Chapter 13 - Like Pulling Petals off a Flower

How many hospitals had he walked through in his career? Far too many for his liking, Harry conceded. The trouble was once inside they all looked the same. Harry followed behind a young nurse, her rod straight back leading him through the maze of doors and corridors onto the emergency ward. He prepared himself for the worst but hoped for the best. A hurried message from Adam had told him that Ruth was slightly banged up and that he was dropping her off at the A&E as a precaution. Harry tried not to let his imagination run away with what exactly 'slightly banged up' could mean. As his heels tapped on the worn linoleum of the hospital floor, he knew that the urgency he felt was not entirely to do with the physical condition of his analyst but more with her mental state. After the business with Shining Dawn and the loss of her driver, he was worried that she may be on the precipice of leaving. Although just as she had done after the death of Andrew Forestal, she had returned to work and diligently carried on with her duties. Harry had been in the business long enough to know that facades held cracks, and one small tap could cause everything to crumble

They rounded the corner of the casualty ward, the occupants hidden behind stripped green curtains, and he was thankful that he didn't have to search behind each one. Stopping in front of a curtain, the nurse pulled it back a discreet distance revealing the dishevelled form of his analyst. Ruth sat on the gurney, her head snapping up when the curtain rings clattered along the metal rod. Recognising Harry, she gave him a brilliant smile, the wattage of which made his heart skip a beat.

"Harry," she exclaimed, delighted to see him as if she were entertaining a guest.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Adam insisted I come here. Just some bumps and bruises. Never been tossed out of the back of a van before."

"Has anyone been to see you?"

"No, I've just been sitting here. I'm glad you came. I don't have a phone. I was about to leave."

She spoke with a rapid-fire intensity that he had not seen since her first days on the Grid. Cheeks flushed, eyes flashing at him a brilliant blue; it was obvious that her state was fueled by adrenaline. It was a good sign and he allowed himself a small breath of relief. At some point, the gravity of her encounter would sink in and she would envision all the disastrous outcomes of her scenario, but until then he would relish this side of her. His eyes ran over the new creature that sat before him. She wore a light green turtleneck and dark brown trousers. A white puff jacket streaked with mud sat beside her on the gurney. Unfettered by the restrictions of the Grid, she had an untamed quality about her. Her hair was mussed up, strands breaking free of the elastic and hanging about her face. A dried leaf was lodged above her ear as if she were a dryad. Without thinking, he raised his hand to pull it out. Frowning, she defensively raised her hand ready to swat him away. She reminded him of a feral cat he and his brother had found as boys - a tiny calico thing that had called to them with soft meows. They had coaxed the animal to their house with food, only for it to turn on them with ragged claws the moment they wanted to pet it. Maybe that's why he hated cats.

"There's something in your hair," he stated calmly, not wanting to alarm her.

Searching with her fingers, she found the spot, but without the aid of a mirror, she was unable to dislodge the piece of foliage. Harry tilted his head, asking permission.

"May I?"

The question felt strangely courtly. Would he have asked anyone else permission to extract a leaf from their hair? Would he have cared if anyone else was in a disarray? She nodded at him. He slowly reached up and found the leaf, carefully slipping his fingers under a few strands of hair to get a better hold. Even in its tussled state, her hair was soft and smooth to his touch. He paused for a moment, the intimacy of the gesture suddenly presenting itself. His nostrils flared slightly. The scent of fresh air and damp earth clung to her, intermixed with a subtler element that only he could detect. Danger. It was strangely alluring. Transfixed by this discovery, he held his breath. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his palm. A glance down at her chest told him that she too had stopped breathing. Letting out a slow breath, he removed the leaf from her hair and crumpled it in his hands, letting the detritus fall onto the floor. The completion of the act released her from her silence.

"I phoned Adam, he told me to wait but the tulips were in the window. I just wanted to check on Auntie May. It was all my fault. I should have done what he said."

"Yes, you should have." His voice held the slight censure of an annoyed parent.

"I found her in the tub, Harry. They drowned her."

"I know."

"They held a knife to my throat and all I could think was that I was next." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, hand shaking slightly, the residue of shock. "When Adam came I thought I was saved. But Moran took us and dumped us in the woods. He wanted to hunt us." Her words spilt out, her expression changing as she relived the incident. "Adam told me to run, but I couldn't. I couldn't just leave him there to be hunted down like an animal." She looked at him, a tremulous smile on her lips. "Funny, how a piece of wood took down a man with a crossbow."

It was hard to fathom that the woman he knew as a twitchy desk officer had escaped a madman and then returned to bash him on the head. Part of him listened to her story, while the Section Head in him evaluated her performance. She was holding up remarkably well.

"I asked Adam if he wanted me to hit Moran again." she continued. "He said only if I wanted to. So I did. Then he stopped me before I could do it again."

"There's a fine line between self-defence and unnecessary force. It's a line that lawyers like to exploit."

The tilt of her chin held a note of defiance, her chest expanding as her breaths grew deeper. A fire had been ignited in her belly and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of admiration.

"For the first time in a long while, I felt as if I had the power. I wanted to hit him again and again. I wanted to hit him for all the racist things he said, for all the pain he had caused those families. I wanted to hit him for Auntie May. And then I wanted to hit him for Mark the driver, and then for Danny and Andrew and -"

"Ruth."

Cutting her off, he took a step closer, the proximity of his body silencing her list of names. It was a list that would soon rival his own. Her eyes darted around the cubicle, acknowledging that their only privacy was the security of a flimsy curtain.

"Was it wrong?" she asked in a whisper. "Was it wrong to feel that way?"

"Anger is good. When it's properly directed."

"I don't want to be angry, not like Moran."

"That's why it needs to be focused and contained. Used judiciously."

"How do you stop it from taking over?" She looked up at him, eyes wide like a child. "I worry that we might become infected with it. We see so much. The underbelly of humanity."

He suppressed a smile, wanting to tell her that the ability to access one's darker nature was a powerful tool, he had taken down many enemies that way, but he was afraid that thought might scare her.

"We talked about it once - the reason we do this. Protect that place inside you, don't let anyone touch it."

He wanted to reach up and press his palm over the spot where her heart resided to illustrate that it still beat with good intentions, but knew he could never do that. She shifted on the gurney, the restlessness of her energy affecting him. The confines of the examination area felt far too small. He wanted to set her free.

"Do you want to leave?" he asked.

She met his eyes and he realised that he had asked more than a simple question; that she had indeed been thinking of leaving the Service. He waited, steeling himself for her response. With an unwavering gaze, she nodded at him.

"Yes."

"Do you want to go home?"

"No, I want to go back to the Grid. Back to work."

He inhaled, his chest swelling with pride. This woman, his protege, she was a fighter. She would not give up. She would never leave him.

Picking up her coat, she slid down off the gurney and stepped before him. As she reached for the curtain, he possessively placed his palm on the small of her back. Her fingers stilled on the fabric and her movement halted. He let his hand rest on her back, feeling the indent of her spine under the soft wool of her top. It was a gesture he had done many times in the past; there had been a number of occasions where he had placed his hand on the back of someone to usher them out. As he reflected on the act, he was beset with the thought that she might regard it as an unwanted overture. He let his hand fall away. Her head turned to him, and he studied her profile. A look of disappointment crossed her face as if she wanted him to put his hand back, but it quickly disappeared. He was imaging things.

She pulled open the curtain and the clatter of metal rings announced their return to the harried world.

.

The Grid at night was a world unto itself. Far from the blinding bustle of the day, a skeleton staff laboured under the haze of subdued lamps. In the middle of the technical suite, sat a round table illuminated by the blue hue of monitors. Harry leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs under the table, unable to shake the band of tension that corded his neck. They were basically flying blind; the operation was happening a number of countries away, inside the hold of a container truck. His Section Chief was no more than a blip on the radar. It was too late to question the wisdom of letting Adam masquerade as a Circassian migrant, and admittedly he had not put up much resistance to stop the idea. There was a part of him that envied Adam, the ability to still go out into the field and risk everything. The greater the risk, the greater the reward. If they could sway Yazdi to betray Prince Hakim the risk will have been well worth it. He ran a hand over his face, his skin slightly clammy, the residue of almost twenty-four hours with sleep. He felt a pang of regret for poor Scarlet. His housekeeper would make sure she had been walked and fed, but he regretted the lack of companionship he was able to give her. She should have more. It was for purely selfish reasons that he kept her; a greeting when he came home, an ear for his mutterings, a warm body in the bed.

He glanced at the laptop screen, aware that he had promised Malcolm he would stay vigilant. Nothing. A fact that was neither good nor bad so he chose to come down on the side of good. Adam had made it safely from Turkey to Hungary, it wouldn't do to lose him now. Harry stifled a yawn, thoughts emptying from his mind, his eyelids growing heavy as the hum of the machines lulled him into a half-trance.

Through half closed eyes, he saw a figure standing silhouetted in the doorway. He remained motionless, watching as it raised its arms slightly as if beckoning him. The lateness of the hour, the lack of rest and food momentarily played with his senses and he wondered if it was a hallucination. Perhaps it was the Angel of Death coming to collect long overdue debts. Or the Angel of Redemption finally coming to grant him peace. He inhaled deeply and blinked his eyes, clearing his mind. It was neither of those things - only a mere mortal. He could tell who it was by the tilt of her head and the way her skirt flared at her hips. It was the woman he was spending too much time thinking about. Granted, he only allowed himself to think of her in the small hours of the morning, but here it was, the hand of the clock well past midnight, and she wasn't in his thoughts but very much present in reality. The backlight from the Grid cast her face in shadow and he was unable to read her expression. She hung back, for what reason he did not know, but even in the darkness, he could tell by the slight wobble to her head that she was thinking. He straightened up in his chair, the creak of the wheels breaking the silence. As she moved toward him, he could see that she was carrying two bottles and packet of sandwiches. She hesitated before sitting down.

"Where's Fiona?"

"Stretching her legs."

"And Malcolm?"

"Gone to the loo."

She nodded, swaying slightly, unsure of how to proceed. There had been a nervousness to her questions, and her eyes darted about as if she was leary of the fact that they were alone. Her behaviour puzzled him, but he said nothing, content to run his eyes over her. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, softly framing her face, and she wore a top he had not seen before. It was pale green, the colour of a dried leaf. She looked at the seat beside him, the one recently occupied by Fiona and then back at the chair she had vacated. He silently urged her to come and sit beside him. If she sat beside him, he could casually drape his arm over the back of her chair as he had done in the past. The opportunity for such gestures had been lacking as of late. Ever since Juliet had shown up, Ruth had managed to keep a subtle distance from him, putting a colleague between them at briefings, a desk separating them during conversations. He let himself speculate that his attraction to her might not be one-sided, that she saw him as more than her boss and that she was trying to curtail it. He missed the little frissons of electricity that passed between them. He wondered if given time they would dissipate. Maybe that was for the best.

In the end, she chose her old seat, leaving an empty chair between them.

"I got something for Fiona." She set the food down on the table. "Sorry, I didn't think to bring you anything."

"I'm fine."

"I was going to get a coffee but I opted for this mango drink instead ."

"I would have gone for the coffee."

"I can't drink caffeine so late at night. It stops me from sleeping."

"I don't sleep."

Their eyes met across the table, unspoken thoughts tumbling forth, of restless nights and waking dreams, of warm beds and half-clad limbs wrapped in tangled sheets. How did she sleep? On her side? Her back? What did she wear or not wear to bed? By the slight widening of her eyes, he suspected that similar thoughts swirled in her mind. She broke contact first, looking down the sandwiches on the table, her fingers unwrapping the plastic.

"They only had egg salad. Not my favourite."

"I don't mind it."

Her fingers stilled for a moment on the plastic. Taking one half of the sandwich, she held it towards him. "Would you like one?"

She offered it to him with the sincerity of a school girl trading her lunch. He shook his head.

"You have it."

"You need to eat too."

Thinking it rude to refuse the gesture, he took the sandwich from her hand. "Thank you," he said softly. He took a bite, briefly contemplating the wisdom of eating a sandwich from a vending machine. "Not bad, though nothing beats a good ham and cheese."

"What about your poor heart," she chided, a teasing quality to her voice.

He chewed on the sandwich, a wry half-smile on his lips. "Luckily, my heart has turned to stone."

She stared at him, stopping in mid-bite. His eyes challenged her to remember that it was she who accused him of such after her disciplinary hearing. Clearing her throat, she had the grace to look away. He rocked in his chair enjoying the discomfort he caused her.

"You could have sent someone out," he said, changing the subject.

"We're short staffed."

He nodded as he took another bite. "How do you feel about Mr Younis?"

"I like him," she offered up her opinion without hesitation.

"I mean as an officer."

"Oh." She focused on her sandwich, dropping her lids to hide her thoughts. "His tactics are very original."

"We need young people. I was thinking of hiring another junior officer."

"We could use some more desk personnel. We haven't replaced Sam."

He relished her use of the word 'we'as if the two of them were parenting the section, guiding it along. He watched her from across the table as she nibbled on her sandwich. She paused to take a drink, her lips pressing against the mouth of the bottle. The pores of his skin grew tight, tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. What would it be like to have a proper dinner with her? Would they talk of other things besides work? Would her lips press against him? The subtle squeak of the lid as she replaced on the bottle brought him back. Her eyes darted to one side, looking for someone to come and interrupt their interlude.

No one came. They remained alone.

Deciding that she may as well take advantage of the privacy, she leaned on the table and spoke to him quietly.

"Why does he do it?" she asked. "Why does Adam risk his life like this?"

"To serve his country." Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"But to put himself in such danger. It's just so..."

"Reckless?"

"Yes," she nodded. "He has a wife and a son."

"So did I."

The words came out before he could evaluate how much they revealed. She cocked her head, processing the information.

"Why did you do it?"

"Someone has to."

Her gaze fell away, brow furrowed as she thought through his answer.

"Do you think relationships can survive this sort of pressure?" she asked in a whisper.

"Are you asking me if that's why my marriage failed?"

"No," she quickly assured him.

"I think Adam and Fiona are a success as a couple because they're both willing to go to the edge."

"I suppose the idea of risk is very attractive to some people."

He thought back to when he had found her in the hospital. She had tasted danger, knew the thrill of embracing it, defeating it. He wondered if he could coax her to taste a little more. The wheels of his chair squeaked as he inched closer to her. Even though the empty seat remained between them, it was no barrier to the connection that was building. Her eyes remained fixed on him. He rested his elbow on the table and spoke to her in a low voice.

"It's intoxicating."

Blinking, she licked her lips, considering where the conversation was leading.

"I suppose Juliet is one of those people."

Minx. She was fishing, trying to find out information on him and Juliet. What exactly did she know? He wouldn't reveal anything.

"Yes, Juliet likes to take risks." He hoped his words would goad her along, awaken her competitive nature. "She's always pushing the boundaries."

"I wish I was brave enough to push boundaries."

"You are," he assured her, his voice like gravel. "You saved Adam."

His words hit the mark. Her eyes sparkled a little brighter, lips parting as her breath became shallow. He held her gaze, pulling her in, daring her to come to the edge with him. In that moment, he did not think about the consequences of having her, of protocol and professionalism, he was fully immersed in the opportunity. Senses heightened, muscles taught, he sat perfectly still, waiting for her to make a move. She leaned a little closer. Under her perfume, he could faintly detect the scent of the wild, the darker aspects of her nature that he had glimpsed. What could he unleash? What other tastes lay beneath her perfume?

A polite cough sounded from outside the room.

Startled, they both sat up in their chairs. Harry turned to see Malcolm standing in the doorway. Ruth turned away from him, fingers fumbling as she found her juice and took a long drink. His heart beat in double time and he blinked rapidly. A mixture of disappointment and anger at the interruption stirred within him, along with a huge dose of self-censure. Fool, he was not supposed to act on his thoughts, or let anyone discover them for that matter. He straightened his tie and tried to regain his composure. He would need more than juice to accomplish that. Mumbling something about needing to stretch his legs, he excused himself and headed towards his office. He needed a bracing splash of cold water or a scotch. He opted for the scotch.