9:
Harry tucked Lucy in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. The sleeping girl mumbled something, and he smiled, remembering Catherine when she had been young. The smile vanished when he realized he'd never had the chance to know Hope when she was small, had missed so much of her life – had made so many mistakes since then…
"I think I made a hash of things with Hope earlier," Harry said to Ruth as he closed his bedroom door behind them a few minutes later. "We were having a discussion and I'm afraid I rather put my foot in it – and implied that you were the only person I care about in this relationship of ours."
Ruth's face was impassive. "Isn't that true, though?"
"No, it bloody well isn't!"
"Well, then –"
"What she is, is a complication to what was meant to be a very simple operation," Harry grumbled. "And I find myself upset with the sheer number of times we were incredibly irresponsible and didn't suit up with at least a johnny –"
"I'm as complicity in that as you are, so don't you dare roll about in self-pity now," Ruth snapped, her eyes flashing angry fire. "I seem to remember a particularly pleasurable morning in the shower…"
If her intention had been to stoke a fire between them – a burning, moldering conflagration that would consume them both – she had certainly succeeded. Of course he remembered the morning they'd been late to work because they had made the mistake of showering together. It was burned into his memory like a painful scar – the first time she had ever breathed the words, "I love you," to him. The first time he actually had begun to believe that it was possible for there to be something between them – not just wishful thinking, wish fulfillment, a shining beacon of hope in the darkness that shrouded them. Of course he could never go back on the promises he'd whispered to her in the heat of passion that morning – he wouldn't.
"I'm not… reveling in self-pity," he sighed. "It was meant to be simple – find you, protect you, end of the operation."
"Life is very rarely simple," she pointed out.
"I promised you that I would protect you," Harry said, his voice low and tight with barely restrained emotion. "I swore it, Ruth. And then, after you left, all I could think of was that I was drowning in lies – that one being the largest of them all. I couldn't protect you and I couldn't dare risk your safety to find you until I was certain no one was looking for you." He slumped onto the bed, feeling weaker than he ever had before. "Our daughter is… a brilliant woman. Like her mother."
"Find me, extract me, operation over?" Ruth questioned gently. "It's not that simple, is it? Nothing about this is simple – you think I'm not smart enough to see through the spies practically camped on your stoop?"
"It was meant to be simple," he muttered. "About two years ago, decommissioned assets began turning up dead, all over the world. Six months ago, I was recalled to London to help predict where and when next – and all I could think about was that it could be you. My heart nearly stopped every time a new body came up on the screens. Malcolm and I were searching for you, and I came across a link to Zoe Reynolds. She shot me in the bloody knee rather than tell me where you were – so imagine my shock when I was informed that her entire family was executed and their home ransacked. Imagine my fear – and that's why you're surrounded by spooks. That's why our daughter better stop walking around the city in the dark by herself. This is not a game, Ruth."
She took a deep breath and reached out to steady him. "No," she agreed, "it's not a game, Harry. I'm sorry. I just – I needed to be certain that I wasn't reading too much into everything."
"If anything, you're not reading enough into it," Harry muttered. "Ros making the decision to give our child my last name might be enough to make the whole house of cards fall down. I'm terrified right now for your safety, but I'm frantic with panic over Hope."
"I'll talk to her in the morning," Ruth murmured. "Harry… I'm not going to say that it's going to be okay because I don't know that – and neither do you. But it is… it's nice to know that you're willing to do sentimentality for us."
The corner of his mouth twisted up into a bitter smile. "Sentimentality, Ruth? Is that what you call it when you love someone so completely, so utterly that the thought of losing them again chips away at your soul and makes you desperate just to know that they still feel something – anything – for you?"
"Harry…"
"I didn't ask you to marry me because I wanted to protect you from some unknown foe, Ruth – it was an excuse. An excuse to be selfish and take what I want, what I need… to survive." His tone was harsh, full of frustrated anger – he didn't want to shout, he didn't want to hurt her feelings, he didn't want to be the Harry-of-the-Grid who demanded first and begged questions later, but he was completely unprepared for the roller coaster of emotions he had found himself on for the last few weeks. "Yes, I am a selfish bastard – say it, Ruth. Say I am a selfish, heartless bastard."
"I can't," she whispered, taking a few quick steps and cupping his face in the palms of her hands like she had done that morning on the docks. "I can't say it because it's not true. And I didn't say yes for purely altruistic reasons, either," she breathed, pulling him down for a deep, needy kiss that sent all the blood draining from his brain straight to his groin. "I said yes," Ruth breathed against his lips, "because in sixteen years… I never shook loose the cobwebs of three weeks spent with you. Because I am a selfish, sorry woman who has been in love with you for so long I've forgotten what it's like to not love you. Because it doesn't matter how long we've been apart: all I care about is not being apart again, damn you, Harry. Damn you."
"I'm already damned."
"Damn you for being so fucking charming and cuddly and irresistible, you bastard," she swore, kissing him again. There was no question where their strong words, where their passion, was going – it was something less than implied so much as known with conviction.
They fought, bickered, threw harsh words at one another, because they cared. Because they loved one another so strongly that they knew that even though the truth stung, the words needed to be said. That wounds must be inflicted in order to heal properly. That isolation in a little bubble of bliss was not what the world was about – shelter, sheep, compliance…
Nothing mattered in those moments beyond being as close to one another as they could allow. Emotionally, physically, mentally…
He nearly stopped breathing when he slipped into her body, the sheer exuberant joy of being so closely connected to her shorting out his brain. Instinct took over and they moved together in a way that was borderline violent; every thrust felt like a slap from God, every scratch of her nails like a biting penance he needed to feel in order to be alive. Their kisses were bruising, deep, and he playfully bit her lower lip, knowing that she was just as needy as he was for this.
It was what had made them so good before; that borderline of passion so intense it was very nearly pain. The need to feel harsh things to feel such utter bliss. He knew just how far to push, and no further – he would never hurt her.
She tightened around him, and he closed his eyes, losing himself completely in the deep, drugging kisses between them. His hips moved sporadically, erratically, until white hot, intense ecstasy flowed through his veins, stilling him against her. His heart raced, overwhelmed by the acts he'd just committed with her, and slowly, slowly, his breathing became normal again. "Ruth," he rasped huskily, "please tell me I didn't hurt you – I lost… I lost control –"
"I'm fine," she whispered close to his ear. When she pulled back, her eyes were twinkling and her smile was strung out and blissful. "You didn't hurt me."
"Would you tell me if I did?"
"Of course, you stupid man," she murmured. "Now, budge up – and hold me, Harry. Just hold me."
He wrapped himself around her, willing her to know just how strongly he felt without words. The words always got in the way for them; it was an indecipherable code that neither of them really understood. But this? Holding, being held, touching, fucking… making love. That made sense. All of that made everything so much simpler. So elegant and simple.
Ruth knocked softly on Hope's door. "Sweetheart?" she murmured.
The door opened a crack, showing her daughter's pale face. "What do you want?" Hope whispered. "Why aren't you with him?"
"Because I brought you a cup of coffee," Ruth said with a small smile. "Did you sleep okay?"
Hope shook her head and opened the door enough to take the mug from her mother. "I had a nightmare."
"I'm sorry, love…"
"Are you?" Hope shot back.
"Yes," Ruth said sharply. "Just because I love your father doesn't mean that I don't love you."
"Doesn't it?"
Ruth pursed her lips together and sighed. "Harry and I are… complicated," she finally said. "Always have been. But we're not very good at being apart – that's why you and I have always been so close. Because I can't… I couldn't have him, and I had you. We're so close that he's coming between us now and… neither of us know what to do about it. You are my daughter. I don't know if that's enough – of course I love you, you bloody twit. You came out of my bits screaming bloody murder like your dad and I've never once looked back and said, 'oh, I wish I hadn't had a little mini-me'." Ruth sighed in exasperation. "God knows you've never spent a bloody moment looking like me, either. I had your bloody father looking back at me all these years and do you have even a clue how much that hurt? OF COURSE I LOVE YOU."
Hope's lower lip was trembling and she looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry, mommy," she whispered.
Ruth's frustration melted away. "Shit, I didn't mean to – Hope, baby, sweetheart, you know I love you," she mumbled, the words tumbling out over one another as she pulled Hope into her arms and just held her. "You know it – and loving your dad doesn't mean I love you any less. You're my baby – my one and only little girl, never gonna have another. We've seen some crazy things, you and I – haven't we? Shh, don't cry, sweetheart."
"Are you really gonna marry him?" Hope sniffled.
"I am," Ruth whispered. "Because I love him."
"Even though he doesn't love me?"
"He does love you – he just doesn't know how to say so because he's a little tiny bit… not emotionally engaged. He doesn't know how to make the words work how he wants them to – it doesn't mean he doesn't love you, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry," Hope wailed, burying her face in Ruth's chest.
"Shh, baby, shh," Ruth murmured soothingly. Harry came out of the bathroom and watched them for a long moment before he shuffled over and enveloped them both in a comforting embrace. "Shh, Hope… baby girl, shh… it's going to be okay, sweetheart."
Harry rubbed Ruth's back, his next words taking her by surprise. "Hope, I'm so sorry I upset you last night," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you feel like… like that."
"I'm sorry," Hope sobbed over and over and over again, and Ruth just held her and soothed her. "Mommy –"
"Shh, baby," Ruth whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, Hope."
"Daddy?"
"Me either," Harry promised softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
The hall pass for Mr. Morton's AP History class was, quite literally, a small marble bust of George Washington. Hope basically hated him for the irony, and for the fact that, despite being small, it still weighed about fifteen pounds. It was a ridiculous punishment for someone who just needed to go to the bathroom. She sighed and put the hall pass on the counter beside the sink, washing her hands industrially, making sure that her hands were covered with suds before she rinsed.
The door opened and closed. She looked up and met the predatory gaze of Jason Donovan, her heart going cold with pure panicked fear. "What do you want? Don't tell me you couldn't find the boys' room – big dumb ape like you," she taunted weakly.
"You look pretty today," he said with a smirk. "Makes me just want to take you out and –"
"Don't fucking touch me," Hope hissed.
In the bleak moment, she dimly remembered her father's assurance the evening before that she would be protected – HA! Where exactly was her protector when she needed them? Nowhere to be found.
The door swung open and an Indian man came in. "Get out of here," the man said in a very clipped British accent.
"Make me," Jason said with that same smarmy smirk. "I was just about to show my girlfriend a good time –"
The man pulled a gun from its holster and cocked it. "I will not repeat myself, Mr. Donovan. Get away from Miss Pearce, or you will have to explain to your father why you can't play football next season. You have until the count of three to remove yourself from the ladies' room. One. TWO…"
Jason slunk away, shoving the man roughly on his way out the door.
"Little shite," the man muttered, uncocking and holstering his weapon again. "You okay?"
Hope was trying to steady her breathing, trying everything to stay calm. "No," she forced out weakly.
"Do I need to get your mum?" he asked.
"Noooo," Hope wailed as the tears finally came hard and fast. "Please don't – I don't –"
"My name is Zafar Younis," the man said softly. "You can call me Zaf – your mum always did. We were friends a long time ago, me and your mum. And your dad asked me to watch out for you."
"My dad?" Hope scoffed through her tears.
Zaf smiled a little. "Yeah – Sir Harry Pearce. Fat pompous prig with a stick up his butt – ring any bells?"
Despite herself, Hope giggled. "He's not that bad…"
"Well, he thought you might need someone to fight some battles for you," Zaf said with a small smile. "But you look okay to me…"
Hope swallowed hard. "That boy –"
"Jason Donovan. He's the one who assaulted you and keeps stalking you. I get it – you're scared. You're scared to come forward and tell people. So I'm here to give you a little bit of leverage. The little arsewipe is going to get what he deserves, Hope – eventually."
"Mr. Younis –"
"Zaf or nothing," he said firmly.
"Zaf… why – why does he keep doing this to me?"
"Because he can," Zaf said. "Do you want to go back to class or do you want to go home? I don't think anyone would mind if you needed to go home."
Hope shook her head. "I can't go home," she whispered. "Because if I do, he wins."
A small smile graced Zaf's lips. "You're absolutely right," he agreed. "You might look like Harry, but you're Ruth's daughter all the way through. Never thought I'd get to say that."
Her curiosity piqued, she asked, "What do you mean?"
"They like to never have gotten together," he said with a chuckle. "I'm glad they managed it, though – you're not a bad kid."
"Thanks, I guess," she said with a sigh. "I bet the school isn't happy with you playing armed guard –"
"The school is being very accommodating," Zaf replied with a grin. "It's wonderful what unsubtle persuasion can do."
"Dad threatened them?"
"Harry is doing his best," Zaf commented, picking up the hall pass and almost falling over. "Wow, that's heavy – you okay to carry that back?"
"I'm fine," she murmured. "My dad is… scary."
"Yeah, I get that," Zaf agreed. "He can be scary and mean and cruel and all the other things – but only when someone threatens his family now. He's spitting nails over your stalker, kiddo. He's really worried about you – that's why I'm here."
"He scares me."
"He shouldn't," Zaf said. "He's really a big teddy bear, your dad – when he's not working, I mean. Then he's a bit of an arsehole, but… You know he retired to help take care of Catherine and Lucy? He'd do anything for you, kiddo – you're his kid. You've got this."
She inhaled deeply and grabbed the hall pass out of his hands. "I've got this," she repeated. "I'm fifteen years old. I am a grown-ass woman. I've fucking got this." She beamed at Zaf for a minute and nodded decisively before she strode out of the restroom like she owned the corridor. Every step she took, she felt stronger and stronger and stronger.
Now, if only she could pass the quiz.
Harry scowled at Jo. "Unacceptable," he said firmly.
"You don't really have a choice," she pointed out. "Another team is coming in next week – the secondary team. Erin Watts, Tariq Masood, and Dimitri Levendis. Malcolm and I are being recalled back to the Grid – apparently, UK interests trump your black op for the moment."
"Lucas make that call?" Harry asked divisively.
"Lucas was killed while you were in hospital," Jo said gently. "No one wanted to upset you, but –"
"Unacceptable," Harry repeated, his mind swimming. He needed his people – his team – around him at a time like this. With so many officers going missing and then turning up dead – the latest one in New Jersey, for god's sake – he needed all the help he could get. "I want to talk to Ros as soon as it's convenient for her."
"She's not going to like being bossed around, Harry."
"I don't actually care," he snapped.
"Look, I know it's difficult to understand, but there are actually very valid reasons why we can't mount an actual operation in the US without CIA approval," Jo reminded him. "So we have to be careful, clear signals, make sure everything is going swimmingly…"
Harry groaned and sighed. "Bollocks."
"Also, Malcolm has been trying to secure a marriage license for you and Ruth for the last two days, so you might be a little more sympathetic," Jo teased. "It's okay – everything is going to be okay, Harry."
"You know platitudes of complacency don't work on me," he muttered bitterly.
"Yeah, I know – I also happen to know that Adam is taking your daughter out again tonight."
Harry sighed heavily. "And Zaf?"
"Made the Donovan kid almost piss his pants."
Harry nodded. "Good, good…"
"Only you would think it was good that some damn kid pissed himself –"
"He hurt my little girl," Harry growled. "I want to cause him physical harm, but I am prevented by the fact that our friends at the CIA will emasculate me with a hot butter knife if I so much as blink in his direction. Hence Mr. Younis."
"Have you told Ruth?" Jo asked.
"Only as much as I needed to," Harry muttered. He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stave off his headache. "She doesn't need to know that she's rather spectacular bait."
"You do realize she's going to kill you in your sleep, don't you?"
Harry laughed, the sound short and bitter. "Only if we live through this, Miss Portman… only if we live through this."