"The last thing you need tomorrow is a sore head."
She hands him a large mug of coffee.
"Won't be the first time, Ruth."
"No, but it's not the best idea on the last day of the Inquiry."
She sits opposite him cradling her own cup.
"Perhaps you should have used that pill tonight instead of Monday. I'd quite like to forget what you've done."
He smiles humourlessly.
"You would have heard about it from someone else."
"And you couldn't drug them all, is that it?"
"No," he says simply.
"You've thought about it?"
"It crossed my mind."
She shakes her head.
He concentrates on blowing on the hot coffee and risks a sip.
"I'm not as idealistic as I once was, Harry."
"Nor as naïve?"
"I'm not naïve."
For a moment they hold each other's gaze.
"And I'm no longer on my white charger. I think we've established that, Ruth."
"I don't expect you to be unsullied by all that has happened, I don't expect you to be clean of the blood that stains us all, but … what you've done, Harry…."
"I know," he says, putting the cup down and rubbing his face with weary, culpable, guilty hands.
"I'm not here to judge you."
"Aren't you?'
"No. You can do that for yourself."
"Then I'm guilty, Ruth…of so much. But I'd like to think that I've managed to get it right more times than wrong."
"You have."
"Apart from with you. I never get it right with you, do I? Wrong timing, wrong decisions and never have I found the right words."
"Apart from Monday," she says, a hint of hurt and bitterness in her voice.
"No," he smiles sadly, "even then. That was all you Ruth, you were the one who found the words, the courage to do something about…the situation."
"I better go," she says suddenly and gets up.
"Right," he stands too.
But then she stays, reluctant, preoccupied.
"Harry…"
"Yes, Ruth."
She is struggling with something.
"What?" he asks gently.
"Was it … Monday … was it … good?" she almost whispers it.
He inhales deeply and closes his eyes for a moment before looking at her with all the honesty within him.
"Yes, Ruth," he breathes, "it was."
She nods slowly and turns towards the door. As she opens it she pauses once more.
"You should have trusted me to reach my own conclusions, Harry, because the final irony is that I can forgive you for the past, but I can't forgive you for taking that memory away from me."
The door begins to close.
"Wait!"
His hand holds the door and stops her.
"Please listen to me.
"I can't change the past, Ruth, but I can give you that moment back, I can give you Monday back. If you'll let me. I can give you a memory, a thousand memories, all of them wonderful.
"Please, Ruth," he whispers, easing her from the doorway, his hand in the small of her back, "… it's Monday and you've just arrived. You're just about to tell me that you're sorry for berating me for saving your life, for letting me go and meet Lucas and I'm about to tell you that none of that matters because you're here."
He gently closes the door behind her,
She is looking at him, trying, trying to go with him, to let herself be lulled back in time.
"And why am I here?" she whispers.
"Because there's something you have to do, something you've come here to do."
"What?'
His mouth moves to her ear.
"You've come to kiss me."
"Why would I do that, Harry?" she breathes.
"Because it's what you need to do, because it's what we were always meant to do, Ruth. Because it's Monday night and it's pouring down outside. Because I love you but have never managed to tell you. Because when you wake up in my arms tomorrow and you're idly tracing Arabic letters on my chest, you'll remember how happy you are and you'll remember me and the most wonderful night we've had and you'll be glad you didn't go, you'll be glad you decided to kiss me, right here, right now."
She pulls her head away so that she can face him, so that she can see the sincerity in his eyes.
"And why should I believe you?" she whispers.
"Because I'm right. For once in my life I've got it right, Ruth."
Something more to come - either a chapter or an epilogue.