St. Pancras Station bustled around them, the surge of the crowd and the chatter of busy people, but Ruth could not spare a moment for anyone or anything that was not Harry. They had woken that morning in Paris, wrapped around one another and safe in a haze of love and hopeful possibility, had enjoyed a quiet breakfast at a cafe before making the arrangements for their travel home. There was something dreadfully bittersweet about that thought now, the thought of home, a place that Ruth had been searching for all her life, a place she had finally found, cradled in Harry's arms. Home for her was Harry, his strong arms, his gentle hands, his warm eyes, but though they were beginning this journey together, though at the end of it she could look forward to a lifetime spent in his embrace, the truth was that they would have to part ways, at least for a little while, would have to tend to their business alone and separated. There was nothing Ruth wanted less, and yet she knew she had no other choice.
They had taken the Eurostar to London. From there Ruth would continue by train to Bradford, and Harry would take a taxi back to his house. He would stay in London, this city Ruth loved, this city Ruth had given her life to protect, would walk the familiar streets and pavements, let his feet carry him back to Thames House, that imposing stone edifice within which Ruth had discovered her very self. Thames House had been home to her, for a time, was the place where she had learned the depth of her own strength, given a name to the longing of her heart, where she had made friends and lost them; Thames House was the forge that had melted her down and reshaped her from the flighty, over-eager girl she had once been into the shadow she was today. A part of her longed to return, to walk those halls once more, to trail her fingertips along the walls and the edge of the desk that had once been her domain, to raise her head and find Harry standing stark and strong against the deep red wall of his office, to catch his gaze and blush as she had done when she was young and foolish. A wiser, more rational part of her soul advised against it, however, reminded her that should she step once more through those doors she would not find the haven she remembered. The people she loved were gone, and Harry was grown old and weary, and the Grid was no place for them, now. She would have to let him travel there alone, would have to direct her feet along a different path, towards the life that she had chosen, for better or for worse.
She would have to let him go, but at the moment she could not bring herself to do such a thing. Her train would be leaving soon, and so she had risen from the bench where she and Harry had passed the time in quiet conversation, and he likewise had stood, and wrapped his arms around her. Standing here, with her nose pressed to the soft skin of his throat, his warmth, his scent, his very presence enveloping her, she was not certain that she possessed the strength to pull herself away from him. A small, pitiful piece of her heart whispered that perhaps she did not need to, that she could just as easily join Harry in his taxi, tender her resignation to the university via email and never return to that place. There were no possessions, no ties to her life in Bradford she could not break with ease; she could let everything she owned rot away untouched in that place forever, if only to spend her nights in Harry's bed, where she belonged. It was a dangerous longing that filled her, one she had resolved before this moment to ignore completely in favor of a more practical approach, but now that the reality of their imminent separation had begun to sink in she was finding it harder and harder to do the right thing.
"You ring me, when you get there," Harry murmured, and she could feel the rumbling of his voice in his chest where it pressed against her own.
"I will," she whispered, though her own heart was breaking. He had, in his own gentle way, reminded her that she must adhere to the plan they had made, must honor her commitment to her students, her promise to allow both she and Harry the time they needed to settle their affairs, even if she wanted nothing more than to go home with him, now and always.
"It won't take so very long," he said, trying his best to reassure her, and Ruth in turn did her best to keep her tears at bay. "Two months, and we'll be free. We can go anywhere we like, do anything we like. It will be all right, darling, you'll see."
A small sound of surprise escaped her at the word darling, and she lifted her head to gaze into his eyes, finding only hope and a deep, abiding sort of love in his expression. She had been called darling before, by her father, by friends, by former lovers, but Harry had never before used such an endearment with her, and the newness of it shocked her to her core. This was it, she realized; they were not shagging on the sly, trying not to watch one another too closely during the day, denying their connection to anyone who asked it of them. They were not broken, any more, trying to pretend as if they meant nothing to one another, as if they did not both harbor a deep and abiding love for one another. They were doing this, now, were standing strong and proud and declaring themselves a pair, two halves of the same whole, never to be torn asunder. He had claimed her, and she him, and they were standing on the verge of a new life, one they had made, together. She was his darling, now, in a way she never could have been before, and he had become the very center of her universe, so dear to her that no word, no gentle diminutive could possibly have captured the depth of her regard for him.
"I still don't want to go," she confessed. In response Harry smiled, reached out to cradle her cheek in his palm.
"I love you," he told her earnestly, "and there is nothing I want less than to leave you. But we must do things in the proper order, now, so that when this is finished we have nothing left to worry about. We need a little time, but when that's through...I will never let you go, Ruth."
There was nothing for it then but to kiss him, and so Ruth lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and he bowed his head to meet her, and in the fervent press of his lips and the warmth of his hands she felt the echo of every promise he had ever made to her. This parting was agony, but she told herself as she kissed him that it would be worth it, in the end. That they would be worth it, that the life they dreamed of would be more than enough to sustain her through this grief. She had to believe it, for if she did not she was certain she would have fallen to pieces right there in the station.
"It's time to go, Ruth," Harry breathed against her lips.
"I'll see you soon," she answered, stealing one last kiss. She would not say goodbye to him, not now. This parting would only be brief, and Ruth was resolved to never say goodbye to him again.
"Very soon," he answered, and then somehow she found the fortitude to step away. With one last, sad smile she turned away from him, her fingertips slipping through his like water through a sieve, and then she was walking away. She could not look back, for she was certain that if she did her strength would desert her, that if she saw him standing there, looking forlorn and lonely in the middle of the station she would never be able to leave him. She kept her back straight and her gaze straight ahead, and at last allowed the tears to fall.
Two days later...
"I have to say, I'm surprised, Harry," Erin told him, watching him warily from the chair on the other side of his desk. "I didn't think you approved of me taking over your position."
He did his best not to roll his eyes or otherwise show his displeasure with her response. This was the first of many steps to be taken, to allow him to leave this place and join his life to Ruth's, and before this moment he had been certain that this would be the easiest one. Erin had been eyeing his chair lustfully from the moment the tribunal ended with Harry's reinstatement, and he had thought that she would be pleased to see the back of him. Courtesy dictated that he speak to her first, insure that she was prepared to take on the role before he presented her to Towers as his chosen successor.
"You and I have very different management styles," he said as diplomatically as he could, "but you are a fine agent and you have a talent for organization that will be needed when I'm gone. You've built a solid team and I believe you will do well here. I would have thought that you would jump at the chance to be the first female Head of this Section." And she would be, though not the youngest, for Harry himself held that title. At the time of his appointment he was the youngest serving Section Head in history, and he had since become the longest serving leader of Section D. The accolades gave him no pride, however, for he knew how much they had cost him.
"I want this position," she said with some conviction, "but until today I was fairly certain you would die before you gave me your chair. Something has changed, and I don't like being kept in the dark."
Her gaze was piercing, and her words had struck their mark. She was right of course, had seen through him at once; before the HS had ordered him to take a holiday Harry had been unwavering in his devotion to his position, had never even considered retirement. Something had changed; the very foundations of the earth had rearranged themselves beneath his feet. Perhaps Erin thought there was something more at play, something political perhaps or something to do with an upcoming operation, but Harry knew better. The cause of his change of heart would remain his own secret, and no business of hers.
"The time has come for me to step aside," he said simply. "Do you want the position or not, Miss Watts?"
"I do," she answered, and that was that.
He dismissed her, and sat for a time in his office, staring out at the Grid, at his people, his paperwork, the bulwarks of his life strong and unshakeable. This had been his place for so very long that he hardly knew what he would be outside those walls, but he was itching to find out. Yes, he would miss the action, the adrenaline, the sense of purpose, but he had discovered something far more important to him, and he could not cast side his dreams for the future just to remain in this place that felt so familiar. He had tried to give up his career for Ruth once before, and lost her in the process, and in the losing of her he had discovered just how very much she meant to him. Oh, he could survive without her, knew how to live his life in the grey pallor of her absence, but he did not want to. Not any more. He wanted Ruth, in his bed, in his life, by his side, always, and this was the price he had to pay to have her. He must trade one life for the other, and he would do so gladly.
Smiling then he reached for a fresh piece of paper, and began to compose his letter of resignation. The time had come, and he could linger no longer.
"You can't be serious," Lawrence said incredulously. He was holding Ruth's - Rachel's - letter of resignation in his hands, and he seemed completely stunned by the thought that she might wish to leave. This was her first day back at work following her dramatic weekend in Paris, and Ruth had wasted no time in coming to him. The whole point of her returning to Bradford was to allow her time to finish the term with her students, to allow the university time to find her a suitable replacement, and she bristled at the thought that Lawrence had no idea the kindness she had offered him, the sacrifice she had made in order to keep her commitments to him and to her students.
"I am," she said simply. Yes, she was serious about leaving, had spent Sunday alternately soaking in the bath and researching homes for sale all over the country. Two months seemed somehow to be an eternity of waiting and no time at all to make her preparations; it was hardly enough time to find a suitable place to live, but it was far too long to spend away from Harry.
"Look did something happen in Paris? With Paul? We can arrange it so you never have to see one another. Hell, I'd rather let him go than lose you, Rachel. You're our most popular lecturer. The students adore you. Please-"
"This has nothing to do with Paul," Ruth said sharply. The question chilled her to the core, but it also told her that word of the fiasco in Paris had not yet reached Lawrence's ears, for which she was very grateful. "It's time for me to leave. I'll see out the term."
"There's really nothing I can offer you? No way to change your mind?"
Ruth smiled at him softly. "No," she said.
No, there was nothing anyone could offer her, nothing that would appeal to her more than Harry, than his smile, his gentle voice, the knowledge that they were both safe and well and happy, together. Forever.