AN: A short update! x
12th June 2011
Things slowly simmer down on the Grid over the next few days, with Harry and Ruth making the effort to be civil to one another and calm toward the rest of the team. But no one is happy. Communication has been cut down to the bare essentials, and the fact that the Head of Section D and his Senior Analyst have separated has become the latest piece of Service gossip. Harry can't forget last Friday, when he watched her walk away from him and imagined her in the arms of another man, and Ruth knows that every time he looks at her, he sees her as she looked then. At last, one morning, she plucks up the courage to talk to him about Mark's offer. He sees her from halfway across the Grid, heading straight for his office. "I'm sorry, Home Secretary," he says. "We're having a bit of a crisis at the moment. I'll have to call you back." He sets the telephone down just as Ruth pokes her head around the door. "Harry? Can I speak to you for a moment?" she asks nervously. Harry nods, and gestures to the chair in front of his desk. It's the most they've spoken to each other since that night.
"Of course. Sit down," he murmurs politely, moving some files onto the floor in order to see her better. She obeys quickly, and lays the single file she's carrying on the table between them. Harry waits for her to speak, cursing the fact that he looks a mess after an all-night JIC meeting, while she is still impeccably neat as always. The obvious bump of her stomach can be seen underneath the material of her blouse, and she unconsciously rests her slim hand over it as she meets his eyes. And utters his death sentence. "Things have been so difficult recently, and I don't think we can carry on this way. Neither of us can work properly... A friend of mine has offered me a job, in Oxford. And I've said yes." She sighs, realising she's over-explaining things. "In any case... I'm requesting to leave the service. I need you to sign the decommission paperwork."
The idea is so patently ridiculous that he doesn't even think before replying. "Request refused." His voice sounds cold and entirely unconcerned. He turns back to his computer screen, trying to hide the hurt that he knows must be showing in his eyes. She wants to leave him. Ruth wants to leave him. She is leaving him. Just like Jane. She's even going to Oxford, just as Jane did all those years ago... His wife flushes red at his reply, and eventually explodes in a hissing voice, "Don't be so bloody petty!" Harry's hand clenches around his computer's mouse and Ruth sees his knuckles turn white. "I'm not," he insists in low tones. "We need you here – you're the only analyst we've got." The hypocrisy of the whole situation strikes him – she left him for love of her job, and now she is perfectly willing to just walk away. His lip curls in displeasure.
She knows he's making excuses, and it makes her even angrier. Sometimes he can be so selfish. Not everything is about them, after all. "You can get Liza back – with a bit of training, she'll do well," she informs him indifferently, determined to completely deconstruct whatever arguments he is planning. She's thought all this out, of course, being the woman she is – not happy unless she's analysed all sides of every situation and worked out all the possible consequences. Ruth isn't selfish. She knows it will be difficult to leave the Grid now, knows perhaps that it will cause them more problems. But she can't stay in this limbo any more. She's loved Harry for ten years. She still loves him. But things aren't working, and she knows there's no chance of reconciliation this time. Things have moved too fast and too far for that.
"I don't want Liza. I want you, Ruth," he protests plaintively. He doesn't just mean on the Grid, and they both know it. They are so used to speaking in codes, infusing every sentence with a double meaning, of significance only to them, that she doesn't need to question his reply. He sounds almost child-like, and she has to grit her teeth furiously to prevent tears.
"We agreed not to discuss this again," she reminds him carefully. "I wanted to be professional – I came to you about the paperwork. If I have to, I'll go to the DG. Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be, Harry." He closes his eyes against her pleading, for he knows that if he looks at her, he'll agree to anything. He'll agree to kill himself, because that's what it will be if she leaves him again. Christ, it was hard enough the first time around...
"You don't think this is difficult for me as well?" he asks fiercely. "You don't think I hate seeing you every day and knowing you're not coming home with me?" Ruth's hands curl up and she feels her nails dig into her palms. The words tumble out of her mouth before she has a chance to stop them. "Then let me go. Harry, let me go – " Harry's face creases in pain. Let me go. The same words she spoke on the dock, after they had shared their first kiss. The words that had marked the beginning of so many years of pain and suffering for him. For both of them. "Sometimes, Ruth, we have to put personal feelings aside and just get on with our jobs," he insists harshly. She gets to her feet, glaring down at him. "Yes – and you're very good at doing that, Harry," she spits. "But I can't do it anymore. I don't want to lie and deceive any more people. I can't carry on working with you. Let me go. Please." The last word is spoken softly, pleadingly.
The repetition is too much for him. Harry slams the flat of his hand down on the desk, making the stationery jump. The rest of the team, hearing the noise, look up in surprise and exchange looks of dismay. Not again, surely? "No," Harry utters simply. Ruth remains there for a moment, glowering mutinously, and then marches out, slamming the door shut on her way. As she returns to her desk, Harry's head falls into his hands.