Harry rang the doorbell, waiting and feeling unaccountably nervous. He hadn't had the chance to go home and change, so he felt a little overdressed for her cooking in her home for him. He didn't get any further in his thoughts before she answered the door, looking beautiful. Her hair was tied up, but she'd clearly been busy as a few tendrils had fallen around her face. She wore jeans and a loose jumper, looking more comfortable and at home than he'd ever seen her. "Hi." She smiled and let him in. He followed her into the kitchen and sighed as a heavenly scent washed over him.
"What are you cooking?" he asked as he took his jacket and gloves off.
"Just chicken and vegetables," she said. "White or red wine?"
"White please," he said. She opened the bottle as he took his tie off and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. Feeling much more comfortable, he smiled at her as she gave him a full glass.
"What can I do to help?" he asked.
"Tell me when the funeral is," she said softly.
"His parents have arranged it for Thursday," Harry said quietly.
"Okay," she said. He knew the occasion was bittersweet, because while having dinner with Ruth was wonderful, the so recent events made it feel sad. She took a sip of her wine, as if to calm herself. "That's good." He could see her hand shaking so he got up and made her put the glass down, holding her hand.
"It will be okay," he said.
"But not for him."
"No." He wrapped his arms around her, running his hands up and down her back. She relaxed into his embrace, losing track of time. "The potatoes are going to burn," she said gently.
"You're more important."
"Mm," she muttered. They broke apart and she forced a smile.
"Shall we change the subject," he said, not really asking a question. "Talk about something mundane."
"Okay. You pick a subject then."
Harry racked his brains, trying to come up with something at the same time his mind had gone completely blank. He settled on "Books. I'm sure you have some radical opinions on books that we could argue over."
"Do you really want to get into an argument with a classicist about literature?" she asked. But it'd done the job of getting a smile out of her. "You know what I studied."
"Of course I do," he said.
"Shall we start with Jane Austen being entirely overrated?"
"She's considered one of the most…"
"By people who've never read her," Ruth said, cutting over him. "Have you read her books?"
"Yes," he said. "But not for quite some time." His lips twitched as she put their meals on plates and brought them over to the table. "Thank you."
"I'm not really a good cook," she said. "Just simple things are about all I can pull off." He smiled at her.
"So who else do you think is entirely overrated in the world of literature?"
"How can you never have been to the National Gallery?" she asked. "You live in London!" Their meals had long since been eaten and they were currently drinking whisky at the kitchen table.
"I've been there," Harry countered. "Just not to look at the art. It's a good place to meet, or exchange information," he added at her look.
"One day you'll actually have to go and look at the art. You live in arguably the most beautiful city in the world."
"Why don't you come with me?" he said. "I'm sure we'd enjoy arguing about artists."
"I'd like that," she said, smiling and her eyes sparkled.
"You have the most beautiful eyes," he said. She blushed and looked down at the table. "Don't do that. I find you…" he sighed. "So beautiful."
"Don't," she said. "I'm not beautiful. I'm just… average. My intellect is probably the only thing about me that isn't average. But, it's just an education really."
"Don't put yourself down," he said. "You are so much more than you believe. I don't know who it was who belittled you, shattered your self confidence, or discarded you but you shouldn't believe them. Because you're more." He knew she'd been hurt in the past and would love to know more, when she decided to trust him.
"It was no one in particular," she said, shaking her head slightly. But looking deeply into his hazel eyes all the same. "I suppose it's just years upon years of being cast aside, passed over or ignored. The entire time I was at university, where I had to listen repeatedly having my friend who I was with, she was always called "the pretty one." What that left me as, I don't know. I've never been the pretty one, Harry. No one sees me like that. I've learnt to live with it."
"I see you like that," he said softly. "You are beautiful." She leaned across the kitchen table and kissed him. After a few seconds, it became awkward across the table and they both got up, Ruth almost falling into his arms to stay close to him. The kiss went on and on, and she sighed, her palms on his chest, his hand resting on the small of her back.
"Don't stop," she moaned as they parted. He smiled and did what she asked. His fingers slipped under her jumper, caressing her spine gently and making her shiver. The kiss ended, but he didn't take his hands off of her skin.
"Stay here tonight," she said, her eyes boring into his. "Stay."
"No," he said after a moment of indecision. "As intrigued as I am to see whether you'd still make your early morning escape from your own house, I'm going to have to decline."
She blushed at his words, but his hands were still on her back, fingers soothing circles on her skin.
"Harry, whenever I wake up next to you again," she said quietly. "Whatever the circumstances, I will stay there. I'm not going to run."
"That's good to know," he murmured. "I'll take you up on that offer one day."
"But not tonight?"
"No." He dropped his hands from her skin and she sighed at the loss of contact. "Not tonight. Tonight I'm going home." He kissed her very softly goodbye.
"See you tomorrow." He left her house and she watched him leave, sighing happily. She adored the way she felt when Harry had his hands on her. So wanted, in a way which she couldn't remember feeling in her life. She put her fingers to her lips, trying to hold onto the feeling of the kiss for as long as she could.
The days slipped by without Harry and Ruth having any time or opportunity to be alone, work becoming overwhelming for a time. Before either of them knew it, the night before Danny's funeral arrived. Harry called her, late that night, wanting to talk to her away from the grid.
"Hi."
"Hi," she replied. "How are you?"
"Not looking forward to tomorrow," he said.
"I don't think funerals are the kind of event one looks forward to," Ruth said. "I miss you."
"You see me everyday."
"You know damn well what I mean," she said. "I miss you. Not my boss, I miss you."
"That's good to hear," he said, voice soft. "I miss you too. Your smile. I can never see your smile enough."
"Again, funeral tomorrow," she reminded him gently. But she still couldn't help the answering smile tugging at her lips. She liked to think that Danny would have understood. In their world they had to grasp any little bit of happiness they could. And Harry did make her happy.
"Shall I pick you up tomorrow?" he asked. She hesitated. She really didn't want the rest of the grid knowing about her and Harry. "Just professionally," he added, reading her hesitation.
"Yes," she said after a moment. "That'd be great."
"Good." There was a slight silence between them that became awkward. "I've got the file on Mahmood and…"
"Don't do that," he interrupted. "Don't fall back on work when you don't know what to say."
"I do it because I want to talk to you, I want to stay on the phone with you but I don't always know what to say. So I…"
"Fill the silence," he said. "I know."
"I'm not good at relationships," she said. "Work's easy. Or, I mean… I'm competent at it. It's easy to fall back on."
"Look, it's late and I'll leave you to it," he said.
"You don't have to go."
"If I make you uncomfortable…"
"You don't make me uncomfortable," she said. "Well you do, but it's because you have… such a powerful presence with the most… hypnotic eyes. I don't always know what to do with myself."
"Be you," he said. "Be your normal, beautiful, brilliant sometimes messy and disorganised self."
"I think we should end the call now," she said, the smile evident in her voice. "To end it on such a nice compliment."
"Okay," he said. "I'll pick you up tomorrow."
"Thanks," she said. "Goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight." She put the phone down smiling. She shouldn't be smiling, but she couldn't help it. One of these days Harry wouldn't be making her smile, she knew the novelty would wear off or something would go wrong. But not tonight. Tonight she was smiling.
More hopefully in the next week. Thanks for the reviews so far, they mean so much.