Harry waved and smiled at Malcolm as he left, and when he got into his car down the block, Harry closed and locked the front door. The smile evaporated from his face as he turned around. It had been such a wonderful night, spending time with Malcolm and eating food he and Ruth had cooked together and getting to just be an ordinary couple sharing a meal with their friend. But now, it seemed, everything was going to come crashing down. Wasn't that just the bloody way of things?
Steeling himself, Harry walked into the kitchen where Ruth was getting started on the washing up. "What's the matter?" he asked bluntly. He was in no mood to beat around the bush.
She paused scrubbing the roasting pan. Her whole body was tensed up. "I'd like to finish this before we talk about," she said after a beat.
"I'd rather not give you longer to stew in your thoughts, if you don't mind. You've been upset about something ever since dinner. I'm sure Malcolm noticed you weren't smiling properly and you'd gone quiet."
"Yes, but I wasn't going to ruin the night for anyone."
"Not till Malcolm got to leave," Harry corrected. "And he's gone now, so out with it."
Ruth reached over to turn off the sink and turned to him. Her eyes were full of fire that had been simmering within her all evening. He had known this was coming. Practically since the moment they sat down for dinner, it seemed, she had been silently bubbling with anger.
And wasn't that interesting? The Ruth of days gone by had not been quick to anger. In fact, Harry could hardly recall more than two or three times he'd ever seen Ruth mad at anyone before Cotterdam. Ever since her return, however, the sadness within her had expanded and consumed her. She had moments of the Ruth of old, enthusiastic and eager and fun. More of those moments in this last week since their engagement, actually. But for the most part, this new Ruth was cloaked in a depth of darkness that Harry would have never thought possible if he hadn't spent his whole adult life with Five. Ruth had been transformed by terror and violence and grief, and sometimes he forgot about it when they were happy and together in their romantic bliss, but this is who she had become. Ruth had a strength borne of that terror and violence and grief, and it led to this. To her getting angry at him. He'd done something wrong—which wasn't too surprising, since something or other always seemed to be Harry's fault for doing something wrong—and instead of getting tongue-tied and quiet and awkward and trying to broach a subject with him, she got angry. And so help him, Harry couldn't help but find it a glorious thing to witness.
"I'm going to kill you," she hissed, wiping her hands with a dishtowel.
Absolutely glorious.
She continued, "I cannot believe I sat at that table with you and got absolutely blindsided by our wedding, of all things!"
Harry connected the dots rather quickly, but it didn't explain everything. "I probably spoke over you to Malcolm about the wedding. I do apologize for that," he conceded. And he had spoken over her. Malcolm had asked about the wedding and Harry didn't give Ruth any opportunity to share her thoughts. He just barreled through with what he envisioned for it.
"You didn't just speak over me, Harry, you spoke for me. And that wouldn't bother me if you spoke for me in knowing what I would say!" she shouted.
Ruth rarely shouted, and Harry wasn't quite sure how to take that. He knew he had to move slowly and cautiously to keep her calm. Like a wild animal with its back up. "Was I wrong? Don't you just want a ceremony in a registrar's office with a luncheon afterwards?"
"Harry, we haven't spoken a single word about the wedding together! If you'd let me speak, I would have told Malcolm that we hadn't discussed it yet, but instead you go off saying we'll do a white wedding dress and morning coat and then we'll retire after we get married!" Contrary to Harry's intent, Ruth's tone was getting more hysterical.
"What do you want instead?" he asked, still trying to remain calm.
"I don't want to retire! I'm thirty-nine years old, how can I retire!? And you…well, I must have dreamed the conversation we had less than a week ago where you promised me you wouldn't resign and retire."
"That was about me resigning and leaving you there. I assumed we'd leave together."
"Yes! You assumed! You didn't even ask me or bother to tell me any of that before you go spouting it off to someone else!"
"Malcolm is hardly a stranger off the street, Ruth," he pointed out.
"Even worse! Malcolm knows more about us than anyone else, and now he'll think you speak for me and everything you told him is what we've planned out for ourselves."
Harry's control was starting to weaken in his frustration with this pointless fight. "Are you honestly standing here telling me that you're cross because I dared speak my own opinion about our future out loud to our friend without first getting authorization from you?"
"No, you impossible man, I am cross because you've already decided our future without bothering to consult with me at all!"
"I don't know what you—"
Ruth interrupted before Harry could even get his thought out of his mouth. "You are my boss at work but you are not my boss here. I will not live a life with a man who thinks he can dictate the life we're supposed to live together!"
"Oh and you're so good at following my orders at work, are you?" Harry fired back, now shouting over her.
She stopped, stunned slightly by his volume. But then those stormy blue eyes narrowed again, filling with that fire once more. "You used to like when I took initiative and didn't blindly follow your orders," she snapped. Her voice took on a cold, quieter tone, and that was even more upsetting than her yelling.
"You know that's not what I met," he growled. "Ruth, you're getting all upset over nothing. Now just stop this, please."
"I absolutely will not stop this. It's not nothing!" Oh she was shouting again. "But I will stop this."
Harry felt his jaw drop and all coherent thought leave him as Ruth stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He knew he needed to apologize and speak about things calmly, but he found himself slightly paralyzed. But fine, let her cool down upstairs and he could gather his thoughts down here.
Only before he got a chance to contemplate that, Ruth came thundering down the stairs again. He only managed to turn his head to see her go by the kitchen door. She was carrying the bag she'd brought for the weekend. She was taking her things. And with a mighty slam of the door, Ruth was out the door and gone.
Gone.
Harry reached blindly to the counter and picked up one of the dinner plates and he hurled it to the ground. It shattered all over the hardwood floors of the kitchen, little splinters of ceramic exploding in all directions. And then it was silent and the echoes of the crash reverberated through the silence. Harry vaguely could hear his own heaving breaths as the blood pounded in his ears. His hand twitched, eager to throw or break or punch something else.
He took a slow, deep breath to regain his control. It had been a long time since he'd really lost it like that, but as with any other time, he could get it back without much fuss. He just had to deal with the consequences of his fit of ire.
"God dammit," he muttered to himself. He had to think of what to do about Ruth. That was what mattered. That was the most important thing. Ruth was the most important thing. But here wasn't anything he could do about that now. She'd go home and calm down and they could talk about this tomorrow and everything would be fine.
And so for now, Harry would just clean up the broken dish and finish the washing up that he'd interrupted Ruth from doing. The plate couldn't be repaired, but he and Ruth could. Hopefully. He'd just have to suffer alone from his pigheadedness and keep the faith that he'd not mucked things up beyond repair.