When Beth re-entered the bathroom, she found Ruth glassy-eyed and gasping slightly, almost choking as she fought to breathe and keep her tears at bay simultaneously. The sight tugged at Beth's heartstrings, her long buried empathy coming to light at last. Ruth had been so kind to her, so forgiving of her betrayal and so willing to make a space for her in this flat, in her life, that Beth felt responsible in a way, felt a duty to protect her heart and stand beside her as she faced this new reality that so clearly terrified her. Were their roles reversed, Beth could just imagine how supportive Ruth would be, her thoughtful and compassionate and almost maternal nature coming to the fore as together they worked through the mess and came up with a plan. Beth took a deep breath and crossed to the other side of the room, reaching out to squeeze Ruth's shoulder lightly as she lowered herself to the floor.
It was plain to Beth why Ruth was so distraught; if she and Harry had carried on some illicit affair, some quiet, shadowy something that had imploded as spectacularly as Beth believed it had done, and Ruth was pregnant as a result of that, of course she would be devastated and terrified. Who wouldn't be, in her shoes, pregnant with the child of a man she was still struggling to remove from her heart, a man she had to see every day and from whom she could not hide?
"Here," Beth said quietly, proffering the little box. Such an innocuous little thing, its packaging simple and bright, and yet it had such potential to alter the course of a life.
Ruth recoiled from it as if it were a snake, and Beth couldn't blame her.
"It's just a test. If it's negative, we can forget this ever happened. And if it's not…" her voice trailed off as she watched Ruth run her hands over her face, "If it's not, then you'll know."
"Why the bloody hell do you have one of those just lying around?" Ruth asked from behind her fingers, and Beth very nearly laughed. She'd spoken in that same dry, sardonic tone of voice Beth had heard on her first night in the flat, when Harry had come round and Ruth had tried valiantly to keep things light between them. Even now, in her time of grief and need, Ruth was making some attempt at normality, and Beth had to admire her for her strength.
"I always have one in my bag," Beth explained truthfully. "You never know when one might come in handy."
Ruth's eyebrow shot up into her hairline, and Beth found herself hastening to clarify. "I was on an op, in some Middle Eastern hellhole, and I had a test in my bag. This big scary bloke with a machete was threatening to kill me, and I lied and told him I was pregnant. Showed him the box and everything. He didn't believe me, and told me to go to prove it, not realizing there was a window in the bathroom. He closed the door and I jumped, and I've kept one with me ever since. Maybe we ought to put it to its intended use."
For a long moment Ruth did not reply, nor did she reach for the little white box. She simply sat, hands clasped tightly together in her lap now, knuckles pale from the strain of keeping her emotions in check. Beth watched her carefully, on the look out for signs of another imminent breakdown, but thankfully Ruth held herself together, eventually releasing one more bone-deep sigh before reaching out with trembling hands.
"I'll go make us some tea," Beth said, clambering awkwardly to her feet and offering her hand to Ruth. In the instant their hands met, Beth realized for the first time just how very small Ruth was, and how much younger she was than she first appeared. Not even forty yet, and clearly terrified, she presented such a picture of vulnerability that it quite took Beth by surprise.
She'd been listening on comms, during the tail-end of the Abib operation, when Lucas had been trying to get Talwar to back down and Ruth had been trying to get Harry to acquiesce to the use of the EM pulse bomb. Beth remembered the steely sound of Ruth's voice, her absolute certainty, and she remembered the way Harry had caved, relying on this small, fragile woman so completely, making an impossible decision because she told him to. Ruth was formidable, head and shoulders above everyone else in the room intellectually, with a quiet, understated power so deep that she held Harry bloody Pearce of all people beneath her sway. It was difficult to reconcile these two women, the Ruth of the Grid so focused and determined and calculating in every deed, and the Ruth of her home so small and scared and delicate; how could they be one and the same?
And yet they were, and somehow she was both, standing there looking lost and forlorn in her own bathroom.
"I'll make some toast as well, you really should eat something," Beth added, and then left her to it, closing the door behind her as she padded back to the kitchen on silent feet.
Ruth did what she need to do and then left the innocuous little stick that contained the sum of her entire future sitting on the edge of the sink to percolate for the few minutes needed to decide her fate.
She was so grateful to Beth, for saying what needed to be said no matter how difficult, for not asking who, for making tea and a bit of toast and not indulging in histrionics over her fainting spell in the kitchen. In fact, Beth reminded her rather forcefully of Jo in that regard, and as she made her way out of the bathroom and down the hall, she found her thoughts drifting back to Jo, her last real friend, another bright-shining star extinguished far too soon.
They shared a certain look about them, Jo and Beth, a certain softness, a certain femininity, though Jo had more of the doe-eyed look about her, especially during her early days on the Grid. Jo had been sweet where Beth was coy, ingenuous where Beth was calculating, but they were both so young, so eager to do this work, to make a difference in their world. Lovely, the pair of them, but with steel in their bones, hard and unshakeable. Like Beth, Jo had offered her help without question, had come to collect her in the middle of the night without ever once demanding explanation. Ruth had leaned on her so much, during those few weeks between her return from exile and her reinstatement on the Grid. Of the team, Jo was the only who came round to see her in that little safehouse, had brought her food and books and talked to her about anything but work. Ruth knew now the extent of the horror Jo had faced, but never once did the girl mention it. She had kept their conversations light and hopeful, the pain well-hidden behind her luminous eyes. Ruth had seen it, though, had glimpsed that sorrow, perhaps because it was a feeling she herself knew so well. Like recognizes like, and in Jo she had found a comrade, a woman who had also bled and broken and lost.
With a sigh Ruth seated herself at the table, and picked disinterestedly at the tea and toast Beth set down before her.
Jo was the only person Ruth ever told, about the baby that never was, and like a good friend, Jo had taken that secret with her to the grave. She never mentioned it, never mentioned the way Ruth had sobbed, shattered and ruined, sheltered in the circle of her friend's comforting embrace. It's not your fault, she'd whispered consolingly, and all the while Ruth was shrieking inside yes it is.
In the end it was Jo who brought Ruth back to the Grid, brought her home. Before their conversation that day on the steps, Ruth had been adrift, mourning not just for George and Nico and the baby but for the life she'd left behind two years before, all those old wounds split open as she had to face the consequences of the path she'd chosen. Returning to Thames House gave her back her sense of purpose, and that was all down to Jo, and her quiet insistence that Ruth was needed there. We've missed you, the girl had said earnestly, but no one more than Harry.
Oh, Harry.
Before Ruth could be drawn once more into contemplating the horror of explaining this latest development to him, Beth broke the silence.
"I think we've waited long enough, Ruth," the girl said, a worried expression on her face. Ruth recognized that look all too well; Jo, and Ros, and Lucas, and Malcolm, they had all worn that look the day she returned from Cyprus, when they had explained to her what had happened to Harry and waited to see if she would crumble beneath the weight of her fear for him. Ever since her return, those who knew her well had always treated her as if she were made of glass, as if the slightest pressure would cause her to fracture irreparably. She resented it then, and she resented it now. Beth knew nothing about her, what she'd been through, what she'd seen. Yes, she'd fainted, and yes, she'd been a bit weepy, tonight, but she was Ruth bloody Evershed; she had died and been reborn, had held the fate of the nation in her trembling hands, and still she stood. Her heart might break, but never her resolve.
Beth was right though; it was time to go back and face the truth, whatever it may be.
Ruth had been silent since her return from the bathroom, and as they trooped back down the hall together, Beth felt a surge of apprehension about what might happen next. Ruth had drawn in herself, perhaps not surprising given that she was analyst down to her very bones, the sort of woman who had to process everything internally before she ever made a move. Still, Beth was worried about her, worried about how she might react when faced with a reality she could not ignore. They had already started down this path, however, and there was no turning back.
In the bathroom, it only took a moment for Ruth to glance at the test on the counter and register the answer to her question. Wordlessly, she stepped back from the sink, covering her face in her hands for a moment, and Beth peered around her curiously, knowing what she'd find, but anxious to see it any way.
Positive.
Bloody hell.
Ruth was pregnant.
Yet again, Ruth sank to the floor. This seemed to be her default position; unable to run from her problems, unable to face them, her legs simply buckled beneath the pressure and she folded in on herself. Beth felt a certain sense of solidarity with Ruth, a certain duty to help this sad, lovely woman who could turn to no one else in this moment of distress. Ruth did not have friends, as far as Beth could see; the only person Ruth spoke to outside of Thames House was Harry, and the phone calls between them were always strictly, painfully work-related. There were no pictures anywhere in the flat, no casual "I'm going to see my mum for the weekend, could you feed the cat?" This was not the sort of thing she should have to face alone, and Beth felt keenly the need to be there for her.
"What am I going to do?" Ruth asked, her voice muffled she still had her face buried in her hands. It was a rhetorical question, Beth knew, but still she felt compelled to answer it.
"In the morning, we'll call the doctor and make an appointment for you to get checked out. You don't have to make any decisions, right away, but you do need to make sure you're all right. No more skipping lunch, yeah?"
Ruth let a small, strangled sound that might have been a laugh, or might have been a sob.
Beth crossed the tiny room, and squatted down in front of her so that her face was on a level with Ruth's.
"It will be ok, Ruth. I'll go with you, if you'd like."
Her words shocked Ruth out of her reverie; the older woman lowered her hands, and stared at Beth in surprise.
"You don't have to be alone, if you don't want to be," Beth continued, and Ruth gave her a watery smile.
"Thank you, Jo," she said softly.
Time itself seemed to freeze as Ruth realized that she'd misspoken, and something deep inside her shattered. Beth didn't know who Jo was, though she assumed she didn't really want to know, based on the way Ruth began to cry again. Everything moved in slow motion, as Ruth's eyes grew wide with horror, and the deep, bone-shaking sobs began to tear out of her, each more painful to watch than the last. Beth tried her best to comfort her, reaching out to her impulsively, but Ruth jerked back, shaking her head violently as she collapsed in on herself.
This level of hysteria was not something Beth was accustomed to, and it frightened her beyond all reason. She had to find some way to get to Ruth, to calm her down, and so she did the only thing that made sense. She ran from the bathroom as quickly as she could, collected her mobile, and dialed the first number that came to mind.
Mercifully, he answered after just one ring.
"Harry, it's Beth," she said, her words tumbling out of her in a rush before she could think better of it. "Ruth needs you."
