~ A Future ~
Two weeks later - Saturday morning:
Ruth rolls on to her side to watch Harry as he sleeps. Mornings, especially on weekends, are always good for them. They are both relaxed, and as long as their phones don't ring, the weekend is all their own to do as they wish. On this morning Ruth had woken early, leaving the bed to cross the hallway to the office to check her emails .. just in case. There had been only one email ... the email she had been waiting for these past two weeks. On returning to their bed, she had leaned over Harry to kiss him awake, but he'd been well ahead of her, wrapping his arms around her to pull her against him, kissing her with a growl from deep in his throat.
"You've been waiting for me?" she asked once they'd taken a breath.
"Mmmm," he'd said, kissing her again. "I know you well enough to pounce when you have something to tell me."
Ruth had lifted her face away from him, staring into his eyes. "So ... this ... kissing you do ... when I return from the office .. is ... a ploy?"
"And a successful one, I'd say," he'd replied, "since it works every time," and he'd pulled her down onto the bed with him, rolling her over so that he was on top.
Their lovemaking had been vigorous and passionate, and afterwards Harry had fallen asleep, and fifteen minutes later he is still asleep. Ruth doesn't quite know what to do. She longs to share with him the contents of the email, but she doesn't want to wake him before he's ready to be woken. She watches him for a minute or so, and has just opened her mouth to speak, when he beats her to it.
"Tell me, Ruth," he mumbles, his eyes still closed. "You know you want to."
"How did you know?"
He opens his eyes slowly, a smile on his lips, lifting his hand to point to one of his eyes. "Transparent eyelids," he says. "All the best spies have them."
One thing which surprises Ruth about living with Harry is how readily his sense of the ridiculous bubbles up from inside him. She'd already known how much fun he'd found in the everyday things, like how seriously others - particularly politicians - take themselves. What she hadn't known, since she'd never let him close enough to her to find out, was how light-hearted he can be, and how he delights in the small things. Harry is not always a grouch, and since leaving the service, his sour moods seem to (almost) have left him.
"What is it you're dying to tell me, Ruth?" he asks at last.
She rolls away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. "When you come downstairs," she says.
"What time is it?"
Ruth turns to look at him. "Breakfast time."
They are both sitting at the kitchen table, gazing through the glass doors at the light rain falling. Ruth had cooked bacon and eggs for them both, while Harry had made a pot of coffee.
"So .." he says, putting down his coffee, and linking his fingers while resting his hands on the table, his eyes on Ruth. He has no need to say any more; she knows what he means.
"Erin sent an email," she begins, "and in it are the results of the autopsy on Zhukov. He was shot at close range by a firearm which was most likely a PSS silent pistol ... one dating back to the Soviet era. The firearm has not been found, and in all likelihood is back in Russia with its owner. Given the trajectory of the bullet, the shooter was shorter than Zhukov by around four inches ... or ten centimetres. That would put the gunman at around five feet eleven, or thereabouts -"
"Which eliminates Elena," Harry muses, "who would have been at the top of my list of suspects."
Ruth drops her eyes, just in case, at the mention of Elena's name, a shadow of pain is visible in her eyes. She knows she has no need for jealousy. It is clear to her that Harry loves her, and perhaps had been in lust with Elena, rather than love, but any mention of Elena's name still has her wondering about the woman, and whether she was good in bed, and whether Harry still wanders back in his mind to his encounters with her. Was she a tigress in bed? Did she know what turned him on? There are still times when he appears to be a long way from her, his mind elsewhere. This is not one such time. Glancing up into his eyes she sees that he is watching her, waiting for her to join him in the moment.
"Elena is the consummate spy, Ruth. Were it to advance her needs in any way she'd not stop at killing her own son. She is an expert at faking emotion. She's a cold and unrepentant psychopath."
Ruth nods. She understands what Harry is saying. "I know," she says, "but it is unlikely to be her who killed Zhukov. I'm thinking that Sasha may be the only one of those who were in London who has ready access to such a weapon."
This time it is Harry who nods. "My bet is that Sasha pulled the trigger, but it was his mother who gave the order."
"Erin has sent the whole file on these people to Europol. It's now out of our hands."
"That's good," and Harry smiles.
"What is it?"
"We never have to speak of Elena or her family again, Ruth. I consider that to be a good thing."
Ruth considers it a very, very good thing.
Since the rain appears to have set in they drive to the shops, wandering up and down the aisles of the supermarket together. Harry is a spontaneous and generous shopper. Before she'd shopped with him, she was certain he only ever headed to the wine and spirits section at the back of the shop, but he takes time over things like vegetables and sauces, and he's picky about cuts of meat. They have agreed that Graham might enjoy a roast dinner, so it's roast lamb, with jacket potatoes, roast parsnip and carrots, and canned peas. For sweets, Harry settles on a ready made cheesecake from Waitrose.
"Belgian Chocolate flavour," Harry had said, and so Ruth nods, hoping Graham likes chocolate as much as does his father.
"Do we need wine?" Ruth asks, aware that being a recovering addict, Harry's son may not appreciate them drinking.
"We always need wine," had been his definitive reply.
Graham arrives on time, and under his arm he carries a six pack of Stella Artois, handing it to Harry as he greets him at the door.
"I thought you didn't drink," Harry comments.
"I can handle beer. It's spirits I have to avoid. I don't know when to stop."
Harry lifts his eyebrows as he takes the beer from Graham. "I have the same problem with spirits."
He leads Graham down the hallway to the kitchen, where Ruth is basting the roast lamb before returning it to the oven to brown. She then stands, crossing the kitchen to where Graham stands awkwardly beside Harry. She could reach out her hand to shake his, or she could greet him as her partner's only son. She reaches out to him with her arms, and he smiles, returning the hug. When Ruth and Graham pull apart, she looks up at Harry to see him smiling. He offers her a nod of approval.
After they have eaten, Ruth excuses herself, and disappears upstairs.
"Does she find me that dull?" Graham suggests, not altogether seriously.
"I suspect she's giving us some space," Harry replies, piling their dishes on one side of the sink. "Another beer?" he asks, heading to the fridge.
"Just the one."
"I really like Ruth," Graham says carefully, avoiding eye contact with Harry.
"So do I," Harry replies, placing two opened lager bottles on the table.
"She ... suits you."
"My thoughts exactly," Harry says curtly, and for the time being, the topic of him and Ruth has been adequately dealt with.
Their conversation flows surprisingly easily, given there is so much Harry wants to know, but is too afraid to ask. Some topics are still too delicate, too fragile for open exploration, but his and Ruth's relationship seems to not be one of them.
"You know, I'd been thinking," Graham says at last, "whether you're afraid Ruth will find someone younger and more .. you know."
"That's rather direct of you," Harry says, deliberately avoiding his son's eyes. Graham can't possibly know that he's just put his finger squarely on one of his deepest irrational fears. "I suppose you mean what happens were she to find someone younger, and more ... suitable." When Graham nods, he continues carefully, his fingers sliding up and down the side of the beer bottle, providing him with some much needed focus. "Ruth and I are quite solid, Graham. We're not some passing thing."
He shares the bare bones of how Ruth had been in exile, returned, turned away from him, but eventually opening herself to him once more. Harry waits, wondering has he shared too much, when Graham speaks.
"So you've known one another - what - ten years?"
"Almost."
"That's epic. You're a lucky man, Dad, but what if she does find someone else?"
"Then as devastating as that would be, I'd let her go. There's always a chance she'll come back to me."
"Seriously?" Harry nods, watching him closely, so he continues. "Theo cheated on me," he says quietly. "If I can't trust someone, then I'd rather not be with them, so I ended it with him. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
Harry nods. "I know."
Graham lifts his eyes to Harry, suddenly seeing the parallels of his own life with his father's, given how Harry had cheated on Jane. "Sorry," he says quickly, "I got a bit close to the bone there."
"I have no intention of that ever happening again," Harry says, "and I don't expect Ruth to have an affair."
Neither had heard Ruth descend the stairs, so that as she enters the kitchen, she catches the last few words Harry speaks. "I should think not," she says, heading to the fridge. "That's silly talk."
Once Ruth sits in the chair beside Harry, a glass of wine in front of her, Graham quietly explains. "I was just telling Dad how my last partner cheated on me."
"I'm sorry about your experience with him," Ruth replies, "but some people find it hard to be satisfied with the person they are with, and they're forever searching for something better. Harry and I know we're lucky to be together at last." She turns to look at Harry, who is gazing at her with love in his eyes. "Aren't we?"
All Harry can do is nod.
Graham leaves just before midnight, having given his body time to metabolise the two beers he'd drunk. Ruth had sat back while Harry and his son chewed the fat. She'd paid little attention to what they'd said, enjoying listening to two male voices in conversation, while she allowed her mind to wander through a subject she needed to bring up with Harry ... hopefully soon, before she loses her nerve.
At the front door, Graham hugs Ruth, and then Harry, and she notices how tightly Harry grasps his son. She calls a quick goodnight before returning to the kitchen, running hot water in the sink to wash the dishes.
"Leave that, Ruth," Harry says wearily, once he joins her. "There's always tomorrow, and I can do them in the morning."
"It's alright. I'd prefer to do them now."
She hears Harry sigh before grabbing a tea towel in preparation for drying the dishes. He stands close beside Ruth, waiting for the water to drain from the dinner plates.
"I thought tonight went well," he says after a silence of several minutes, and when Ruth doesn't offer any kind of answer, even a nod, he continues. "What do you think?"
"I think we should get married."
Harry had been about to grab another plate to dry, but her statement has him turning to stare at her, his hand in mid-grasp. "Pardon?" he says.
"You heard me."
He had, but Ruth has always been the one to deflect talk of marriage. Were such a thing legally possible, he'd marry her tomorrow, and Ruth knows that. He drops his hand, turning to watch her, willing her to look at him. Willing her doesn't work. "Ruth?" This time she turns, and he is surprised to see a hint of fear in her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"That I want to marry you?" Harry nods. "Nothing's wrong, Harry. It's something Graham said tonight over dinner. He said we should all value love when we find it, because we have no idea what tomorrow will bring."
"So you interpreted that morsel of wisdom to mean we should get married."
She nods, then drops her eyes, turning back to the dishes in the sink. "But if you've changed your mind, I'll accept that -"
"Ruth - look at me." Harry has dropped the tea towel over the dish drainer, taking a half step closer to her, reaching out to place his palm on her back. "Come here," he says, drawing her closer, one hand on her back, while with the fingers of his other hand he carefully turns her chin so that she must look at him. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to suggest marriage?" When she shakes her head, he accepts that he is the one who will have to do the talking. She had used up all her words by suggesting they get married. "I've waited such a long time, especially since asking you to marry me. I accept that my timing was .. awful, so I decided to let you be the one to decide a better time ... for readdressing the subject." His choice of words, formal and ever-practical, has Ruth's face relaxing in a wide smile. "What is it now?" he asks.
"You," she says, "it's you, Harry. It's how you talk when you're discussing something as important as marriage." She shakes her head, still smiling. "You can't imagine how much I love you."
Harry feels a surge of emotion from deep inside him, which he swallows before reaching down to kiss her on the lips. The kiss is gentle, and he only ends the kiss once he feels the tension leaving her body. He slowly draws away from her, reaching behind him to grasp her hands. "Ruth?"
When he hears Ruth utter a soft chuckle, he leans back to gaze into her eyes, playful and bright.
"You brought up the subject of marriage while wearing marigolds?" Ruth nods, smiling. "I can't believe you asked me to marry you while wearing wet, soapy marigolds."
"You still haven't given me an answer," she says quietly.
"But I have, Ruth. My answer was implicit. I said I'd waited so long for you to say those words, so ... of course I'll marry you."
Ruth nods, before turning towards the sink, placing space between them. "That's good," she says, busying herself with the sponge, dipping it in the water and sloshing it around until soap suds rise to the surface. "Today was a busy day, and there's still much to be done," she mutters to herself, before rinsing the plate under running water, and placing it in the dish drainer.
Harry nods, glancing at her quickly before once more arming himself with the tea towel. He imagines Ruth to have carried a mental list of tasks to be performed before bed - clear the table, suggest they get married, wash the dishes, clean teeth, get changed into pyjamas, then climb into bed.
"And just in case you're wondering," he says quietly, "I love you too." Again he glances towards her, but her attention is once more on the sink full of soapy water, and she is smiling her gentle, accepting smile. Harry Pearce knows he is a very lucky man, and he'd best not forget it.
A/N: Thanks to all who continued to read and review this fic. And the roast parsnips are for rahleeyah!