A/N: It may be about a week before I'm able to update again as I'll be traveling for the holiday (Happy Thanksgiving to the American contingent!) but I will be back with more as soon as I can!
So much had happened, in the years since Ruth had last spoken to Tom Quinn. So much death, so much loss, so much grief; there were joys, as well, moments of triumph and success and even a moment or two of quietly celebrated love, but it was always the losses that sprang to mind, when she tried to imagine what she would say to him if she ever saw him again. Zoe, Danny, Adam, and then all the others he hadn't yet had a chance to meet, Fiona, Zaf, Jo, Ros, Lucas. Her own personal grief, with names all its own; George, and Nico, and Harry, always Harry. She still thought of Tom sometimes, remembered his wit and his kindness, remembered sitting beside him on a bench, feeling young and fierce and incurably naive as she defended herself and her work, remembered standing next to him in a dim corridor, pleading with him to save them all. There were days when Ruth felt she herself was composed of nothing but memories, and Tom had played a role in more than a few. What would he think of her now, she wondered, the woman she had become after all she had endured? And what would she think of him, of the man he had made of himself after his conscience exploded and he left their home behind to seek out greener pastures of his own?
Harry called Erin back to the kitchen, and refilled their wine glasses before they all three settled around the table once more. It had been a long and trying evening, and as Harry slumped into his chair beside Ruth she reached for his hand without even realizing it, twining their fingers together and giving him a reassuring little squeeze. Harry offered her a tired smile in response, bringing their hands to rest against his thigh, and Erin did her best to appear utterly absorbed in the study of her wine, though she could not hide the little smile that played around the corners of her mouth at this sudden, unexpected display of affection. That smile made Ruth's heart flutter uncomfortably, but she held tight to Harry, unwilling to let go of him now, not for anyone or anything. That their relationship had become common knowledge was a reality Ruth was very slowly adjusting to; their friends were happy for them, she knew, and she tried to find comfort in that, where before the certainty that others were discussing her private life had always filled her full of dread. It was something to be happy about, she reminded herself sternly, that she and Harry had come through their calamity whole and well and still desperately in love with one another, and it ought to be celebrated, even now, when everything around them had erupted into chaos.
"Tom Quinn was Section Chief, several years ago," Harry began, his voice low and rumbling beside Ruth, pulling her out of her disjointed thoughts and back into the present once more. "He was a fine agent, and a fine man, but he chose to go his own way."
That's one way to put it, Ruth thought glumly, remembering a road side decommissioning and a livid Harry.
"And you're still in contact with him? Harry, that's a violation of almost every-"
"Erin, one of these days you're going to have learn the difference between breaking the law and committing a crime."
Ruth almost choked on her wine, watching as Erin's mouth clamped shut and her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. As ever Harry's voice was firm and brooked no argument, and Ruth rather got the sense that Erin wasn't used to be spoken to so bluntly. Likewise, Ruth was certain that this was the first time any superior had ever indicated to Erin that some things in life were more important than following the rules. As she took in the appraising look dancing across Erin's face Ruth couldn't help but recall Zoe, and the efforts Harry had gone to secure her freedom, and likewise the lengths to which the team - under his direction - had gone to keep Ruth herself out of jail. He still spoke to Malcolm, she knew, and she had not been altogether shocked to learn of his continued correspondence with Tom Quinn. He'd snuck Ros Myers out of the country and put her to work in Russia, and he'd quietly arranged to pay for Jo's mother's medical care. That was the thing about Harry; as stubborn, as irascible, as downright dangerous as he could be, Harry looked after his own, and once someone became a member of his little tribe, they were never truly cast out unless they chose to be. Rules and regulations and laws meant very little to Harry when compared with the cost to human life, and perhaps it was time for Erin to pull her nose out of the rulebook, and consider the broader ramifications of her actions for once. She'd never heard Harry so clearly express his beliefs, that dichotomy between the dictation of the law and what he knew to be right in his own heart, but as he spoke those words she realized he had given voice to his very own personal mantra. Sometimes doing the right thing meant breaking the law, and Harry was no stranger to that particular conundrum.
"Tom is a good asset to have. He's set himself up in the private sector, and he's become rather successful. He has international contacts and the ability to move around the globe without arousing suspicion and without filing any paperwork, neither of which we can do. What's more, he has an active agent in Moscow as we speak."
There was something about Harry's eyes, that glimmer that shone in their honey-rich depths when he was a step ahead of his opponents, that gave Ruth pause. He knew this agent, she realized; whoever Tom had placed in Moscow, Harry knew them well, and trusted them. Though Ruth was a bit miffed that he had not yet confided that particular piece of information to her she was glad of it nonetheless. They needed all the friends they could get.
"So what, you're just going to ring him up and-"
"And tell him everything we know, and beg him for help, yes," Harry finished for her curtly, taking a sip of his wine and eyeing her expectantly, no doubt waiting for some new rebuke to follow. It was unorthodox, unsanctioned and probably unwise, to turn their safety over to a free agent, but there was no one Ruth could think of whom she would trust with her life more than Tom Quinn, save for Harry himself.
"Right, then," Erin said, leaning back in her chair. "Let's do it."
She expected to be present for the phone call, Ruth realized as she watched Erin, all casual confidence despite the obvious power disparity at play. Harry held all the cards and all the authority, and yet there Erin sat, pushing her luck, making silent demands of him. It was the sort of thing Adam would have done, Ruth thought, hiding her smile as best she could; he would have smiled, maybe said something glib, but he would have taken the same liberty, and waited just as Erin was now for Harry to make the next move.
"I will brief you in the morning, Miss Watts," Harry said dismissively, rising from his chair and turning his back on Erin as he crossed the kitchen to deposit his glass in the sink.
Point, Harry, Ruth thought, sparing a single sympathetic glance for the disgruntled woman on the other side of the table before rising to her feet as well. With a bare few words Harry had told Erin plainly that she had not yet earned his entire confidence, but Ruth rather thought Erin should see that as a challenge, rather than a total loss. Keep at it, Ruth urged her silently as she heard Erin rise from the table, her stilettos clicking sharply against the tiles as she let herself out of the house; trust must be earned, so don't step back now.
"Would it have been so difficult to let her stay for the call, Harry?" Ruth asked him quietly as she came to stand beside him. He sighed and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close and pressing a gentle kiss against the top of her head.
"She needs to learn that she's in no position to make demands," he answered. "If she had asked, I might have let her stay. What that girl needs is a reminder of where she stands in the order of things."
"That girl is a grown woman and a mother, Harry," Ruth said reproachfully, though she made no move to leave the circle of his arms. For a moment she felt rather as if they were parents, discussing a particularly unruly teenager, but it wasn't the first time that rather unsettling thought had crossed her mind. The team turned to Harry for guidance, and when they found themselves on the receiving end of his displeasure, they turned to Ruth for comfort. That had been the way of it for years now.
"She's barely older than Catherine," Harry grumbled.
Ruth sucked in a sharp breath at those words, as the reality of their situation struck her square in the chest. In all the many years that she had known him, Harry had spoken to her of his children only a bare few times. There was the briefing during the November Committee fiasco, though Ruth supposed that hardly counted as he'd spoken to all of them, not just to her, and he'd only done it because he had to. Upon her return from Cyprus he'd briefly mentioned rushing off to Lebanon to rescue his daughter from some disaster, but he had not gone into any detail. Aside from those painfully brief, painfully awkward conversations, he'd made no mention of either his son or daughter, to her or to anyone else to her knowledge. This whole part of his life, this massive, monstrous piece of himself he kept hidden away from everyone. And yet, here they stood, clinging to one another in the kitchen, and Harry had mentioned his daughter as casually as if they spoke about her all the time, as if Ruth knew her well.
This is real, she thought in sheer delight, sheer terror. This is really happening. After eight long years of dancing around one another, they had finally made it. They were lovers, people who shared kisses and meals and talked about their lives, who wrapped their arms around one another and swayed by a sink full of dirty dishes on a weeknight. It was monumental and mind-bogglingly ordinary, and Ruth was equal parts giddy and afraid. She did not know how to do this, how to be Harry's lover where for so long she had barely been his friend, but by God she was determined to try.
"Still, though," she murmured, feeling that she had to say something, and yet not at all prepared to share with him the revelation that had momentarily sucked the breath from her lungs.
Would she meet Catherine one day? She wondered as Harry disentangled himself from her and made his way back down the hall, muttering about a pay-as-you-go mobile he'd stashed in his bag. Would Harry tell his daughter about the woman who shared his bed, the long and bloody road they'd walked to reach this point together? Somehow she couldn't picture it, Harry having a heart-to-heart with his tempestuous daughter, and somehow she didn't mind. There would be time enough for sorting things out later, for pouring over family histories and re-opening old wounds. For now, perhaps it was best to just enjoy one another without worrying about what came next.
"Are you ready?" Harry asked as he came shuffling back into the kitchen, mobile in hand.
Ruth smiled at him softly, this man she loved with her whole heart; he was tired and his face was scruffy with the day's growth of stubble, his shirt wrinkled and his sleeves rolled up, his feet bare and the thinness of his hair and the weary lines upon his face undeniable in the harsh light dangling overhead, and yet she had never wanted anyone more. She walked right up to him and threaded her arm through his, offering him one brief, gentle smile before she led him down the hall to the sitting room. Somewhere along the way he realized what she was doing, and he slumped onto the sofa with no prompting, holding out his arm so that Ruth could slide beneath it. She tucked her legs up underneath her and rested her head against his shoulder, warm and safe in his embrace.
"Now I'm ready," she told him.
Harry kissed her cheek and dialed the phone, pressing the speaker button so they could both hear it ring as they waited with baited breath for Tom to answer. Though she was still terribly afraid, terribly shaken by Erin's revelation, she took comfort from Harry's presence, and from the thought of bringing Tom onside. With the help of the people she loved, she was certain there was nothing they could not do.