Ruth was about to sit down to dinner when her mobile rang. She had just settled herself on the sofa with a salad she'd made, proud of herself for making a sensible choice. And her mobile was ringing back in the kitchen. Groaning, she hauled herself off the sofa and hurried to go answer it. In her line of work, calls could not simply be ignored.
She saw it was Harry calling, and a small jolt of panic went through her. She knew what he was doing today. And if something had gone wrong…
"Hello?" she answered, not allowing her thoughts to continue.
A deep sigh rattled over the line. "Hello, Ruth," Harry greeted. He sounded despondent.
"Is everything alright?" she asked immediately.
"It's done," was all he said in return.
Ruth paused for a moment, chewing her lip as she tried to decide what to do. But then she lifted her left hand to push her hair behind her ear and the sparkling beauty of her ring caught her eye. "Are you alright?" she asked him softly.
There was another pause on the line as Harry considered what to say. "May I come see you?"
A knot formed in Ruth's stomach at that. "Do you want me to come over?"
"No, don't bother. I can come to yours, if that's alright. I'm driving now. It'll be a few hours still."
Ruth glanced at the clock on the oven and saw that it was already half six in the evening. A few hours would make it practically bedtime by the time he got to London. They had a big day tomorrow with that Morocco operation. "Yes, of course, come over," Ruth insisted, pushing aside all the annoying practical parts of her that said she needed to do the right thing and get a good night's sleep and keep that all-important distance between Harry and herself, lest they get carried away.
But what did it matter if they got carried away? Wasn't that the whole point of him proposing and her saying yes? She had a ring on her finger as a physical reminder of the commitment they'd made to each other, the commitment to try and sort out some kind of life together. If they wanted to see each other, even late at night on a Sunday, shouldn't they see each other?
And, of course, Ruth heard that note of despair in Harry's voice, and it was not a tone she liked. Harry was always knew what to do, always made the difficult choices and did the right thing. He was confident in his ability to do just that, and he had the confidence of everyone around him that he would save the day. And she knew how this weighed on him. Nicholas Blake had been as much a friend to Harry as a politician could ever be. Though, to Ruth's mind, that business with Davey King was beyond the pail, and she had no idea how Harry could forgive the man for quite literally sending a mad terrorist to slaughter the whole of Section D. But Harry forgave him and saw the redemption earned in Nicholas Blake. Ruth wasn't there, she did not know all the facts, only what Jo had told her when she had begged for information about all that she had missed in her years away. Regardless, Harry had put his faith in Blake, and he had been let down in the cruelest possible way. Harry was a man who valued loyalty and integrity—even when those traits were so rare in their world. Having been betrayed by a man he trusted and respected like this was a wound that cut him very deep, Ruth knew.
Having to then exact revenge on the loss of his protégée on someone who he trusted and respected had hurt Harry all the more.
Ruth did not know what Harry had done to Nicholas Blake, and she would never ask. But Ruth did not disagree with Harry's decision to murder Blake for what he had done. She did not disagree that Harry had to be the one to do it. She did not like it, but she understood it. Harry always knew what to do. Harry always did the right thing. Even when it was terrible. Even when it tore him apart.
But all of that was why Ruth had fallen in love with Harry Pearce. Such strength and determination had inspired her over the years. His devotion to the work inspired her devotion to him. And to the work. Mostly to him. Always him.
After Harry thanked her for inviting him over and gave her an estimated time of his arrival—somewhere around ten o'clock—before he apologized for interrupting her evening. Ruth assured him it was no bother and promised to have something for him to eat when he arrived if he didn't stop for something on the way. He thanked her again, and they hung up.
Ruth wrapped up her pathetic salad and put it back in the fridge and decided to bake some pies. She had all that she'd need for a couple of chicken pies. Some leftover veg with chicken and seasoning. Frozen premade pastry. Should be alright. She'd bake hers first and have it for dinner and then put the other in just in time for when Harry arrived. That way, if hers turned out awful, she could chuck the other and offer Harry some salad.
Of course, when the radio was on and Ruth half-listened and half-sang to herself, cooking was a lot harder. And Ruth somehow always forgot she was a rubbish cook. She knew how to do things, but they just never seemed to turn out correctly. Hadn't she learned her lesson making that casserole for Harry when he'd been suspended by Juliet Shaw? Obviously she hadn't. A lot of things had changed about Ruth and her life and the world at large since that time. This hadn't. Ruth could translate anything from Mandarin to Latin to Russian to Greek, but it didn't help her figure out the proper measurements for a pie filling.
In the end, Ruth's dinner was more chicken and pastry mush than anything else, but it actually wasn't bad. It tasted fine, even if the texture was questionable. Hopefully she could bake Harry's a bit differently and it would turn out better.
Famous last words.
She pulled a rather charred pie out of the oven just as a knock came at the door. Ruth put the pie on the counter clumsily, nearly dropping it, and rushed to answer the door.
Harry stood there looking so defeated, it nearly broke Ruth's heart. It took her a moment to catch her breath from running around the kitchen to really take him in. He was…well, in a word, he was sad.
"I've made you a pie," she blurted.
His brow raised in confusion and perhaps slight amusement. "You did what?"
"I…I wanted to have something nice for you. That's a thing people do, isn't it? Comfort each other with food?" Why was it that Harry's presence with anything other than work always reduced her back to the same nervous, hopeful woman she'd been on the roof when he first asked her to dinner and mimed the Chaplin scene from Gold Rush? Well, maybe they both had a way of putting each other on the back foot.
Harry's gaze softened as he looked at her. "May I come in?" he asked gently.
"Oh. Right. Yes, of course." She moved aside to let him by.
He removed his gloves and put them in the pocket of his coat which he then took off. Ruth took it and hung it up beside hers next to the door. When she turned back, he was standing there, staring at her.
"Everything alright?" she asked in concern.
Harry took two steps toward her. "Ruth," he growled.
And before she knew it, he was kissing her. Deeply. Passionately. Like…well, like nothing she'd ever experienced. She made some kind of noise over which she had absolutely no control, something between a gasp and a whimper, as his tongue surged into her mouth. His arms wrapped around her, and she was surrounded by Harry, wholly and completely.
But then, as abruptly as it began, the kiss ended. Harry pulled away, breathing heavily. He still held her tight and rested his forehead against hers. Her eyes blinked open to find his shut tight as he tried to catch his breath. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"Don't be," she assured him, hugging him back as best she could.
Harry was suffering, she knew. He had just done something terrible, even if it was for a good and right reason. He had done a terrible thing, and he was still grappling with it. He was searching for something, some kind of release from it all, but this wasn't what he needed and they both knew it.
There was nothing that Ruth could say or do in this moment. She wanted to help him and be useful. But there just wasn't anything she could do. So instead, she stayed quiet and just held him as he held her.
"Thank you for letting me come over," he said, breaking their silence. He lifted his head so he could look at her properly, but he did not loosen his embrace. Neither did she. "I needed to feel the good in my life."
"And that's me, is it?" she teased.
"Yes," he answered sincerely. He reached up to brush her hair from her face. "You are the best good in my life."
Something twisted inside Ruth at his words. "Oh I don't know about that," she deflected.
"It's true," he insisted.
Ruth frowned and finally let go of him. Harry did the same, allowing her to take a step away from him. "You can't have me on a pedestal, Harry. Not if this is going to work, not if we're going to try and make a life together. I've got my faults as much as anyone else. Perhaps more than anyone else after…after everything."
"I know you do," he answered, taking her words seriously and responding just as seriously. "I know your faults better than most people. I know that you have terrible insecurities and it makes you lonely and anxious, and you've got all sorts of abandonment problems that have hardened you against the world in a way you never used to be. I know that you have a terrible tendency to blame yourself too much, and you can be far too sensitive. And you're a stubborn mule more often than not."
She had not expected a full dressing down of her character flaws in the entryway of her flat, but there it was. "Well, thanks for that," she said flatly.
Harry pushed past her reaction and carried on. "In spite of all that and because of all that, you are the most wonderful person I have ever known, and I love you very much, and I intend to spend the rest of my life with you."
It did not escape Ruth that Harry had just told her that he loved her out loud for the first time. Harry's love for her was not a surprise. She had known for years. It screamed out to her from his silent expression when they said goodbye on the docks and when Mani brought her into that warehouse. Every moment they spent together, even at work, was filled with the knowledge that he loved her. Harry loved her when she did not want him to love her and when she hated him for loving her and when she did not deserve for him to love her. Ruth would not have agreed to marry him if she did not know he loved her.
And yet to hear the words out somehow seemed significant. Perhaps because, though the fact of his love was not a surprise, the depth and persistence of his love after all this time and after all they'd been through seemed too much for Ruth to be able to contemplate.
"Oh," she said, not sure how else to respond.
"Is that alright?" Harry asked.
A small smile made its way to her lips even as the warmth of the realization of it all spread through her. "Yes, Harry, that's alright," she answered softly. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. "Come through, we can see if we can salvage that pie for you. You need to eat."
Harry followed her to the kitchen without a word. But he was smiling. And Ruth thought that maybe she had found a way to do the right thing for him.