Bleargh. I really don't like this chapter at all, but it's necessary, I guess.
Also, at the request of my little sister (and supported by reviews) after this chapter, there will be more of Jo and Zaf. =D
Happy reading. x
Chapter Three
Friday, January 8th. 00:11 (HIDE AND SEEK – NIGHT 1)
"I'll take the floor," said Harry immediately.
His tone was one that spoke of finality, but Ruth argued of course.
"Don't be silly, Harry," she said. "Look how hard it is. And your shoulder…"
"I'll survive."
"Well, look how damp it is."
"And the mattress will be better, will it?"
Ruth studied the object in question. "Actually," she said honestly, running her palms over it, "I think it's quite dry." Warily, she bent her head towards it, and took a sniff. "Yes. It definitely smells alright."
To further prove her point, she lifted up the corner of the mattress, and revealed how whoever had placed it there had put bin liners over the mulchy carpet first, to protect it.
Harry sighed. "But –"
Ruth cut him off. "Harry, I trust you." She rolled her eyes at his obvious doubt. "The beginning and the end of the matter is that I'm not going to be the one stuck nursing you back to health because you were too pigheaded to accept a warm, dry bed."
Harry didn't say anything immediately.
"I think," he said eventually, "The use of the word 'warm' in this context is slightly optimistic."
Ruth smiled. "Well," she conceded, "Warmish."
* * *
Malcolm had surprised Ros by being a rather skilled fire builder.
"The trick is to let plenty of air get to it," he had explained.
Ros had pulled an unimpressed face, but had dutifully passed kindling and logs to him as he built the flames up. And she couldn't pretend that she wasn't grateful now, as the glowing, steady warmth of the fire washed over her, making her feel snug and contented in her sleeping bag.
"I wonder," started Malcolm, breaking the drowsy silence which had fallen some minutes before, "How the others are doing."
"No doubt Harry will have set up some cushy little love shack for him and Ruth. I bet they're awkwardly trying to work up the courage to hold hands right as we speak."
Malcolm felt safe to smile at Ros' acidic comment, knowing that, as they were lying on opposite sides of the room, backs turned to one another, she couldn't possibly see his response and think that he approved.
Soon, the comfortable silence fell once more, and they were both asleep long before the fire softened into embers.
* * *
Ruth was fast recalling exactly why she had left the 'top tail' technique to fade with her childhood. The truth was, her earlier joviality had been pure, absolute bravado. When they had actually come to settling onto the mattress, a sudden terror had descended upon her. He was Harry. He was her boss. They were…
"Oof." Harry struggled to repress an exclamation of pain, as Ruth kicked the back of his head.
She sighed, not bothering to apologise yet again. If they continued this way, they'd both be hoarse by morning.
"Ruth?" said Harry.
"Yes?"
"Can we please do something about this ridiculous arrangement?"
Ruth hesitated for a moment, unsure what he meant, before eventually nodding in resignation. "Do whatever you want," she murmured. "I just want to sleep."
Harry did not waste time in talking further once he had her permission. Instead, he stood up with admirable fluidity, considering the total darkness of the room, and stretched himself out. Next, he gathered up the tangled mess of blankets, and pulled them up off the bed.
Ruth gasped as the cold air hit her. Even fully clothed, it chilled her to her bones. "Whatever you're doing, Harry, you had better be quick," she growled through gritted teeth.
Harry didn't reply, but simply pinched the corners of blankets together, giving them a violent shake, so that they aligned into a single, thick sheet of fabric. Once that was done, he lay himself back down on the mattress, this time with his head at the same end as Ruth's, and spread the blankets over the both of them.
"Much better," said Ruth, thinking he was finished.
"Come here," said Harry, stretching his arms out, and gesturing that she should lie within them.
Ruth froze.
"Ruth," he pleaded, "This is for your benefit as much as mine. Please."
Ruth hesitated for a second more, before awkwardly positioning herself in his arms. The effect was immediate, and the contact of the embrace flooded each of them with the other's body heat. Harry's final action was to pull the blankets tightly around them, forming a snug cocoon that kept both hips and limbs firmly on the mattress.
And both suddenly wished they had offered to take the floor. Almost.
Ruth groaned inwardly. True, she was much warmer than she had been, and she could stretch her legs out as far as she wanted, relieving the painful cramp in her hips, but on the other hand…oh, God. She was even less likely to get to sleep now than she had previously been.
Meanwhile, Harry's hands were wrapped tightly into fists as he desperately tried to avoid touching his intelligence analyst in any place which could be construed as remotely inappropriate. He also had the problem of his nose and mouth being irritated by Ruth's flyaway hair, and he desperately wanted to move it, but he knew that blowing on her neck would lead to a hideously awkward moment. That Ruth was determinedly keeping her body as stiff as she could manage without doing herself some sort of injury was not doing anything to relieve his discomfort either.
The bottom line? It was mortifying. And of course, neither of them must enjoy the contact under any circumstances.
They didn't sleep…very well.
* * *
Friday, January 8th. 07:32 (HIDE AND SEEK – DAY 1)
Ros went to bed laid straight out on her side, but during the course of the night, pulled herself into a tight ball, her knees almost at her chin.
It was one of the things Malcolm had noticed about her. He also realised that she slept very lightly; more dozing, really. He had been up since six, and in the hour and a half since, had pottered about the bottom floor of the house, rereading his paper, and rebuilding the fire. And he knew that, despite the fact she had not opened her eyes a crack, or made any sound, she had followed his every movement like a hawk. He wasn't offended; she probably didn't even realise that she was doing it.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, seeing that she was finally opening her eyes.
"Mmm." She unfurled herself sleepily and pushed her hair out of her face. "Don't suppose that's hot enough to boil water on?" she asked, gesturing towards the fire.
Malcolm shook his head. "Not for a little while yet."
She groaned and stretched her arms above her head. "No coffee then."
"Afraid not."
Ros flopped her hands over her eyes, massaging her still-heavy lids, and grumbled quietly to herself as she attempted to accept the cold, hard truth that she would have to delay her caffeine fix that morning.
Under the pretence of poking at the fire, Malcolm studied her out of the corner of his eye. She looked strangely…softened…at this time of the day. Her face was clear of makeup, and in the heat of the fire, which had burned most of the night, it had taken on a candy-floss-pink, dewy glow. There were tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead, curling slightly at the ends, held in place with slick perspiration. Her eyes were crystal liquid pools in the gloom.
She looked quite beautiful.
Malcolm hurriedly tore his gaze away from his formidable colleague. He couldn't pretend that he had not entertained the occasional absentminded daydream about Ros, particularly after the incident in the Saudi princes' hotel rooms, but to be staring at her first thing in the morning was more than a little ridiculous, and made him feel somehow dishonest. He turned his focus back to the fireplace.
Meanwhile, Ros' hands froze in their journey through her hair as she realised that she was being studied. Malcolm wasn't exactly gawping at her – though she was more than used to that sort of treatment from men – it was more like he was…learning…her. Subtly, his eyes ran over her, committing the details to memory. She couldn't see why he had chosen now to do it – she looked a wreck. A hot, sweaty, tired, grumpy, wreck.
"Something troubling you, Malcolm?" she asked sharply, pulling herself into a sitting position.
Malcolm turned a glorious shade of red, as he realised not only that he had been rumbled, but that Ros had discarded her bra somewhere in her sleeping bag, during the course of the night.
"You, ah…" he took a deep breath, and met her look defiantly. "You look very different in the morning."
Ros frowned. She hadn't been expecting that. Still, after a moment, realizing that she had hit upon a great opportunity for some fun, she spoke.
"Well, you look different as well." Malcolm looked nonplussed, and she continued. "Rumpled."
"Rumpled?" repeated Malcolm incredulously.
Ros nodded, pulling her shoulders back ever so slightly. "Yes. Very dashing." She grinned at him – one of those grins that met her eyes; of the kind that she always flashed when she was exacting amusement at another person's expense.
Malcolm gulped at her words, and hurriedly laid the poker down. "I'll fetch some breakfast," he mumbled, dashing from the room.
Ros watched him leave, stretched once more, and flopped back down onto her sleeping bag, still grinning widely.
"There is something better than coffee in the mornings," she mused with a laugh.
* * *
Zaf finished his morning routine off with a final splash of ice-cold water to his face before crossing back into the room with the beds.
Jo was looking at him rather expectantly.
"I spy?" he proposed.
She threw her hairbrush at him.
* * *
Harry wasn't sure what it was that had woken him up. It didn't take him long to realise.
As soon as she felt Harry's chest expanding slowly and regularly against her back, Ruth had wriggled out of his arms, and rolled to the very edge of the mattress. In fact, she had been so desperate to put distance between his sleeping body and her own that she had found herself so barely on the bed at all, that she remained in place only by clinging tightly to the blankets.
And there she had stayed for the duration of the night, periodically dozing off, but never allowing herself to properly fall asleep, for fear of losing her precarious balance, or worse. Except of course, the stress of the evening and the cold air conspired against her, and in the early hours of the morning, she found herself nodding off into a deeper sleep, her grip on the blankets slowly relaxing…
Harry looked over and realised that he had been jerked from a very cryptic dream involving Adam and a coffee mug by the sound of Ruth squealing loudly as she hit the damp carpet.
"Ruth?" he murmured in confusion, "What are you doing down there?"
Ruth recoiled against the squidgy floor, and tried to pull herself back onto the mattress whilst applying as little pressure to her hands and knees as possible. Harry smiled patiently to himself, and anchored an arm around her waist, pulling her up.
"As I was saying," he continued, letting his arm fall away immediately, "What are you doing on the floor?"
Ruth averted her gaze, abashed. "I…er…fell. I fell."
Harry regarded her incredulously. "You fell?"
"Yes, Harry. I fell. Do I need to repeat it again?"
He smiled an apology at her. "Sorry. But how on earth did you manage to fall?"
Here, Ruth looked even more embarrassed, and a light blush tainted her cheeks. "I was sleeping on the edge of the bed."
The conversation stilted, Harry's grin disappearing immediately. They simply lay opposite one another for an awkward moment or two, before Harry spoke again.
"I was thinking," he said, shrugging off the blankets and clambering to his feet, "There are more bin liners in the cupboard. We could spread them over the carpet, so one of us can sleep on the floor." His voice was cool and detached.
Ruth looked up at him wordlessly, tugging the blankets to her chin. She felt like an idiot.
"Harry…"
He cut her off sharply. "Also, I seem to remember you saying something about trusting me last night."
There was nothing she could reply to that.
* * *
"So," sighed Ros, wrapping her hands around the mug of coffee Malcolm had miraculously summoned up for her, "Five whole days. How will we entertain ourselves?"
For the sake of his sanity, Malcolm decided to take her question at face value. "Well, Adam indicated maximum threat level, so –"
Ros cut him off thoughtfully. "Yeah. I've been wondering what could have called for maximum level Hide and Seek –"
"Ros," said Malcolm in an authoritative tone, "You know full well that if we start thinking about that, we really will drive ourselves mad."
Ros grinned, and took a sip of her coffee. "Ooh – perhaps you'll go all 'Jack Nicholson' on me."
"I'm afraid I left my axe at home," deadpanned Malcolm. "Anyway," he continued before she could reply, "Maximum threat level means no contact with the outside world, at all, for any reason. And we certainly can't leave the house. So, I'm afraid there isn't really much on offer."
He looked despondently about them, shrugging slightly. Ros however, spotted a chance to drag on her fun from earlier.
"You, me, and an empty house," she said softly, "What will we do?"
"There's a pack of cards in the kitchen," replied Malcolm hurriedly.