July 10, 2011
Harry arrived at the hospital feeling strangely nervous. Desperate, almost. He wanted so much to do something, anything for Ruth. She getting sicker. It was the chemo, of course. But she was tried all the time. She was throwing up or sleeping nearly all day when he was with her. She had lost so much weight, he was afraid to hold her for fear of snapping her in two. The high cheekbones that he found so lovely were now sharp in contrast to her gaunt cheeks. Her luminous eyes seemed dull.
But she would get better. He knew she would. She had to. She was going through hell and the cancer would be gone and soon she would get better. That was all that kept Harry going.
And so today he decided to do something about it. Something to make her happy. He had found something he hoped might do the trick. Something pretty, something she would like. He had even gone to the trouble of wrapping it in brightly colored paper. She had enjoyed color at one point, long ago when she wore those clothes he'd hated, the ones that caught his eye for the wrong reasons but caused him to pay attention to the young analyst that he otherwise wouldn't have thought about.
Ruth, he thought about. When her berry-colored lipstick clashed with red blazer she wore. When he was frowning at the color choices and noticed the way her pales skin glowed in the harsh light of the Grid, the way her dark hair was shiny and when she pulled it back at the nape of her neck, he could see the curve of her shoulder and collarbone and visions of such things had stayed in his mind.
He'd thought a lot about those early days recently. He hadn't done so in a long time. He had spent the last three years with Ruth back on the Grid, this darker and angrier and sadder Ruth. The Ruth that matched him step for step, the one who resisted his advances not because she was afraid of getting hurt by having a crush on her boss but instead because she knew they didn't deserve the happiness he wanted to offer her. The Ruth tied to a chair in a warehouse who had screamed as her husband was shot dead on the screen in front of them. The Ruth who had refused his marriage proposal. The Ruth snapped at him for disagreeing with him. The Ruth who had been strangled by a captor before she managed to shoot him dead and hand Harry the gun when it was all over. The Ruth who had told him it wasn't fair for him to love her when he committed treason to save her life. The Ruth who loved him so much that his past with Elena Gavrik had hurt her in a way neither of them could have anticipated.
But since that fateful day when she had been stabbed and nearly died in his arms, she had been living in this hospital and fighting the injuries and illness that were the last obstacles to their happy ending. And in trying to find that happy ending, they had spent all day every day together and she was rediscovering who she was without all the darkness dogging their steps. Harry was, too. He hadn't even thought about work in weeks. His focus was solely on Ruth, on her wellbeing and on their future together.
And they would have a future together. Harry refused to even consider an alternative. So he showed up at the hospital with his wrapped parcel for her, silently begging for it to make her feel better.
He found her asleep, as usual. She looked pale and even a little gray. It was hard to see her so obviously unwell. He approached her quietly, not wanting to jolt her awake. He put the parcel on the edge of her bed, beside her legs, and reached out to gently brush her cheek with his fingers. Her skin was cold and strangely dry. And the beautiful suppleness of her skin had left her. Everything that reminded him that she was so young and lovely, all gone. For now, at least. Just until she got better. She'd get better.
Ruth's eyelashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. She smiled upon seeing him, which warmed his heart. But her smile looked a little pained. He knew she was just tired.
"Good morning, darling," he said softly.
"Hello," she replied. Her voice was hoarse. Weak.
"Have you eaten anything?" He did not bring her croissants for breakfast anymore. She had too much trouble keeping anything down and wasn't hungry most of the time, so she'd asked him not to waste the time and money going to the cart for coffee and pastries when she couldn't enjoy it.
Ruth mumbled something he couldn't quite hear, and Harry knew that she had not eaten anything and didn't want to. He wouldn't press. Not now. Not today.
"I brought you something," he said, holding the parcel up.
She looked curiously at him as he placed it down on her lap. "What's this for?"
"I was hoping to find something to make you smile."
Tears filled her eyes as she gazed up at him. "You make me smile, Harry. Every day. You being here with me. Knowing that you…"
He pulled his chair over and sat down, holding her hand. "Knowing that I what?"
"Knowing that you love me," she said. He thought that maybe she was very nearly blushing.
Harry kissed her cold fingers. "Of course I love you. You've known that for a very long time."
"Yes, but it's different now," she pointed out.
He kissed her again. She was right, of course. Things were very different now. For a whole host of reasons. "Why don't you open the box?" he suggested.
Ruth took her hand away from him, and he watched her shake a little as she expended more effort than one might expect in trying to unwrap the box he'd given her. But she managed without asking for help. She avoided asking unless necessary, even if she struggled a little trying to do things for herself. Harry had been snapped at enough to learn to not offer his assistance if she did not find herself defeated enough to ask him.
She lifted the lid of the box and unfolded the tissue paper inside. Her hands moved over the silk as she carefully picked it up.
"I thought you might use it as a headscarf. I thought it was cheery and reminded me of you. If you don't like it, I can exchange it for something else," he babbled. She held the pink floral silk in her hands and stared at it with an expression that was quite unreadable to him.
Ruth looked over to him as the tears threatened to fall from her eyes. "No, I love it. It's so beautiful, Harry. Will…will you help me with it?" she requested.
He stood and removed the dark blue cotton scarf wrapped over her head. Her hair had nearly all fallen out. She hadn't wanted to shave the bits that were left, wanting to keep whatever she could, just hiding it beneath a scarf. He gently pushed back handful of strands remaining once the scarf was off and took the new pink one to tie it for her. When he finished, he smoothed his hands over her silk-covered scalp and stepped back. "There we are."
"Can I see?" she asked.
Harry went to retrieve the small hand mirror kept in the drawer by her bed. She didn't often like to look at herself, but sometimes such things were necessary.
Ruth looked at herself in the mirror and sighed sadly. He hadn't wanted her to be sad, but perhaps there was nothing for it now. Not until she got better. But she looked away from the mirror and up at him and smiled. "I love it. It is cheerful. Thank you, love."
He smiled back at her, pleased that he had been able to give her something that she enjoyed. Happier than he could say that she was able to smile. "You are very welcome, Ruth."
She reached out a shaky hand to him and he took it. But she gave a small tug and he realized what she wanted. He leaned in and gently kissed her lips. When he pulled back, she was still smiling. And that was enough for now.