Ruth felt the warmth of Harry's lips on hers, the soft plumpness of those gorgeous lips of his. And as incredible as it felt, as much as his kiss made her whole being soar, she began to feel cold. She whimpered slightly, not from desire but from pain.
Harry must have understood the difference, for he pulled away immediately. "Hold on, Ruth," he whispered against her skin.
"I want to tell you, Harry…before I can't…"
"Shh, no, none of that. Tell me when we get home. When we go back to London," he protested desperately.
But Ruth understood what was happening. She knew she'd been shot. She knew there was a very good chance she'd not make it to London. And there was so much she'd never gotten to say to him. So much she'd never let him say to her. "Harry, please," she begged.
He stroked her hair softly, lovingly. "Alright, Ruth. What do you want to tell me?"
It took her a moment to push past the ever-increasing pain, to think clearly and to find the words. That had always been her problem in the past, making her mind slow down so she could get the words out and to be brave enough to give them voice. "I've been everywhere in the last two years, it seems. All over the place. And never as myself. I've told a million lies since that day I left you, Harry, and I…"
"Yes?"
"I want to tell a single truth. Before…before I go…"
Harry's grip on her hand tightened. "You're not going anywhere. Not now. Not now that I've finally got you back." His voice cracked and if her vision weren't swimming, she might have been able to see if he was crying. Was she herself crying? She felt like she was.
"From the moment we met, you became the most important person I've ever met. Your approval as my boss was everything. Your guidance as a mentor was everything. Your kindness as a friend was everything. And your affection as…as more than a friend. It was everything. You are everything. And there's you in everything I've do." She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Was it a lump? It was getting harder to breathe. Like she had to cough or something. She felt like her throat was dry but that she was drowning at the same time. "Harry," she continued desperately, needing to finish before she couldn't. She nearly couldn't. "Harry, we left it as something wonderful that was never said and I…I…"
Ruth's vision faded to black. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. She couldn't feel. She wasn't in pain any longer. That was nice. That helped. But she could not feel Harry's hand holding hers or the puff of his breath on her cheek. She wished she could look at his dear, sweet face once more. That face had haunted her, as a guardian angel and a spectral spirit. How often over the last two years had she closed her eyes and seen him? That darkness of his eyes, the way they'd sometimes brighten and sparkle when he looked at her. The lines of sorrow and laughter—though certainly plagued by much more sorrow—that had aged him beyond his years. And that mouth that almost hypnotized her when he spoke. All of it so wonderfully, perfectly Harry. And if that was the last thing she ever thought about, that would be enough.
But as Ruth drifted away, as her senses ceased transmitting information to her mind, she did not hear the way Harry had interrupted her final words. She did not hear his hopeless, begging cry when he said, "I love you."