Disclaimer: Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC.
Author's Note: Thanks for taking time to read and please enjoy! (Edited on the 6th of July 2006 to make it easier to read)
White Night Fantasy – Chapter Three
It was nothing short of a miracle that Grace had asked for help with the washing up. It wasn't the way Ruth envisioned her evening, but she was thankful for small mercies. Her shoulder blades had been itching all the while she had been talking to Grace and Mark's friends, it felt as though her skin was trying to crawl away from her body. She had had the unpleasant sensation before, and she doubted it would be the last. It didn't help that the cause had only been a few feet away. The tension in the room had set her teeth on edge.
Grace finished washing the dirty dishes, handing them to Ruth to dry, blissfully unaware just how uncomfortable she was with Harry in the next room. Her red hair bobbed when she laugh, her voice held excitement as she talked about her wedding. She was happy in her own little world.
"You've been very quiet tonight Ruth," she said, rinsing the soap suds from her hands.
The brunette nodded, she wasn't going to start explaining the reason for her silence to the younger woman. "So…how do you know John?" She asked, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.
"He's one of Mark's friends." She picked her glass of amber liquid. "A little bit stuffy, but he's a sweetie really."
Ruth had to look away from her friend. She busied herself with loading the dishwasher with empty glasses, failing to wipe the smirk from her face. She had heard Harry being called plenty of things during her time working on the grid, but never sweet. When she felt sure enough to speak without laughing, she said, "Do you know what he does?"
The red head thought for a moment, a frown creasing her pretty face. "I'm sure he told me. Something to do with teaching, I think."
Ruth couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. "He doesn't work for the service." It was more of a statement than a question.
"Oh no." Grace said it with such confidence; Ruth wanted more than to set her right. "Why are you so interested anyway?"
"No reason." Then the meaning of Grace's words sunk in. She spun to face the younger woman and fixed her with a glare. "Grace don't you dare start interfering."
"What?" The innocent look didn't suit her. "I wouldn't dream of it." The wistful look in her eyes said differently.
Ruth could hardly stop herself from sighing. Asking Grace to turn her back on her serial matchmaker ways was like asking rain not to be wet, why bother.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ruth saw movement at the door. For a spilt second, she harboured the hope that it was Harry. She had to struggle to keep her disappointment from showing when a tall, brown haired man walked into the kitchen carrying a glass of red wine. They had been introduced earlier, yet Ruth couldn't remember his name for the life of her.
He smiled at her with a perfect set of whitened teeth. "Hello again."
Ruth found a small smile to give him, and nodded in reply.
Grace looked like she was auditioning for the role of the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. Ruth wondered if her jaw was hurting like hell after keeping the same facial expression for hours on end. "The boys starting to bore you?" The read asked, taking a sip of her drink. She grimaced at the taste. Grace was more of a wine person than whiskey.
The newcomer ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. "They're talking about cricket. It's completely lost on me I'm afraid. I'm more of a golf man."
He had an expression of innocence that was very rare to find outside of adolescence.
Grace laughed; a high pitched sound that almost hurt. Somewhere the dogs of South London were barking into the night. She set her glass down on the counter and clapped her hands together. "Right, if you'll excuse me I'm going to see just how much of a mess my living room is in."
She turned at the door and gave Ruth a flash of her smile, that she supposed was to be reassuring. The only thing missing was the thumbs up. Ruth felt her eyes widen. The trap had been sprung and she hadn't even realised. She rolled her eyes and said a silent bugger.
"So Sharon, enjoying yourself?"
Ignoring the urge to say no, Ruth grappled with the right words to convey her discomfort with this situation. "It's been a long night," was the best she could find. She mentally kicked herself.
"I know what you mean. It's one of those times you kick yourself and say "Tim what have you gotten yourself into?"
Of course, she remembered him now. After the awkwardness with Harry, she had thrown herself deep into conversation with Tim. It was a weak attempt to stop herself from doing something that she's later regret. As far as she remembered they hadn't had much to talk about besides exchanging favourite authors.
At least then he had been calm. Standing in the kitchen he seemed to have developed a nervous gesture of looking at his wrist watch every few seconds. It took her a moment to realise just what was making him so anxious. It was her.
"So…." He started but couldn't find anything to finish the sentence with.
He obviously liked her and was having trouble talking to her. Ruth found herself trying desperately not to laugh. It was exactly the way she had behaved around Harry. Her mood cooled. It was a sobering thought, and almost a depressing one.
Tim took a swing of his wine and swapped the glass over to his other hand. He wiped his sweaty palm against his trouser leg. He went to check his watch and turned the glass up on its side. The contents spilled out onto his clean, white shirt. Almost the colour of blood, the stain spread down the front of the shirt and the tops of his trousers.
Ruth grabbed a cloth from underneath the kitchen sink and ran it under the cold tap. "Here keep it wet otherwise it'll be hell to shift." She spoke from experience.
"Thanks," he said, taking the damp cloth. "I'm such an idiot."
She found it hard to argue with that.
Tim excused himself, taking a tub of baking soda in effort to remove the red wine from his shirt. Ruth watched him walk out of the room and couldn't help laughing. She leaned against the sink, thinking that this night couldn't get any worse.
xxx
He had been there for a time, leaning against the door frame, just watching her. After a fit of laughter she collapsed against the sink and loosened her scarf. He guessed that she was looking out of the window, probably at the snow covered garden. Blissfully unaware that she was being watched.
It was an unforgivable thing to do; spying on her while she wanted to be alone. It hadn't been intentional. It never was. Even at work he was easily distracted by her. It was simple things she did that he found fascinating.
The decision had been made before he even realised what he was doing. He crossed the room faster than he should have, keeping his step light so that she wouldn't hear. He stepped in close, close enough to smell wine with the under lying scent of rose water perfume.
"You look like you could do with a drink," he said with his mouth hovering just inches from her ear.
Her lips curved upwards in a smile, it was almost naïve. She dropped her eyes to the ground. Harry could make out just the faintest hint of colour to her cheeks.
"That's certainly true," she said, clearing her throat. Her voice had taken on a nervous lit. "I've got the distinct feeling that Grace is planning a summer wedding."
"You mean with the clumsy Tim?"
There was something about the way that he said it that made her stop. She turned around slowly and looked up into his usually so guarded eyes, only to see a softness that she couldn't remember ever seeing before. They were so close, closer than they'd been in weeks. Almost touching. She gripped the edge of the sink so tight that her knuckles turned white. "Have you been spying on me Harry?"
"Absolutely." Since that was exactly what he had been doing, there was no sense to lie about it.
She started to smile, thinking that he'd been joking. Her expression slowly returned to a peaceful blankness when she realised that it was the truth.
Harry leaned in closer, so that she was basically pined against the kitchen sink. Her mouth suddenly went dry. She had never before felt like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights as much as she did around Harry. Her breath stuck in her throat.
"How about that drink?" It was a simple enough question, one that shouldn't have caused so much of a reaction. Ruth's heart skipped a beat. She licked her dry lips.
He moved back, giving her enough room to breath again. Her eyes followed him to the back door, where his hand rested lightly on the handle. "Unless you'd rather spend the night mopping up after Tim nice but Dim. It's your choice."
Ruth let out a shuddering breath and cast a quick look around the empty kitchen. Her heart pounded in her chest, like a caged bird. She felt like pinching herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. But it hadn't been a dream. She could still feel Harry's hot breath on her neck.
She was still going over the events of the past few minutes when Time shuffled back into the kitchen, wiping at the slightly less pink stain o his shirt. He looked up and sighed, a small smile curving his lips.
"Damn thing won't budge. I'll have to throw it in soap when I get home and pray that it comes out."
Ruth was vaguely aware that Tim had spoken; she just hadn't heard a damn thing he said.
"Are you alright Sharon?" He asked hand on hip, looking concerned. "You look a little flushed."
She looked up, her eyes failing to focus on his face in the harsh glare of the kitchen lights. Harry was right in saying it was her choice. She looked from Tim's innocent face imprinted with worry for her to the red wine stain on his shirt. It was the easiest choice she ever made.
To Be Continued...