The pie was an extremely sweet gesture that truly touched Harry's heart. He was honestly shocked to find that Ruth's cooking was actually very tasty. The last time Harry had eaten something Ruth had made for him had been years ago when she sent a rather depressing casserole to him when Juliet Shaw had suspended him from duty. But this chicken pie she'd made was perhaps a bit dark on the edges but was more than just edible. He'd expected to eat it all to not hurt her feelings, but instead he'd eaten the whole thing because it was delicious.
"Thank you for the wonderful meal, Ruth," he said, once he'd sopped up the last bit of gravy with the pastry.
She smiled. "I'm glad you liked it. I was a bit worried it was too burnt."
"No, not burnt at all. This was wonderful."
Ruth averted her eyes and smiled to herself, blushing slightly.
"What?" he asked, wondering what prompted that reaction. Harry had thought that the Ruth of old who got flustered and couldn't meet his eyes when he complimented her was long gone. Perhaps not.
"I was just thinking that maybe I won't be a pathetic excuse for a wife after all if I can at least use frozen pastry to make a halfway decent pie," she told him.
Something flipped inside Harry's chest at that. Good lord, this woman was going to be his wife. He still couldn't believe such a thing, if he were honest.
He reached out and took her hand across the table. She not only allowed him to do so but held his hand right back. They were both quiet for a moment, staring at their joined hands.
Harry eventually broke the silence. "I didn't ask you to marry me so that you'd cook me dinner, you know."
"I know," she answered quietly.
There was something in her expression that nearly brought him to weeping. She looked at him so softly, and the affection in her face was so unabashed and so deep, so earnest. It was more than he could fully contemplate just now. Not after what he'd done today.
It had been the right decision to come see Ruth after returning from Scotland, even if it was late. She truly was a balm for his soul. His wretched, miserable soul. He had killed a man today, and he had tried to find solace in Ruth. Kissing her as he had, aggressively and needfully, that had been a mistake. Perhaps not a mistake, as it had been quite freeing to be able to do that at all, but it wasn't really what he needed, and he didn't want to ever use Ruth in any way. He intended to be a proper husband to her, once they managed to figure all that out. He would love her, certainly, as he'd done for years, but he would also do whatever he could to be a partner to her. They were on the Grid, but they needed to find a way to bring that partnership into the outside world. And pouncing on her and shoving his tongue down her throat when he was upset wasn't a good start.
Sitting with her while he ate the meal she'd made for him, though, that was quite a nice start to an eventual married life, he thought. And with how he was feeling now, he didn't trust himself not to ruin it. "It's late," he said, taking his hand away from her. "I should go." He didn't want to go, of course. He wanted to stay with her always. But there was too much he needed to pick through, too much he needed to contemplate in the bottom of a bottle of scotch. He wanted to be honest with her and to share things with her as they began to build a life together, but this was not something to saddle her with. He would be alright after a day or two, and they could go from there.
Ruth stared at him, searching his face. "You don't have to," she said, her voice barely over a whisper. "Go, I mean. You…you could stay. If you want to."
And just like that, she surprised him yet again. Harry hardly knew what to say. He just sat there, slightly stunned.
She stood up from the table and crossed over to him. She took his face gently in her hands, her thumbs smoothing over his cheeks and moving her fingers up to his hair, pushing it back. Harry felt his eyes flutter closed with the simple joy of her touch. When his eyes opened again, she was smiling softly down at him. "Come to bed, Harry. It's late and you've been driving enough today. You can get up early and go home to shower and change. But please come get some rest. Just for now."
Harry nodded. Ruth picked up his dish and put it in the sink and came back to take his hand and lead him down the hall of her flat to the bedroom.
Ruth paused, letting go of his hand and turning back to him. "I suppose we ought to figure out what side of the bed we each sleep on."
Despite the fact that he was bone-tired and his soul was wearier than he could recall in a long time, Harry smiled. It was just so normal. So domestic and ordinary, choosing their sides of the bed.
Harry looked at the way her bedroom was set up. This was the first time he'd ever been in her bedroom, actually. He'd been in her old house before Cotterdam, but just in the kitchen or sitting room. He'd only kissed her goodnight on the doorstep after their dinner date that one time. And looking now, he was amused by what he found. The bed was made but a bit haphazard. The duvet was wrinkled, and the pillow shams that matched it were crooked. There were nightstands on either side. One had a lamp and a stack of books and an alarm clock. The other had yet another stack of books and a necklace that was probably tangled. It was quite clear which side of the bed Ruth used.
"I'll take this side," he said, pointing to the nightstand cluttered with books and jewelry.
"I do sleep on the other side," she confessed, "though that's not really much of a mystery. We can try this out and see how it works. Which side do you usually sleep on?"
"This side, actually," he said. "At home, I've got lamps on either side, but my book and alarm clock are on my side only."
"You've got lamps on both sides?" she asked curiously.
He nodded. "The decorator liked symmetry. All the rooms are like that."
"Ah. I've never had a decorator."
Thankfully, Harry was able to hold his tongue from saying that he could clearly see that she'd never had a decorator. But there was nothing wrong with the way Ruth's home looked. For one thing, all her own things had been taken after Cotterdam, and there was very little that had belonged to her longer than a year in this place. And what was in the flat was pleasant. Lived in. A bit messy, perhaps, but Harry knew all too well the way Ruth lived in disarray judging by the way she kept her desk on the Grid. It was charming. An organized mind and disorganized space. Harry had military training keeping him neat and tidy. Perhaps he'd do the tidying when they eventually lived together.
"I've got an extra toothbrush, if you want," Ruth said, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. "Still in the package. I went to the dentist a few weeks ago and got it. I'll set it out in the bathroom, shall I?"
"Thank you, Ruth," he said quietly, smiling softly at her as she fidgeted and babbled awkwardly.
She hurried into the en suite to collect things. Harry waited patiently, not wanting to crowd her. It was a big step, this. Going to bed together. Not that anything other than sleeping would happen tonight. Harry had no plans of seduction. For one thing, he was too bloody tired. And it felt wrong after what he'd done today. Ruth had told him just yesterday—Christ was it only yesterday?—that the timing matters with things. Murdering Nicholas Blake to avenge Ros and then making love to Ruth was terrible timing.
Ruth came back from and announced that he was welcome to use the bathroom first. He thanked her and went to use the loo and brush his teeth with the toothbrush she sweetly found for him.
He had a feeling she was getting ready for bed herself, so he did not rush. When she came to use the bathroom, he'd undress down to his trunks and vest. At that, he wondered what Ruth slept in. Incredible, really, that he had asked this woman to marry him after having taken her on one date and kissed her only twice. They'd tripled those numbers since their engagement the day before, something he was quite pleased about. But there was still so much he did not know about her. He knew the important things, the way she thought and felt about what really mattered, those big, deep aspects of life and death. All the rest was trivial. It was just that living a life together with someone and marrying someone revolved so much around the trivial things. Did she snore? Would he kick her in his sleep? What if she wanted to adopt a dozen cats when they moved in together?
Harry shook himself. He was getting ahead of things. Building a life together was what he and Ruth were setting out to do. The pieces of their broken souls were going to knit together, and they'd figure out all the rest. Ruth's overthinking must be rubbing off on him in his exhaustion. Just one step at a time.
He took that one step and then another to slowly open the bathroom door to not surprise her too much. But she was sitting on the end of the bed worrying the hem of the soft black shirt she wore over soft gray cotton pajama bottoms. She'd turned out the overhead light and was illuminated only by the lamp at her bedside. He tried to smile reassuringly through the shadows as he told her the bathroom was free.
Ruth slipped past him to take care of herself. Harry removed his shoes and socks, placing them neatly by nightstand on his side of the bed. Luckily his coat and jacket were hung up by the door. His tie was already loose, but he removed it and rolled it neatly. His shirt was carefully folded, as were his trousers, and everything went in a neat pile atop Ruth's stack of books. He didn't look at all the books before he covered them, but he spied Jane Eyre on top. He'd not comment on that, a somewhat inauspicious comment on marriage in many respects. Though perhaps Harry was the blind and disabled Mr. Rochester and Ruth, the lovely and good Jane Eyre, had agreed to marry him in spite of his wretchedness.
"Is everything alright?" Ruth asked, coming out of the bathroom and finding him lost in thought once again.
"Yes," he answered. "Just tired."
She nodded and went to her side of the bed and pulled back the covers. Harry did the same at his side. They each got in beneath the sheets without word or hesitation. Harry knew she was as nervous at the prospect of getting into bed together as he was.
Harry settled himself against the pillow. The bed was quite nice, and he told her so.
"I think so," she agreed. "It was what Five gave me when I was given the flat."
"I'm glad it's a nice bed."
She just hummed in reply. "Shall I turn out the light?" she asked.
"That's fine," he answered.
The room went dark with a single click of a switch. Ruth shifted beside him, turning herself over. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He rolled onto his side to face her.
They stared at each other through the dark for a moment. Harry broke the silence. "Thank you for this," he said sincerely.
She put her hand over his where it rested between them. "I'm glad you're here."
Warmth bloomed in his chest at those words. It hardly seemed possible, actually. But she wouldn't have said it if she didn't mean it. He turned his hand to hold hers properly. "We should get some rest," he advised. "Big day tomorrow."
"That's not till tomorrow, though," she pointed out.
Harry was surprised to hear her say such a thing. But she was right. No use borrowing the worries of tomorrow before they came due. He shifted once more to lean in and kiss her, intending just a few gentle brushes of his lips against hers before settling down to sleep.
Ruth, though, let go of his hand and instead caressed his cheek, keeping him anchored to her. The kiss deepened. Slow and languid but full of sensuality. Her tongue against his was the sweetest drug imaginable. Harry's hand moved to her waist where her top had lifted to reveal her midriff. He felt a jolt at touching her bare waist for the first time. She'd been wearing far too many clothes the last times they'd kissed. But now they were lying in bed together and kissing as though time had stopped and now existed solely to allow them to be lost in each other like this.
There was no way of knowing how long they continued on kissing like that. Harry did not hurry to move things along. He was content to lightly trail his fingers over her waist and back and belly without exploring further. At least for now. This was all he needed.
But then Ruth rolled onto her back, pulling Harry with her. Their kiss had to end as they fumbled slightly. Harry found himself lying between her pajama-clad legs and leaning on his elbow to hover over her. He hadn't realized how breathless he was until he searched her face and found her chest heaving as much as his seemed to be.
Ruth reached up to push his hair back off his forehead and card her fingers through the slightly thicker hair at the back of his head. He could feel the slight bump of her engagement ring against his scalp. She was smiling. "I love you, Harry."
He was smiling, too.