, French boyfriend, whom he describes as tall, good-looking, charming, witty and utterly biased against Israel. When Harry shares the story that Fabian had worn a green t-shirt with the slogan 'Free Palestine' across the front to a football game in Tel Aviv between Israel and Ireland, he rather gets the impression that Harry approves of him. It sounds like just the kind of thing Harry would have done as a young man. He learns that Graham is working in a publishing house now and is enjoying it very much – he always did love books and history, Ben can't help but remember. Throughout their conversation, however, there is something in Harry's eyes that he can't quite put his finger on, until he eventually confesses that neither of his children have contacted him today.
"We told them last week," he explains between gulps of whisky, "about the divorce, and I haven't really spoken to either of them since."
He has no idea what to say to that, so he reaches over and grips his brother's shoulder in silent support. "They'll get over it eventually, Harry," is this only thing he can think to say.
Harry nods in silence and drains his glass again. He's going through the whisky at an alarming rate, having polished off two glasses in less than thirty minutes. Ben's about to say something about it as he watches Harry refill his glass, when Ruth knocks lightly against the door-frame.
"Ruth," he says, smiling and getting up. "Come in. Take a seat. I'll get you a glass." And with that he moves over to the cabinet, allowing Ruth to take his spot on the sofa. He sets the glass down for Harry to fill and grabs a chair for himself.
"To Harry," he says, raising his glass once Ruth has hers in her hand. He thinks about adding something more, teasing him a little, but he holds his tongue at the look his brother gives him. He can't remember the last time Harry seemed so raw and sensitive inside and he doesn't want to press him. He vividly remembers the bleakness and the pain of the days and months following his and Julie's separation and eventual divorce. Knowing it was the right decision for both of them hadn't stopped the pain and the guilt he'd felt for himself, for Julie, and most of all his girls. This was never going to be an easy time for Harry, and though his children are adults now, they're clearly not taking it well, and Ruth... He doesn't know what's going on with Ruth. So instead he adds, "Best brother in the world," watching Harry smile slightly, Ruth looking between the two of them with interest.
"Harry," Ruth murmurs as they take a sip of their drinks before Ben starts up a conversation with her, using the Pearce charm to draw her out, getting to know this woman who might well soon become his sister-in-law, discovering her fierce intellect and love of knowledge, her charm and compassion, her gentle sense of humour and wit. For the most part, Harry just watches them, his eyes mostly on Ruth, utterly captivated by her. He drinks much less while she's near, Ben notes with some relief, and though his eyes radiate the longing of his heart as he watches her, whenever Ruth glances his way, the shutters come down, hiding the depth of his feelings from the object of his affections. Why, Ben wonders. Has Harry not told her yet that he's separated from Jane? That he's getting a divorce? Or has she perhaps decided against a relationship between them? He can't imagine that's the case, otherwise why would she be here with them, sharing a drink?
She appears engaged in their conversation, laughing and smiling, talking to him with an ease that was lacking last time, but though she tries to hide it, Ben can tell that she's hyper-aware of Harry, every sound he makes, every movement, capturing her attention. The tension between them is palpable and Ben finds himself wondering how they can possibly manage to keep their distance when the force pulling them together is clearly so strong. He knows how stubborn Harry is, but it seems he's met his match in Ruth, and part of him can't help thinking that the sparks that'll fly when they finally come together will rival the Northern Lights.
"So what kind of boss is Harry then?" he asks sometime later, after he's regaled Ruth with anecdotes of Army life and she seems more relaxed.
She smiles and glances at Harry before looking back at him and replying, "He's a fantastic boss. He's even-tempered, kind, thoughtful, positive and encouraging, never raises his voice, is always sending us home early and even letting us work from home on occasion. Everybody adores him."
Harry smiles at that and Ben laughs, watching as her twinkling eyes flit to Harry's and back again. "Even-tempered? Ha! Either your pulling my leg, Ruth, or you're secretly in love with him." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and he silently curses himself as he watches them, the smile still on his lips, hiding his troubled thoughts – he may not be as good as his brother, but he's learnt one or two things too about hiding his emotions whilst in the Army.
Harry's face is serious, giving nothing away, while Ruth blushes and drops her gaze for a moment, but she recovers quickly, lifting her eyes to his and saying, "Why does it have to be one or the other? For all you know, it could be both."
Her words floor him, taking him completely by surprise, and judging from Harry's expression, he hadn't expected that either, and he suspects that the confidence and courage she's displaying here is exactly why Harry fell in love with her in the first place. It must be because they're on the Grid. She must be like this all the time in her work, he thinks as he chuckles and replies, "Touché."
He opens his mouth to add something more, but Ruth doesn't give him time as she exclaims, "Oh bugger! Is that the time? I really must go," and with that, she gets up, claiming that she needs to hurry to catch the next bus which stops at Thames House in ten minutes. She says goodnight and shakes his hand when he rises, firmly dismissing his protests and offers to see her safely home if she stays to have another drink with them before turning to face Harry.
He has a feeling that she wishes to be anywhere but here right now, clearly embarrassed by her near admission of love, and that it's taking very nearly all of her courage not to turn and flee the room without having to face his brother. Perhaps she would have done just that if he hadn't been here, or perhaps it's the fact that it's Harry's birthday that's holding her back.
Harry looks down at her, his eyes open to her for the first time tonight, but before he can say anything, she reaches up and kisses his cheek, murmuring, "Happy birthday, Harry," and turning swiftly away.
They watch her in silence as she grabs her things and leaves through the pods, and Ben pretends not to notice Harry turn away and raise a hand to wipe the tears from the corner of his eyes. "Do you have more whisky?" he asks instead, noting the decanter's empty. He reckons they're both in need of another after that.
"In the desk drawer," is the gruff reply he gets as Harry sits back down and reaches for his glass.
So he walks over to his brother's desk, eyeing the drawers on either side. One set is locked and he figures the top one on the other side is too narrow, so he pulls out the second drawer on the right to find a beautiful, turquoise scarf neatly folded inside. It surprises him and he stares at it for a moment, unthinkingly reaching forward to touch it. It's silky soft, made of the real thing if he had to hazard a guess, and delicately embroidered. He's about to close the draw again, not wanting Harry to realise he's snooping – even if that's not what he'd intended – when a small, white card catches his eye, tucked inside the material. Carefully, he pulls it out just a little so he can open it surreptitiously, quickly scanning the small, neat handwriting that says, "I can't keep this. I'm sorry." There is no signature, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out it must be from Ruth – a present Harry gave her that she has returned – and it suddenly makes perfect sense why Harry hasn't mentioned his impending divorce to her. Has she ended it already, he wonders, feeling a stab of pain in his heart for his brother. But if she has, why would she say what she did tonight? Why would she agree to have a drink with us and kiss Harry's cheek? Nothing in her behaviour or words so far has made him think for a moment that she could be so cruel – quite the contrary. What the hell is she playing at?!
Quickly, he tucks the card back inside the material, closes the drawer, and opens the one below, discovering four bottles of single malt, each from a different distillery, varying in age from 8 to 12 years. Every bottle has a different letter on it that together spell Ruth, and now he's totally confused. Why would she return his gift and then get him one for his birthday, he can't help asking himself, especially one as expensive as this! He knows the price of a good whisky. What the hell is going on?
He shakes his head in bewilderment, wondering how best to broach the subject with Harry, too curious, too concerned for his brother to leave well alone. He'll get to the bottom of this tonight. He has to.
"Which one do you want me to open?" he asks, lifting his eyes to Harry's.
He hasn't been watching him, still gazing out across the Grid, lost in thought. "Doesn't matter," he replies.
He chooses the R, Ledaig 10 year, and carries it over to Harry, breaking the seal and uncorking the bottle, pouring them each a glass. He can see Harry's had one too many already despite his best efforts to hide it. "Last one, Harry," he says. "Then I think we'd best get you home."
Harry's been contemplating the bottle with the R written neatly on top, but he turns to him at this pronouncement and frowns, no doubt baulking at being told what to do by his younger brother.
"It's nice to have a woman who knows what you like, but I don't think Ruth meant for you to finish the whole bottle in one sitting tonight."
Harry looks down, then leans abruptly forward, his hands rising to cover his face, elbows coming to rest on his knees, his breaths harsh as he struggles for control. Ben hasn't seen him like this, this close to the edge in a very long time, and he doesn't quite know what response is best to help his brother. He wants to reach out to him, but isn't quite sure if a comforting hand on his shoulder would help or cause him to unravel completely. If they were in Harry's home, he'd risk it, but here, he knows that Harry won't want to show any weakness at work, so Ben says and does nothing, taking a sip of his drink instead and savouring the flavour while he waits for Harry to regain control. It doesn't take him long.
"I need some air," he says eventually, tipping the contents of his glass down his throat and getting up. He walks over to his desk, where he proceeds to lock everything down, putting away any sensitive files and turning his computer off. Once he's ready, he turns to look at Ben. "Bring the whisky," he says and walks to the door, grabbing his coat and exiting his office while Ben downs his drink and grabs the bottle and his coat before following him out.
They walk along the Thames for a bit until their heads have cleared, at which point, Harry calls his driver to take them back to his place where Scarlet greets them enthusiastically, her exuberance and joy at her master's return doing wonders to lift Harry's mood. They've picked up some Indian on the way and quickly dish it out, grabbing a beer from the fridge each and carrying their plates into the living room, taking a seat in front of the telly where they catch the end of Mastermind. They spend an enjoyable twenty minutes calling out the answers before the contestants on the general knowledge rounds, a healthy dose of brotherly competition creeping into the mix, Scarlet barking excitedly from time to time in response to their enthusiasm.
By the time Mastermind is over, they're both feeling rather a lot better, having managed to out perform most of the contestants though their own competition didn't have a clear winner. Probably just as well, Ben thinks ruefully, knowing how irritated Harry gets when he loses. He carries their empty beer bottles and plates into the kitchen while Harry searches for something else on the telly, but there appears to be nothing on as, when he returns with the whisky, the sound of Rachmaninoff's piano concerto no. 2 – if he's not mistaken – fills the room. Harry's leaning back in his armchair, eyes closed, a look of deep appreciation on his face.
Ben puts his glass in front of him and takes a seat across from him, leaning back in the armchair, kicking his shoes off, and stretching his legs out on the table before taking a sip of his drink. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks when the music quietens a little, his eyes on Harry's face. Their conversation since they left Harry's office has been light with a lot of friendly banter, but Ben hasn't forgotten his concern for Harry and worry that Ruth might not actually be good for him.
He watches as his brother opens his eyes, running a hand over the top of his scalp, a sigh escaping his lips. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Mmmm," Ben hums, not buying it for a second, watching as Harry reaches for his glass. They sip their drinks in silence for several minutes. "Why haven't you told her about the divorce?" he asks eventually, making one last attempt at drawing his brother out.
"It won't change anything, Ben," Harry answers. "She'd feel even more guilty than she already does. It's better to wait until it's all been finalised. When I'm officially single again... then I'll tell her."
"But that could be months away!"
"I know. I can wait," he replies, lifting his eyes to his, steely determination in his gaze. "What we'll have will be worth it."
He watches Harry speculatively for a moment, weighing up his options before he settles on telling him the truth. "When you told me where to find the whisky, I found a blue scarf instead," he states, watching the frown form on Harry's face and the flash of anger in his eyes. "I didn't intend to snoop, but I'm a little concerned, Harry. Why would she return your gift and then give you four bottles of single malt? She doesn't seem the type to toy with your emotions, but-"
"She's not," he interrupts, his voice full of steel.
"Then what the hell is going on?"
He wonders if he's pushed too far as he watches Harry's face, eyes flashing, jaw set, lips pressed together in anger. Luckily for both of them, however, drink has never turned Harry violent, but rather has a mellowing effect on him. He sighs, lifting his right hand to rub his forehead, his left cradling his drink. "It's my fault," he says eventually. "I took her with me to Baghdad on an op. I should never have done that, knowing how things were between us, but I trust her and I needed her skills as an analyst. I thought I was strong enough to handle the temptation. I was wrong."
"When was this?" Ben asks in surprise.
"A little over two weeks ago," he replies, "before I'd talked to Jane."
"I see." And he does see now how impossible the situation is for Harry. "So you think that if you tell her, she'll think it was because of what happened... again... and she'll feel even more guilty."
"I know she will," he sighs, his gaze troubled as he looks at him. "I've put her in an impossible position."
"You're not the only one to blame, Harry," he says softly, feeling the need to point that out, knowing how hard Harry's always been on himself, expecting an almost superhuman strength to be his when others are forgiven for being mortal.
"It's my fault," Harry replies, his voice rising slightly in frustration. "She's inexperienced in the field. She's only been out on a handful of ops and nothing as demanding as this one was. I should have been able to maintain my self-control. Twenty-five years, Ben. It's been twenty-five years since last I lost control like that and I wasn't even the senior officer at the time." Bloody Juliet Shaw, Ben thinks, but doesn't seek confirmation from Harry. "And it wasn't even once. I made love to her all night long, completely losing track of our objective, of the fact that we were in a foreign country and anything could happen."
"But it didn't," Ben feels the need to point out.
"No. We were lucky." Harry exhales heavily and rubs his face.
"To err is human, Harry," he reminds him gently. "We're all tempted and make mistakes. You're no different from the rest of us. You love her and she practically admitted today that she's in love with you too. It's understandable that things got heated between you so far away from home. Don't be so hard on yourself."
"And if she never forgives me, Ben? What then?" His eyes look so troubled as he turns to look at him.
"I'd hazard a guess that she already has, Harry. I suspect, like you, it's herself she can't forgive." He smiles at his brother. "Give it time. It's only been a couple of weeks. Things will begin to look up soon, you'll see."
A/N: Thank you all for continuing to read this story and for your support and encouragement. Once again, I'm using Harry's diary for details in this chapter (and throughout this fic). Fabian's green t-shirt is mentioned there.
