Harry walked on to the grid. His mood was sombre.
He took off his gloves and with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he tossed them into the bin.
Ruth watched him from her desk. She had heard the reports of the former Home Secretary's sudden death. She watched Harry and wondered what kind of man he really was.
He sat in his office and felt betrayed, let down and rather sorry for himself. The last couple of days had really not been good ones.
"You okay, Harry?" Lucas asked from the door.
"I've been better."
"Dimitri's here. I've been giving him the guided tour."
"Good."
"Feels strange without Ros."
Harry nodded sadly.
"I didn't see you after the funeral."
"No."
Nothing more was forthcoming, so Lucas turned to go.
"Lucas, ask Ruth to come in, will you?"
Lucas nodded and was gone.
Harry sat and pondered what exactly he planned to say.
"You wanted me?" said Ruth.
"Always," he said quietly.
"Is it important?" she ignored his comment.
"I wanted to say that I am sorry for embarrassing you the other day, Ruth."
"You didn't embarrass me," her tone was cool.
"Well, in that case, I'm sorry for embarrassing myself."
"Harry, I have things to do."
"And so do I, Ruth, so do I."
She hesitated, unused to the tone of defeat and melancholy in his voice.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"Define 'alright'. Am I happy? No. Do I like myself today? No. Do I hate what this job does to me? Yes."
"Now's not the time to wallow, Harry."
"Then when is?"
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something to change it then."
And with that she was gone.
Harry stood up, walked out of his office, picked his gloves from the bin and marched into the pods.
"Where's he going, now?" asked Tariq, "I thought he'd just got in?'
"He had," said Lucas. "Ruth?"
"No idea," she said, "should I have?"
Lucas looked at her. Most things that Harry did, had something to do with Ruth somewhere along the line.
Harry stood by the river. He needed to think.
The job, was the job. Adrenalin fuelled and fraught with regret. He should either get on with it, or stop. There was no middle ground.
What it did to him, well, that was too late to think about. It was done. And could not be undone.
Happiness? Probably overrated. But he would like a taste of it. He'd had little enough in his life. And there was only one thing that he knew that could offer that. There only ever had been.
She hadn't said 'no'.
What had she said, exactly?
"I don't want something I've thought about a thousand times to be like this!"
A thousand times.
She had thought about him proposing, a thousand times.
How much more encouragement did he need that that.
He tried not to think about the look on her face as he 'd walked onto the grid. The look that said she knew he'd been to see the HS and walked away from a dead man.
A thousand times.
That is what he would focus on.
And yes, though his intentions were true and real he could admit that a graveyard, a funeral was possibly not the best place.
If she wanted romance, he would give her romance.
And that is how he would change things.
Fine.