Following morning - Saturday, 22nd October
She opens her eyes and turns towards his side of the bed only to find it empty. The smile slips from her lips and she frowns, lifting her head to look around the room. He's not there, nor can she find any trace of his presence in her room last night other than the slight indentation in the pillow beside her and a gentle whiff of his scent clinging to it as she presses her face against it and inhales deeply. She wasn't dreaming then, she realises in relief as she turns her head to glance at the clock. It's just after eight in the morning and it's Saturday today, so she doesn't have to go into work as early as she normally would on a weekday. And besides, Adam had insisted that she take things easy over the next few days, suggesting that she consider taking a few days off, but she'd flatly refused to do that, telling him that she's fine and just wants to get back to work. In truth, the prospect of staying home all day with nothing to distracted her from her thoughts had seemed so terrifying that, when he'd reluctantly agreed to let her get back to work right away, she'd jumped at the chance despite the prerequisite that she have daily sessions with the resident MI-5 psychologist until she was given the all clear by her.
She gets out of bed and picks up her pyjama bottoms, knickers and her robe from the floor, pulling them all on and sliding her feet into her slippers, smiling softly as she moves over to the window to draw the curtains, amazed at how considerate he's been in pulling them closed when he got up, so the light didn't wake her. He really is such a wonderful man, she thinks in mild amazement as she moves towards the door, hoping he's still here despite the lateness of the hour. On the landing, she stops and listens for several seconds, but the house is quiet. "Harry?" she calls tentatively, but gets no response, so she peers into the bathroom and spare room, finding both doors ajar, before going downstairs to check the kitchen and living room. There's no sign of him anywhere, and a quick look in the hall confirms what she's been dreading since she woke up alone this morning. His shoes and jacket are both missing; he's gone.
She sighs sadly, trying to push aside her fear that she's driven him away somehow as she wonders back into the kitchen and fills up the kettle to make some tea, telling herself that there's no reason why he should be having second thoughts this morning and that he probably just needed to be at work early for some meeting or other. Things had been fine last night, even though she'd fallen to pieces in his arms, in the middle of sex, not really the smartest move she's ever made. But he'd seemed fine about it at the time and she had offered to continue after she'd stopped blubbering all over him. Though now she comes to think of it, he was undoubtedly turned off by the whole weepy, pathetic look she must have had going on at the time.
"Stop it, Ruth," she says out loud angrily as she flicks on the kettle. "You're being silly."
There's a quiet meow in answer as Fidget enters the kitchen and pads over to her, wrapping himself around her legs once before she bends down to pick him up, cradling him in her arms as she smiles and strokes his soft fur. "You love me, don't you, Fidget?" she asks softly, "or is it just that you want your breakfast?" The cat purrs in answer as she strokes his soft, grey fur, and it's only then that it occurs to her that perhaps he's left a note. She glances up to check the kitchen table and counter, crosses the hall to check every flat surface in the living room and then goes back upstairs to the bedroom, abandoning Fidget on the way up with a quiet apology and a promise to get his breakfast soon when he squirms out of her arms. But it's no use; there's no note.
Her heart plummets once more and she sighs deeply before reluctantly going back to the kitchen to feed the cat and taking herself off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for her day. She slips out of her robe and pyjama top, staring at the bruises on her chest in the bathroom mirror as she fights to hold onto her composure, the sight of her marred skin bringing it all back, and she has to grip the basin with both hands and tell herself to breathe, closing her eyes and letting the memory of Harry's words wash over her and soothe her. But the fact that he's left this morning without saying goodbye or leaving a note diminishes their power significantly, and she finds herself doubting him, his honesty, his commitment and feelings for her.
She knows she's probably overreacting, reading too much into it, and that there's very likely a perfectly logical explanation for why he left without a word, but her emotions seem to be all over the place this morning and her normally level headed approach to life conspicuous by its absence. What if he no longer wants her now that he's seen how weak she is, she finds herself wondering. What if he thinks her damaged goods, needy, insecure? What if he transfers her out of section D as a result of her breakdown last night? Surely he would have left a note if everything was fine, wouldn't he? Wasn't that the normal thing to do?
She looks at herself in the mirror again. She's never been particularly beautiful and her body now is definitely showing signs of ageing. Why would a man such as Harry, who could have any woman he wanted, choose her? He wouldn't, she thinks sadly and feels tears spring to her eyes even as she tells herself to get a grip. Then she suddenly remembers her phone. What if he's left a message on that? A text like last night? With a growing sense of desperation and tears clouding her vision now, she pulls open the door and walks straight into Harry.
He catches her and his hands rise to her upper arms, steadying her for a moment as he smiles down at her and murmurs, "Good morning, Ruth," in a warm voice, full of pleasure, but then he catches sight of her face and frowns in concern. "Ruth? What's the matter? What's wrong?"
She shakes her head, unable to speak as she buries her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him in relief while she struggles for control, inwardly berating herself for doubting him and for falling apart in his arms again. He's going to think her utterly bonkers, she realises as she tells herself to stop being such a child and get a hold of herself.
He's silent as his warm hands move slowly up and down her bare back, stroking her delicately as he patiently waits for her to pull herself together, his lips pressing a soft kiss against her hair. "Sorry," she murmurs after a few moments as she pulls back, wiping away her tears with her hands before lifting her eyes to his, keeping her arms in front of her chest to hide her nakedness as she blushes in embarrassment at the situation she's managed to land herself in again. "You must think me such a pathetic-", but she doesn't get to complete the thought.
He presses his finger swiftly against her lips and shakes his head. "Don't even think about completing that sentence, Ruth. You're one of the bravest women I know."
She looks away as he removes his finger, murmuring, "I don't feel very brave."
"No one feels brave at the time," he replies, cupping her cheek with his hand and turning her face towards him. "But you are, Ruth. Brave and so strong." She shakes her head and drops her gaze, so he adds, "Then think about it this way. If what happened had happened not to you, but to someone else... Zoe, for example, or me. If our positions were reversed now, would you think me brave?"
She looks up at him and finds his eyes on hers, warm and yet challenging. "Yes," she admits quietly after a moment's deliberation.
"There you go then," he smiles somewhat smugly.
"But that's different," she objects. "I'm not your boss. I shouldn't be..." She tails off, seeing the frown that creases his brow and the flash of anger in his eyes as he drops his hand from her face.
"I'm not your boss either, Ruth," he states flatly. "I'm not here as your boss and I won't be your boss again until I step out of your house and into my car."
"But-" she begins to object but doesn't get any further.
"But nothing," he states. "You're my girlfriend, and as such, you're free to laugh when you're happy, cry when you're sad, yell at me when you're angry, and even call me a selfish bastard when I leave the loo seat up, or scream at me to get out when I forget some anniversary or other." She can't help smiling at that, glancing up at him to find a small smile on his lips and a tender look in his eyes as he adds softly, "Though of course, I'm hoping, you'll also want to kiss me and touch me... and ravish me in the moonlight."
She nods, her smile broadening as she lifts her eyes to his. "You can count on it," she says tilting her head up to receive his kiss and sighing into his mouth. Girlfriend, she thinks dreamily and feels her heart lift. He just called her his girlfriend.
"Good morning," she smiles when they break apart, and then adds uncertainly, "I missed waking up beside you today."
"Sorry," he apologises. "I didn't want to wake you. You needed sleep." Then he allows his gaze to drop from her face to her exposed skin for the first time, whispering, "You're so beautiful, Ruth." His hands reach up to cup her shoulders and trail down her arms to her elbows, pulling them gently away from her naked chest so he can look at her. She allows him to pull them back, revealing her breasts and watching his reaction apprehensively, but she only sees pleasure in his face and just a hint of desire. "May I?" he asks softly as he lifts his eyes to hers. She nods and watches him lean towards her and softly brush his lips against her damaged skin, planting feather-light kisses over every inch of it as if trying to kiss her better, take away all the hurt and pain, physical and emotional, and almost moving her to tears again with his tenderness before he pulls back, saying, "Exquisite. You're exquisite, Ruth." He lifts his eyes to hers and pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his pelvis forwards so she can feel his arousal as he murmurs huskily in her ear, "See what you do to me, Ruth? I want you so much."
"And I you," she admits quietly, making him groan and turn his head to kiss her, a deep, passionate kiss that makes her toes curl and her head spin.
When he pulls back, he leans his head forward, resting his forehead against hers and taking deep lungfuls of air before murmuring huskily, "But unfortunately duty calls and this'll have to wait. I need to get to Whitehall."
She sighs and pulls back, nodding her head. "Perhaps later then," she says before she loses her nerve.
"I hope so, Ruth," he smiles, running his hands down her arms to her elbows. "I need something to look forward to."
She nods, feeling her cheeks heat up with pleasure as she dips her gaze to his throat, marvelling at how happy he makes her, and though part of her knows that the closer she lets him get, the harder will be the fall if he were to end it, she can't seem to help herself; she loves him too much already. She drops her gaze to his chest to hide these treacherous thoughts from him, and frowns as she realises that he's wearing different clothes to those he'd arrived in last night. "Did you go home to change?" she asks.
"I had a change of clothes in the car," he replies.
She shakes her head and smiles at him. "You were prepared," she says.
He shrugs adorably and objects, "Not really. I just grabbed a suit before coming over and stopped at an off-licence on the way. The rest was already in the car."
"Why?" she frowns.
"I keep a bag full of essentials in the boot... just in case," he admits.
"Right," she says, dropping her gaze from his as the implications of that statement sink in. "Well, I'd better get ready for work," she adds, taking a step back into the bathroom as she turns to grasp the door, needing something to steady her. She raises her eyes to his briefly and gives him a small smile, trying desperately to hide the pain that's gripping her heart again at the realisation that she's just another notch on his bedpost.
He nods, frowning slightly as he asks, "Ruth... will you be okay?"
"Of course," she smiles in an effort to convince him that everything's fine and feeling rather grateful, all of a sudden, that she's been all over the place this morning; it makes for a very good excuse for her current shifting mood. "I'll be fine, Harry."
He doesn't look convinced, but doesn't press her, saying instead, "All right. I have to go, but I'll see you later, yes?" She nods, so he smiles, adding, "I've brought you coffee and a Danish pastry for breakfast. They're in the kitchen."
"Thank you," she says, her smile genuine now, feeling touched by his thoughtfulness and suddenly understanding his absence this morning.
"It's my pleasure, Ruth," he smiles, looking less worried about her now. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against her lips before pulling back and adding, "See you later."
"Bye, Harry," she whispers and begins to close the door as he turns to go downstairs. Then she locks it and removes the rest of her clothes, turning on the shower and stepping in, her tears and sobs getting lost in the cascade of water falling on top of her.