June 6, 2011

Five weeks of treatment had taken their toll. They'd been warned it would, that the aggressive treatment that Dr. Blake and Ruth had decided on would be absolute hell on her body. But Harry knew better than most how strong Ruth was. He knew she'd make it through.

She had to.

But for now, they were through one of six months of treatment. The plan was that the cancer would be eradicated by the end of it, sometime in early November. Ruth had even commented that it was probably going to be the only birthday gift she could give him, being cured. But she promised to make up for it at Christmas. For Harry's part, having her finished with this hell and getting to take her home at the end of it was all he could focus on. They were going to live their life together, they were going to have their happily ever after. They just had to get through this first.

The chemotherapy was awful for everyone, Harry knew, but it seemed particularly nasty for Ruth. He'd never even seen her with so much as a cold before, and now she was huddled on the floor of the bathroom vomiting uncontrollably into the toilet every other day. He found her that way twice when he'd arrived to visit her in the morning.

Today was one of those days. When he arrived, she'd been shivering as she caught her breath between bouts of violent nausea. He wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the way his bad knee protested at Harry sitting on the floor like that, but what could he do?

She rested her forehead against his neck and took a few shaky breaths, curled up against him. "I had a fantasy like this once," she said softly.

"You what?" Harry asked, taken aback.

Ruth chuckled lightly. "Not having cancer. But I used to…used to dream that maybe you'd fall madly in love with me and when I got pregnant and had terrible morning sickness, you'd come sit with me like this and hold my hair while I threw up and cursed you for putting me in that state and you'd just laugh in that wheezy way you do when you're pleased and you'd apologize but remind me it would all be worth it because we were going to have a baby."

Harry's heart plummeted at her words. He didn't know what to say. He never had any idea that she might want to have children or—perish the thought—have children with him. Apparently she had. And maybe if he hadn't been so damned foolish all those years ago, if he'd not wasted so much time, if he'd asked her out sooner, if he'd been able to progress things between them further before she was taken away with Cotterdam…maybe he could have married her and given her children. Harry had been a terrible father and never imagined having more children. But that had been because he assumed no sane woman would ever want to have his children. With Ruth, though, it might have been nice. Better than nice. They'd have had some beautiful, brilliant child. Eyes like Ruth's, that bright and luminous stormy blue. Hair like his, curly and blonde. Ruth's nose, Harry's lips. A perfect baby all their own, a living, breathing embodiment of their love for each other. He'd never thought of it before right now, and despite that, he found himself missing a dream he'd never thought to have.

"I shouldn't have said anything. It's silly. It was ages ago. When Danny was still alive, actually," she said, hurriedly walking back her words.

"I had no idea," he breathed, not having any other words.

"Like I said. Silly." She turned away from him slightly. She was still shivering.

Harry pulled her back to him, holding her tighter and rubbing her back soothingly. "It's not silly. I think it's wonderful. I'm just sadly reminded of how much time I wasted with you, all the things we might have had if I'd not been such a bloody fool."

Ruth shook her head, pulling back just enough to look up into his eyes and search his face. "We didn't waste time. Things happened just as they needed to. You would have scared me off if you'd asked me out any sooner than you did."

"I did scare you off anyway."

"I went to dinner with you, didn't I? I would have never said yes before then. I was such an awful coward."

"You've never been a coward, Ruth."

"I have when it comes to you, Harry. And you can't deny that. Besides, don't you think that if we'd gotten together in those early days, it would have ended terribly? We didn't know each other nearly well enough. I loved you like mad, but I was in love with the idea of you. And you didn't know me. I didn't know me. I'm a completely different person now than I was back then. I came back to England entirely changed. The exile ruined me in so many ways, Harry, but I think it made me stronger. Darker and deeper. We…we're even now. You're older and wiser and have lived through far more than I ever have or ever will, but I'm not naïve anymore. You would have gotten bored of me back then. I don't think you will now."

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple and held her reverently. "You're right. You're always right, and I hate it, but you're right. We are even. And I'll never, ever get bored of you now. But maybe I would have back then. Having you taken away changed me, too, Ruth. You came back to a man who was much softer and far more tired. I can love you better now than I ever could have before," he murmured to her softly.

"It's all worked out for the best. Besides, we would have been awful parents," she teased.

He wanted so much to disagree with her, but he couldn't quite bring himself to it. Back then, particularly, they would have been awful parents. Their perfect, beautiful, brilliant baby would have turned out hating them, just like Catherine and Graham did. "You're right," Harry said once more, sadly.

Ruth eventually felt well enough to get up and go back to bed. Harry had some trouble getting up off the floor, but he managed. And just in time, too. The nurse came to escort them to Ruth's chemo appointment.

She was too weak to walk all that way, so Harry pushed her in the wheelchair, following the nurse. Ruth absolutely hated being in that wheelchair, but they both knew she'd be even more upset if she tried to walk and collapsed in the middle of the hallway.

Before they knew it, Dr. Blake was greeting them as he set up the IV. He wasn't at every appointment, but he was by once each week to check on Ruth's progress.

"How are you feeling, Ruth?" he asked pleasantly.

"I managed to stop vomiting long enough to get up and back to bed right in time to be brought here," she grumbled.

Dr. Blake nodded understandingly. "The treatment is aggressive. These doses are much higher and much more intense than the alternatives. But you'll only have this for six months instead of two months at a time for the next year."

Ruth nodded and sighed. "I know. Get it all done in one go. Better than recovering and feeling better only to just get sick again."

"Exactly. You'll be sicker, I know, but you'll only have to go through it once, assuming all goes as planned," the doctor agreed encouragingly.

"Is there anything for the nausea?" Harry asked. "She's lost a lot of weight already, and there's still five more months to go." He was looking at where Ruth's arm was outstretched for the IV and her supple skin had lost its healthy firmness and now hang limp over her bones. Her diamond tennis bracelet, a gift for her birthday from Harry, was so big around her wrist now that he feared it might slip off her.

"I'll see what I can do," Dr. Blake said. His mobile rang, and he excused himself for it.

"Harry," Ruth said, calling out to him.

"Yes?"

"Have you got those socks on you?" she asked, averting her eyes in embarrassment.

He knew how she hated to be weak and in need like this, but he did his best to disabuse her of that discomfort. She was ill, and he was here to take care of her. "Are your feet cold?" he asked knowingly. She always seemed to be cold nowadays.

Ruth nodded.

Harry went into the little bag slung over the back of the wheelchair, the one he'd put together with their things for these appointments so they didn't get bored. Inside were a pair of very fuzzy warm knit socks. He retrieved them and kneeled down beside her chair. She had a pair of slip-on shoes. He removed each one in turn and put the fuzzy socks on her feet, giving them a rub and a gentle kiss.

He looked up to see Ruth smiling at him. If nothing else, that made this a good day. Ruth was smiling.

"How's that, Cinderella?" he teased.

Her smile grew. "Much better, thank you, Prince Charming."

Harry let out a bark of laughter. Nothing could be quite so preposterous as Harry Pearce being called Prince Charming. But at this exact moment, he almost felt like maybe he could be. For Ruth, he certainly wanted to be.