Beth knew something was wrong the moment Ruth came stomping through the front door. Usually Ruth was quiet as a mouse, toeing off her shoes and slipping into the kitchen without a single unnecessary sound, but today she slammed the door behind her, and her every step echoed throughout the flat, a cacophony of rage that set Beth ill at ease before she ever saw her flatmate. When Ruth appeared, her eyes were red and puffy, and her hands were clenched in fists by her sides.
"Ruth?" Beth asked with some trepidation.
Ruth did not answer right away; instead she reached into her coat pocket, produced a crumpled sheet of paper, and thrust it under Beth's nose.
"I need you to run this woman through facial recognition tomorrow," Ruth said shortly, turning to walk away the moment Beth took the photograph. "And for the love of God, don't let Harry or Lucas see you," she added over her shoulder. Just like that Ruth was gone, leaving a very confused Beth staring at the spot she'd so recently vacated, wondering what in the hell was going on.
The photo was grainy, but it clearly showed Lucas with his arm around a pretty, dark-haired woman. Whatever else had happened today, Ruth's CCTC search had apparently been successful. While Beth was relieved to finally have a lead, she was absolutely terrified of the change in Ruth's mood. They had enjoyed a rather pleasant few weeks, with the exception of the day Ruth went out to see her mother and came home weepy and distant. Only the day before Ruth had gone with Harry to purchase all the odds and ends they needed for the peanut's nursery, and she'd seemed excited at the prospect. What had changed?
There was one rather obvious explanation that came to Beth as she sat sprawled out on the sofa; Ruth had also met Harry's daughter the day before, and though she'd tried to be sneaky about it, Beth knew her flatmate had come home late, rather than spend the night with her lover as she had done so often over the last few weeks. Perhaps the mysterious Catherine had said something to incense her? Perhaps Harry had?
What the hell is wrong with these people? Beth wondered, shaking her head to herself as she went to tuck the photo away in her bag. It all seemed so simple from where she was standing, but if there was one thing she had learned over her years in the intelligence business, it was that no relationship is truly comprehensible from the outside. There were always so many secrets, even between the most innocuous-seeming lovers, and without having been privy to all those quiet revelations she could never truly hope to understand. Whatever had passed between Harry and Ruth, she dearly hoped they'd get it sorted soon; it seemed to Beth that the pair of them were only truly happy when they were with one another, and it seemed to her that they deserved every moment of that happiness.
And speaking of happiness, who the hell was that woman under Lucas's arm? He'd never mentioned having anyone in his life; the way he spoke, Beth had always assumed he had no one at all. No parents, no siblings, no lover, no friends; no man is an island, save for Lucas bloody North, she'd thought. Now though, she saw the way he held this woman, saw the expressions on their faces, and she doubted. Could it be that Lucas was simply trying to steal a bit of happiness for himself, slipping off to see this woman in private, wanting to keep one part of his life safe from the prying eyes of MI-5? The process of vetting potential lovers had been explained to Beth in great detail during her training, and she'd found the entire concept incredibly distasteful, no matter how necessary it might be. Perhaps Lucas had wanted to spare the woman the indignity of submitting to such an invasion of privacy.
Or maybe he's afraid of what we would find, should we ever look into her background.
Running the search would be simple enough; Tariq had showed her how to access all the systems, being the sort of tech wizard who took an almost childlike delight in explaining complex computer nonsense to those less versed in the inner workings of his world of code and circuit boards. She could run the program from her own station, and no one would know, so long as they didn't look at her monitor. If Harry's mood tomorrow were anything like Ruth's today, he would likely spend the whole day pouting inside his office. Lucas would be harder to hide from; he still didn't particularly trust her, and was always keen to know what she was working on. She'd need to find some way to distract him, but that seemed to her to be a problem for Monday morning. Right now, she had more pressing concerns, like what the bloody hell was wrong with Ruth.
If Ruth were anyone else, Beth would go to her now, knock softly on her door and ask if she wanted some tea and a friendly ear. Ruth was not just anyone, however, and though she wore her emotions on her face for all to see, getting her to talk about them was like pulling teeth. Given the way she'd sequestered herself in her room immediately upon arriving home, Beth knew it was unlikely Ruth was in any state to talk just now. She would have to wait until Ruth emerged of her own accord, and approach the subject delicately. Whatever it took, there was no way she was going to let this go, not when things had been going so well for Ruth. Sometimes people just needed a gentle nudge in the right direction, and Beth decided that the time was ripe for her to do a little nudging of her own.
As luck would have it, Dimitri was meeting an asset on Monday morning, Lucas was scheduled to go down and see the resident psychologist for his annual review, and Harry was off at Whitehall. Beth and Ruth practically had the Grid to themselves, and so Beth started up the facial recognition program at the first available opportunity, minimizing the window once it was running and pulling up some completely banal report in its place. Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair, and stole a glance at Ruth.
They had not spoken a word to each other since Ruth had come home the day before. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she kept her gaze down, refusing to engage anyone about anything. Turmoil practically rolled off of her in waves, but this was neither the time nor the place for Beth to try to draw her out of her shell. Perhaps they could order a Chinese for dinner, and over plates of noodles and chicken Beth could gently poke the bear, and see what came of it. She had almost resolved not to talk to Ruth at all, when she noticed something rather strange.
Like many pregnant women, Ruth had a tendency to touch her growing belly often, almost as if reassuring herself, or the peanut, that everything was all right. It was sort of charming, in a very clichéd sort of way, but this morning Ruth had not taken her left hand from her bump, even for a moment. As Beth watched, Ruth was typing away at her keyboard one handed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and a telephone stuck between her ear and her shoulder.
What's this, then? Beth thought, instantly on the high alert. She couldn't imagine what sort of mayhem might ensue, if something went wrong with the peanut, and she didn't even want to contemplate it. Such a prospect was too horrible for words. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Ruth to end the call, eager for an opportunity to speak. After a few minutes Ruth uttered a polite farewell, and hung up.
Beth waited a beat, trying to appear as if she hadn't been eavesdropping, and then finally asked, "Is everything all right?" as nonchalantly as possible.
Ruth looked up at her sharply, her expression incredulous. Beth nodded towards her bump, and offered a little smile as Ruth began to blush.
"She's been moving nonstop all morning," Ruth answered. "It almost feels like she's upset about something. Oh, I know that's nonsense," she added hastily, "but I just wish there was something I could do to get her to settle down. It's impossible to concentrate when she's like this."
Even after all these months, it still seemed sort of strange to Beth, to think that there was a tiny little person in there. But the peanut was very real, with little fingers and little toes and the ability to make her presence known at any given time. Could some of Ruth's uneasiness have translated itself to her daughter? It didn't really seem likely, but Beth wasn't exactly an expert in these matters. Before she could respond, however, Harry made his appearance on the Grid, and Ruth's face clouded over, her gaze snapping back to her computer so quickly that it left Beth feeling rather dizzy. Harry's office door was not the sort that could be slammed effectually, but when Beth chanced a look in his direction she could feel the anger emanating off of him in waves, and when he entered his office and shut the blinds, it had much the same effect. He was cross, and not afraid to show it.
This is going to be a horrible day, Beth thought grimly.
Seeing Harry again, after their little explosion the day before, made Ruth feel more exhausted than anything else. Some of her anger had cooled; she was still equal parts furious and terrified at the way he had so cavalierly invaded her privacy, but she was just so bloody tired of this endless falling together and falling apart. He had been a comfort to her, over these last few months, and she missed his steady presence in her life. That she both missed him and felt cross with him at the same time was a contradiction she was struggling to come to terms with, and the thought of continuing on this way was intolerable to her.
If she were someone else, someone younger, braver, less broken, she might have it out with him. She might go to him and explain the whole thing, her doubts, her fears, Peter, George, everything. She might tell him that she loved him and that she was furious with him, and wait for his answer. She might fight for him, for them. That had never been her way, before. Always before when a relationship reached the stage where she was forced to open her mouth and declare the truth of her heart, she had simply turned and walked away, rather than face it. Who would want to stay with her, after hearing all of that? What man would want to know that his lover would always doubt his feelings for her, would always need reassurance, no matter how strident he had been in his affections? Ruth confused herself sometimes; she could only imagine how Harry must be feeling.
The strangest thing was, there was a part of her that did want to fight for him. There was a part of her that whispered go to him as she sat there on the Grid, immobile behind her desk, the peanut turning summersaults inside her belly. It's different this time and you know it, her heart seemed to say. Be brave, for once.
She wasn't ready for this, not yet, not now. But maybe one day, maybe one day soon, she would be.
After nearly four hours of running the program, Beth finally had a name to go with the face on the crumpled photo. She compiled all the available information on one Doctor Maya Lahan, doing her best to cover her tracks as she went. Doctor Lahan had no criminal background, and as far as Beth could see, she had no reason to ever have come into contact with Lucas North. They hadn't attended the same University, Lucas had never been treated at her hospital, she'd never been involved in an MI-5 operation, and they lived in different neighborhoods. Without Harry's approval they could not run surveillance on the woman, and without more surveillance, they couldn't be sure where she factored into all of this. She was stymied once again, and she was bloody furious about it.
For the rest of the week, they avoided one another. In briefings Ruth deliberately chose to sit as far away from him as possible, and watched the eyes of each member of their team bouncing back and forth between them like spectators at a tennis match, concern radiating off of them, their silence telling in its absoluteness. Harry spent more time than usual alone in his office, and he had taken to using Dimitri as an intermediary between him and Ruth, no doubt because Beth would have bristled if she had been given such a task and Lucas would have gotten that disapproving sort of look on his face and Tariq would have wanted to know why. Dimitri did as he was bid, always offering a boyish, apologetic smile each time he came to her with some new directive from their esteemed leader. The juvenility of it set Ruth's teeth on edge, but she did not protest. If this was how he wanted to play things, then so be it.
She was due for an appointment with Doctor Peters on Friday, and when the time came, she left without saying good-bye to Harry. Before their falling out they had discussed whether or not he'd be able to attend, as he had for each appointment since the amnio. He bloody well knew where she was going, and she wasn't about to stop into his office and beg his Lordship's leave. It was an unkind thought, and she regretted it the moment it occurred to her. When had she grown so bitter towards him? Just last week she'd happily shared his bed; why couldn't things go back to the way they were?
The bus ride was lonely, and the waiting room lonelier still. She wasn't the only woman waiting alone that day, but she felt the weight of the empty seat beside her most keenly. No matter how cross they might be with one another, he was still the peanut's father, and Ruth had begun to worry about where they were going to go from here. Was she still welcome in his home, once the peanut came? The furniture was all set to arrive at his tomorrow, she realized glumly. They'd been talking about paint and hanging pictures and buying baby things, and now he was sending Dimitri to deliver his messages. Funny, how much things could change in just a few days.
Ruth's name was called, and Doctor Peters ushered her back into the examination room, chatting merrily all the way.
"Where's Henry today?" she asked pleasantly.
Ruth's heart sank like a stone, but before she could respond the man himself appeared, slightly out of breath and with a face like a thundercloud, but present nonetheless. Her heart gave a great leap in her chest and she all but collapsed against the table; the dizziness had returned, over the last few weeks, and she wasn't up to surprises, just now.
"Sorry I'm late," he said gruffly, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Traffic."
"Right," Doctor Peters said somewhat uncertainly, glancing back and forth between the pair of them and no doubt sensing the tension in the air. "Well, you're here now, so let's get started."
She checked Ruth's measurements, and did another scan, assuring them both that the peanut was fine, and growing at a good rate. Doctor Peters reviewed the list of possible symptoms Ruth could expect, at the beginning of her seventh month: Braxton Hicks contractions, shortness of breath, fatigue, dizziness, tenderness of the breasts; the list went on and on, and Ruth nodded in agreement with each one she recognized, which to be honest, was all of them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry's eyes widen slightly, as he realized all the discomfort and frustration she was dealing with at present.
"There are two important things we need to discuss now. The first is your birth plan; it's a good idea to start thinking about what sort of labor experience you would like to have, so we can plan accordingly. I have some literature to go over with you on the subject, and we'll get to that shortly. The other is that, given this is a high-risk pregnancy, we will be increasing your visits to every two weeks. We had previously discussed your staying at work until you reach 32 weeks and I see no reason you can't continue to work for now, but you need to avoid stress wherever possible."
It was at this point that Harry and Ruth exchanged a long, rather meaningful look. Harry had been insistent that the Grid was much too stressful an environment for her, Ruth had been insistent that she could handle it, and the rather oblivious Doctor Peters believed her to be a P.A. on the Home Office, and so could not be called upon to settle the matter for them.
"Am I missing something here?" Doctor Peters asked shrewdly. Ruth's eyes snapped back to her guiltily; she hadn't intended for them to be so obvious.
"Louisa and I appear to have a difference of opinion about what constitutes stress," Harry said dryly.
Doctor Peters chuckled. "That's more common than you'd think. Fathers always seem to think their partners ought to spend the entirety of the pregnancy in bed. I can assure you, Louisa is quite healthy, all things considered, and you'd be amazed what the human body can endure."
They shared another telling glance at that. No one knew how much the human body could withstand quite like two spooks who have witnessed the devastation wrought by professional torturers. The scars on Harry's chest were silent testament to his own personal resiliency. Ruth felt a wave of sadness wash over her, as she looked at him. The life they led was so far removed from the every day experiences of their peers, and it was at times like this she was sharply reminded that no one would ever understand her the way this quiet, broken man did.
Armed with all sort of pamphlets about natural births and midwives and birthing classes, Ruth allowed Harry to shuffle her off to his car after the appointment. She'd missed him terribly, these last few days, and she had come to accept his betrayal in a way. Harry was constantly, cripplingly worried about her and her safety, and her message had come to him rather later than she'd originally. It wasn't her preferred method of communication, and a text message sent to Sam Buxton years and years ago had very nearly spelled the end of Ruth's life. She could only imagine what he'd felt, waking to find her gone and nothing but a text to tell him why. It was understandable, when viewed in a certain light, that his first thought would have been to find her as quickly possible, and ask forgiveness later. She was still cross, certainly, but not nearly so cross as she had been before she'd taken the time to consider his feelings.
As they rode along she stole glances at him out of the corner of her eye; his anger seemed to have faded, as well. He just looked tired, and she sympathized with him in that regard. She was always tired, these days.
He did not speak as he drove, and nor did she, alternating between watching him and watching the road. It occurred to her after several minutes that he was driving them down the rather familiar roads that led to his own home, rather than to hers. For a moment she considered protesting, but she held her tongue. Perhaps the time had come to have that little chat she'd been dreading.
Be brave, her heart whispered. Be brave.
