A/N: Firstly, the beginning of this chapter is a bit on the M side. Secondly, we have come to the end of this little story, and so I offer my sincerest thanks to all of you for sticking with it! There will be more HR from me in the future, so keep an eye out.
One month later…
In the foggy gloom of early morning in Paris Ruth rocked above him like a ship upon the sea, her head thrown back in pleasure, her dark hair spilling down across the soft skin of her bare back in a waterfall of loose brown waves. She was magnificent, this love of his, and Harry could not take his eyes from her, from the gentle curve of her breasts, bouncing with every movement of their hips, the pale skin of her stomach, the contours of her thighs, clutching him for dear life. His hands curved around her waist, holding her to him, guiding her movements as they pushed and ground and groaned together in this place that he had for so long dreamed of taking her. Not just Paris, though he had known almost from the start that one day he wanted to take her to this city, to walk along the river with her hand clasped in his own, to watch her in the cafes and the museums and the little bookshops, to share this tender piece of his heart with her. More than that, he had wanted to bring her here, into a moment just like this one, when they could shed their professional, secretive selves and simply be, two souls together, happy and content and hopelessly in love.
She gasped his name as his hand drifted from her waist, down over her hip, across her stomach, his fingers disappearing into the thatch of dark curls where they were joined. Since that beautiful night at the Russian embassy they had spent every evening together, had gone from stony silence to cohabitation without so much as a conversation about it. His clothes migrated to her flat one suit at a time, his ties dangling over the mirror above her dresser, his shoes beside her own just inside the front door. They would have to talk about it soon, he knew; as comfortable as they were together Ruth wasn't particularly attached to her little flat, and likewise there was no sense in his paying a mortgage on a home he never set foot inside. He would ask her, soon, if she would like to make a decision, if she would like for them to set out on their own, to find a place that was neither hers nor his but theirs; that would be a conversation for another time, however, as Harry was currently incapable of coherent thought, the heat and the rapture and the sheer devastating eroticism of Ruth riding him like this having consumed him utterly.
As she reached her peak a crimson flush spread from her nipples, dark and hard as pebbles from the attention his lips had lavished upon them, all the way up the slender column of her neck, painting her in the colors of the sunrise despite the dark clouds beyond this room, the rain that lashed against the windows. Her inner walls fluttered around him as she gasped and shuddered above him, and Harry took over for her then, one hand still wrapped firmly around her hip, holding her to him as he thrust inside her, hard, once, twice, three times more, and then she was coming undone, collapsing against him, whimpering her pleasure as he found his own, warm and safe and sated in his love of her.
For a time they simply remained where they were, Ruth draped across his chest, Harry's hands drawing circles across her back. It was a miracle, really, that they were here at all, that they had survived through horror and calamity, had survived every bitter word they'd ever spoken to one another, had overcome their reticent natures and fallen together at last. A miracle, or perhaps an inevitable result of all the time they had spent together, learning one another, relying on one another, trusting no one save each other. Perhaps all it took, all it ever would have taken, for them to find their way together was simply this, that they be forced to spend a quiet moment together, alone, away from the Grid, to speak softly to one another of the truth of their hearts.
And now, this. Bliss, and joy, and comfort of a kind he had never known. Ruth smiled more, these days, than he had ever seen from her before. She was soft and warm, wrapped around him in the evenings, her head upon his shoulder as they sat together on the sofa, his nose buried against the back of her neck as they fell asleep in her bed. Though their routines had returned to what passed as normal for them, Ruth rushing off to meetings and managing intelligence for the HS and Harry as ever trapped in his office all hours, she was always there, now, when he left Thames House behind, and he had never felt quite so loved, so full of life, as he did now that he knew she would be waiting for him.
"I love you," he whispered, pressing his lips against her shoulder. She sighed, wriggling that little bit closer to him, her thighs tightening reflexively around him.
"I love you, too," she answered.
It was later, much later, when they finally left their little hotel, foregoing room service in favor of a dark, musty-smelling bar on the far side of the city. Housed inside an old, dilapidated sort of building, the bar was nestled along the banks of the river, jostling for space with gentrified old houses and a few run down looking shops. They made their way inside, Harry's arm looped around Ruth's waist, her head brushing against his shoulder as she took in the view, searching for something.
She found it almost at once; the bar opened in front of them, a bit cramped despite the fact that there were only two patrons in view. An opening at the back of the room led to a smaller space for private parties, and it was here they ventured, moving with confidence though they were each of them wary, as ever, knowing that the clandestine meeting they had arranged was so illegal as to border on treasonous. Ruth was fairly confident that the measures they had taken to keep their mission a secret would be sufficient to protect them, but she was a spook to her core, regardless of her job title, and she knew she would be looking over her shoulder for all the rest of her days. She had resigned herself to that fate long ago.
Inside the little room at the back of the bar their friends were already gathered and waiting for them; Harry and Ruth shrugged out of their coats and then found themselves engulfed in a wave of hugs and handshakes and chaste cheek-kisses. They all keep their voices soft and their eyes on the door, the habits of a lifetime proving impossible to break, even for the one in their ranks who was ostensibly retired. If their friends found it strange, that Harry should have entered the room with his former analyst tucked beneath his arm, they did not comment, though a knowing look passed between Ruth and the only other woman present, a flush painting her cheeks immediately.
"We've already ordered for you," Beth said, no doubt sensing her former flatmate's discomfort, and Ruth smiled at her gratefully as Harry held out a chair for her. As soon as Ruth was seated Harry settled himself beside her, one arm flung casually across her shoulders as with the other he lifted the glass of scotch Malcolm had placed in front of him. Ruth watched her lover fondly as he lifted the glass, inhaling the familiar aroma before raising an eyebrow at his oldest friend.
"That's a very good scotch," Harry said, his tone implying that Malcolm had likely spent too much on the drink.
"Then it's a very good thing you'll be covering the bill," Tom said slyly from the other side of the table.
Harry chuckled, his fingertips ghosting across the curve of Ruth's shoulder, and for once she did not feel ill at ease, to have him so blatantly show his regard for her in public. Let them see; Malcolm had been there, when this dance between Harry and Ruth first began, and Beth had been there, when Ruth had been stolen from the back of a van and very nearly murdered for the sake of the love Harry bore her, and Tom had been there, when Harry had called seeking vengeance for the attempt on her life. These people were their friends, a very rare commodity in this business of spies, and there was no one with whom Ruth would rather share her joy than this strange assemblage.
"To old friends," Harry said, raising his glass in toast. Ruth lifted her own wine glass, and the five of them completed the ritual before settling down to the very serious business of catching up.
They spoke for hours, of how Harry had sent Beth to Tom, following her decommissioning, knowing the girl needed the chance to work, to wash the blood from her hands, knowing Tom would be able to find a use for her. That had surprised Ruth, when she'd first learned of it; how had Harry known that Beth had been let go? How had he spoken to her without Ruth's knowledge? Not that it mattered, really, how it had happened; Harry had done it, and Ruth's heart had swelled with love of this man as she watched him from the corner of her eye, thinking how good he was, how gentle he could be when it came to those he cared for. In the days following Albany his own career had been all but ruined, his life in tatters as he endured endless surveillance and a bitter silence from Ruth, but still he had taken the time to look after Beth.
They spoke of Malcolm's mother, who had at last slipped away from him, and the way Harry had somehow managed to evade his tail just long enough to attend the funeral. When he once more imparted his condolences to Malcolm, Ruth reached beneath the table and rested her hand upon his thigh, giving him a gentle squeeze. It still sometimes surprised her, their easy way with one another, how very simple it was to love him, and set aside all that had come before. He was just a man, after all, a bit battered, a bit weary, but hers, wholly and completely, and she could not imagine anything more perfect than him, than them together, at the end of every day.
"I managed to get in touch with Zoe," Tom told them as the night drew to a close. They had all drunk more than was wise and they were making noises about ringing for taxis, but it seemed that the evening had one last surprise in store. Beth perked up a bit, at Tom's words, not knowing who Zoe was but sensing the sudden current of tension that filled the other guests seated around the table.
For her part Ruth found she could not speak, as a lump formed in her throat and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Dear Zoe, Zoe who had been a friend, a sister almost, for however brief a time, sweet and sad and determined, lost to them all by the cruel machinations of fate. At least she had escaped the horror that had befallen so many of their little band of brothers, Ruth reminded herself; though she might have missed Zoe, in the days following her banishment, at least she could comfort herself knowing that the girl was still living.
"She's happy, in Chile," Tom continued. "Married, two kids. But she was surprised to hear about the two of you."
There it is, Ruth thought, hiding her smile behind her half-empty glass of wine. Likely Tom had been surprised as well, and was choosing to use Zoe as a vehicle to ask his own questions. And perhaps it was surprising, that Harry Pearce, imposing and formidable and cold as ice when the moment called for it, could have thrown in his lot with a girl like Ruth, awkward and bumbling and hopelessly naive. There was no way to explain this to Tom, Ruth knew, to explain how time had changed her, had molded her into a new creature, one who belonged by Harry's side.
"I for one wasn't surprised at all," Malcolm mused, his eyes flashing across Ruth's face for a moment, searching for forgiveness she had granted long ago.
"Me neither," Beth said with a saucy toss of her head, and Harry let out a hearty chuckle.
"I was," he murmured.
Ruth leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I wasn't," she said firmly.
At long last they could linger no more; once more there were hugs and handshakes all around, and promises to see one another again, though none of them was so foolish as to think such a meeting of the minds could happen any time soon. Malcolm was retired and Tom and Beth were private contractors, and Ruth and Harry remained firmly in place upon the wall. It would not be easy, for them to make time for each other again, but Ruth was determined that they should. Her life was full of joy, now, where before it had been only shadows, and she wanted her friends to share in her happiness.
In the backseat of the taxi Harry once more wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and Ruth curled into his side, her nose brushing against his neck as the little car jostled them to and fro. They had come such a very long way, over the course of their lives together, and Ruth could not wait to see where they would go from here.