Ruth Evershed
She finds him on the roof, his forearms resting on the balustrade, pensively staring across the rooftops of his beloved London. She takes a moment to soak him in, to get in touch with the gratitude she feels, not only to have stopped another cell of ideological extremists today, but also gratitude that he's still here, standing on the wall, fighting the good fight, strong still and unbowed. Normally, she's so busy looking at all their mistakes, all the negative events, thoughts, words, actions, that she forgets to appreciate all the good things too. And there are many good things, most of them linked in some way to Harry.
"Are you going to come any closer, or do you plan to stand there all night?" he murmurs, just loud enough for his voice to carry over to where she stands.
She smiles, closing the distance between them until she comes to a stop beside him, closer than she normally would, causing him to turn his head to look at her.
"I feel like celebrating," she says, watching him, taking in the lines of his dear face, the fatigue, written all over it. He's still strong and unbowed, but the years have taken their toll on him and he looks exhausted.
"What would you suggest?" His voice is steady, giving nothing away as he straightens up, moving his hands to the railing. He's not that tall a man, but he is substantially taller than her and she has to tilt her head back a little to see him. She could take a step back, but she's enjoying his proximity. It's stirring feelings, desires she has suppressed for far too long.
"A drink. Will you join me?"
His gaze registers his surprise, then he looks around as if searching for something.
"What?" she asks, frowning.
"Just checking Tariq isn't lurking nearby, ready to torpedo yet another opportunity."
She laughs lightly at his joke. "Let's sneak out before he notices."
"Good idea." His eyes are twinkling at her, apparently pleased, but when they get back to the Grid, Tariq spies them and moves quickly towards them, making Harry all but groan and forcing her to stifle a giggle. "Can it keep until tomorrow?" he asks him before Tariq even has a chance to open his mouth.
"Err... Yeah. I guess it can." It's probably the first time that Harry has ever asked him not to report something work related until the morning, probably the first time Tariq's seen Harry put something else ahead of work, probably the first time he's ever considered that anyone in Section D would want to. Tariq himself certainly never does. He loves his work and it's his number one priority. "I'll... um... send it to you in an email?"
"Good plan." Harry nods his approval, then says in a warmer tone, "Go home, Tariq. You did good work today. Get some rest."
Tariq beams at his praise and agrees. "I will, Harry. Thanks," before turning around and walking back in the direction he came from. Ruth's not at all sure he'll actually do it. He'll probably get lost in his work again and only leave here when he gets hungry or sleepy or both. Even then, she suspects Tariq doesn't eat very much at all and often ends up sleeping on the Grid.
"Quick," Harry jokes. "Now's our chance."
So they gather their things and make their way out of Thames House together. "Any preference for where we go?" he asks her as they stand outside on the pavement.
"I'm happy to go where you lead," she replies, the double meaning of her words not lost on either of them if the long look he gives her is anything to go by.
They spend the next two hours, sitting in the corner of a cosy pub, drinking and eating, sharing pleasant conversation, reconnecting in a way they haven't managed since her return. Something about her evening with Ruth Galloway has shifted her perspective and she's suddenly ready to get out of her own way and allow things to unfold as they will between her and Harry.
"How was it, taking care of the Galloways?" he asks at some point. "Did they give you any trouble?"
"No," she replies, smiling at the memory. "It was lovely. Kate is delightful and she adored my cat. We played some games, and after she went to bed, Ruth and I stayed up talking. It was a nice change of pace. I enjoyed it."
"Good," he says, but doesn't add anything more, perhaps unsure of his footing in a conversation that centres on a child. She knows her grief over losing Nico has made him cautious around the subject. Not that he wasn't already, really. Somehow children and Harry don't fit in the same sentence. Even before her exile, after their date when anything at all had seemed possible, she'd quickly dismissed any notion of having a child with him. Harry's already married to his job. To add a child to the mix would push any relationship they managed to forge to breaking point, she's sure.
"I admire her," she confesses, "the way she's built her life around what she loves, lives where she wants, is raising her daughter alone, on her own terms. I wish I had that kind of courage."
"You have courage in buckets, Ruth," he responds, his voice low, full of something intangible.
"I feel like I'm just reacting to circumstances most of the time. It's not courage when your hand is forced."
"Strength in the face of pain or grief," he replies. "Look it up. That's the definition. You have more courage than most of the world put together."
She nods silently, contemplating his words. "Maybe it's direction that I lack then. I don't seem to know where I'm going, Harry."
He thinks about this for a long time before he responds. "I think that most peoples' lives look well orchestrated from the outside. Take my life, for instance. From the outside, I went to school, Oxford, Sandhurst, served for a year or so, moved to MI-5 as a junior officer in Northern Ireland, proved my mettle, spent some time with Six, came back, got promoted through the ranks, made Section Head at a reasonably young age and, fifty odd years later, here we are. Living my life, I can tell you that I planned very little of this. It was a question of choices. You make certain choices and those choices lead to other ones, and so on, and so forth. And one day you wake up and realise that, even if you had no idea where you were going, this is where you've ended up. And hopefully, you've learnt a thing or two along the way, hopefully, you've met the right people to share the journey with you." He doesn't look at her as he says the last bit, staring down at his drink, then lifting his glass to take a sip of his whiskey instead.
So much wisdom. She can't get over, sometimes, how very profound are some of the things Harry says and how he seems to know exactly what she needs to hear.
Of course, on other occasions he gets it completely wrong and-
But, no. She's not going to dwell on the mistakes any more. She's going to focus on the quiet moments of pleasure, of joy, of connection.
She reaches over slowly and gently rests her hand over his left one that's resting on the table, wrapping her fingers over the top of his index finger and giving it a gentle squeeze.
He looks up in surprise, so she smiles at him. "Thank you," she says, simply, then takes her hand back to lift her glass and take a sip.
He nods, his gaze never leaving her, studying her face. "You're different tonight," he murmurs.
She hums. "I've been thinking," she replies, somewhat enigmatically.
He nods, lifting his glass again, but pausing with it in suspended in front of him, elbow on the table. "You're always thinking," he points out gently, moving his glass towards her before taking a sip of his drink and returning it to the table.
Her smile broadens. "That's true. I've been thinking I've been unfair... to both of us."
"Unfair."
"Yes."
He gives her a speculative look. "So now you're going to be... fair?"
She smiles. "That's the general idea."
He hums. "And what does fair look like exactly?"
"I don't know yet. Mostly, focusing on the positive instead of giving all my attention to the negative. I've decided I should be grateful that I'm alive, that you're alive, that we... have what we have."
He nods, taking another sip of his drink, perhaps for courage. "And what exactly do we have, Ruth?"
It's her turn to drop her gaze to her drink and take a sip, searching for the right words to answer him. "A connection. Friendship, I hope," she ventures eventually, scared to assume too much.
"I think we have a lot more than that, Ruth," he replies softly, and when she looks up, his eyes have softened, his gaze gentle and warm. "Just because you said no, it doesn't mean I've stopped wanting to marry you. And that is a hell of a lot more than friendship on my part."
She looks away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and out of her depth. She hadn't expected things to escalate so quickly. "Harry," she protests, fiddling with her glass, sliding her fingers up and down the pattern etched in the crystal.
He sighs and she sees him lift his right hand and rub his temples. "Sorry," he apologises. "Too much. I'm not very good at this, am I?"
She smiles fondly at that, relaxing somewhat, her heart opening at this display of vulnerability. "It's alright, Harry," she says. "I understand. It's hard for you to be patient." She means it as an observation, not a criticism.
An incredulous sort of laugh escapes him. "Five years, Ruth," he says, shaking his head as he stares at his glass. "You have no idea," he murmurs before taking a large gulp of whiskey, draining it.
"Five?" she questions, a little thrown by the number.
"That's how long I've been in love with you."
And there it is. Finally out in the open. Settling like heavy fog on the table between them, spilling over, surrounding them, insulating them, cocooning them from everyone else. His gaze is as open as she's ever seen it, his eyes a window into his soul, and she can't help how her own suddenly fill with tears.
She can't speak. She hadn't realised how much she's longed to hear those words all these years. To know and to be told are such different things. If only he'd had the courage to tell her sooner, if only she'd had the courage to let him, if only... if only...
She releases her glass and leans forward, sliding her hands, palms up, towards him, and he doesn't hesitate to cover them and grasp them with his own. She squeezes them, clinging to him as she fights for control, taking deep breaths and blinking away her tears.
"I should have told you ages ago," he murmurs softly, perhaps sensing the enormity of what's going on inside her. "I assumed you knew."
She nods, drawing one hand out of his to wipe her cheeks. "I did. By the time I left, I knew. It's still important to hear it though." She smiles and returns her hand to his.
He nods and gently squeezes her fingers, but when she says nothing more, he drops his gaze and it prods her into action.
"I love you too, you know," she tells him.
He smiles and nods, his eyes sparkling with joy as he lifts them to look at her once more. "Good," he says. "That's good. I'll be patient. I promise."
She smiles. How bloody typical. Harry wants to be patient just when she's decided that she's done sitting on the fence and is ready to jump in with both feet.
"Thank you," she says, squeezing his hands once more before pulling hers away. "It's getting late," she murmurs, feeling suddenly tired. Anything more will have to wait until next time.
"I'll take you home," he replies without hesitation.
"There's no need, Harry."
"There's every need, Ruth," he says firmly. "We may live in the twenty-first century, but that doesn't mean we should completely abandon all civility from the last one," and she can't help smiling fondly at him.
"You'll never let me pay for a meal or a drink, will you?" she asks, mischief in her eyes.
He frowns. "Well, I earn more than you," he points out, logically.
"Once you've retired then," she suggests impishly.
He smiles. "I'm glad you're planning on still wanting to buy me drinks when I've retired, Ruth," he says, making her blush. It's amazing how she hadn't seen that one coming.
"Well, I suppose I aught to do something about my lack of direction in life."
His smile broadens. "I don't know what you, Doctor Galloway, and her daughter did last night but, if this is the result, I vote she stays with you more often."
She laughs. "Well, perhaps we can take a holiday sometime to Norfolk. Maybe you and DCI Nelson can even learn to be civil to each other."
He frowns, pursing his lips most adorably as he gets up and she follows suit. "Bloody plods. Barging into Thames House like he owns the place," he mutters to himself, causing her to laugh again and reach up to softly kiss his cheek.
"He was looking for his six-year-old daughter," she tells him gently. "As I recall, you almost barged into an active operation to protect yours, Harry, and she was a lot older than six at the time. Perhaps we can forgive him taking such liberties under the circumstances?" She squeezes his forearm and smiles at him before turning and leading the way outside.