Thank you for your patience; I've been dealing with a lot of issues related to the impending funeral arrangements, and I haven't exactly been in the best frame of mind to write.

Eight:
Leaning Towers and Glass Houses

Ruth sat with Portia long after the girl had gone to sleep, afraid to break the spell of quiet bliss they had wound around the house for the night. Tacos for dinner had gone well, and Harry had promised the girls that he would go for hamburgers with them tomorrow night, rather than make a fuss about things.

Everyone was happy; except for Ruth.

She was basically in a state of blind panic about finances and job hunting and the possibility of the tabloids showing up on the doorstep in the morning… because God knew that Iain Lewis was front page news now. Or he would be when he was finished with his smear campaign. No one would care that he was actually the villain of the story; married man cheating on his wife be damned! No, the story would be all about how he was meant to be the innocent, pressured into sex by his publicist.

She looked up and Harry was standing in the doorway. "I want to protect her from this," Ruth whispered. "All of it. She doesn't deserve to be punished for my bad behavior."

Harry sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "There's been no bad behavior between us; just a determination from you to cease behaving badly with others," he said softly. "I don't want you to hurt yourself more over this when there's no need."

She got up and tucked Portia in for the night. Once the door was closed (but for a crack), she turned to Harry and said, "How can you be so calm about this? I fucked another man, repeatedly."

"You stopped," he pointed out. "You stopped because you came back into my life."

She frowned and leaned into him. "God, Harry… what am I going to do? If I can't pay my half of the mortgage, Cate loses her house, too. I've got to get another job, and fast."

"I'll pay the mortgage," Harry said, "till you find something. Don't worry –"

"No," Ruth rejected quietly. "Harry, I can't just ask you to –"

"Consider it making up for all the years of child support I've missed," he said softly. "And stop arguing."

"What about your house?" she shot back. "Don't you have payments or…"

"No, it was my grandmum's," he said with a sigh. "I just took it over after I retired and fixed it up. I don't have any payments to make. Please, Ruth, let me help."

"You just spent god only knows how much money on jewelry for me, Harry – I can't ask you to take this on, as well. I just can't." She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "No one will want me touching their image or fixing their problems now; not after I've been caught out shagging that stupid bastard."

"Please stop and let me help," Harry said very softly. "I know a few people. Let me make a few inquiries."

Ruth sighed, then nodded. She was too tired and too upset to fight him on it; the day had been long and hard and now she was paying for it. "Harry, I don't know what I'm going to do," she admitted very quietly. "What happens if I go out to put out the recycling in the morning and there are photographers taking snaps?"

"I'll take out the cans," Harry said. "In my trunks if needbe."

"Dear god," she gasped.

"It'll give them something else to worry about than you," he pointed out. "By the way, if I see that Iain bloke again, the gloves are off."

She exhaled and closed her eyes. "Shit. Look… I'm sorry. Everything's gone pear-shaped and I don't want you and Portia stuck in the middle. And then you go and mouth off about taking Iain down a peg or two and it's already ugly, Harry."

He gently cupped her face in his palms and whispered, "Well… I don't like it when anyone hurts the people I love. And he's done just that."

She melted into him when he kissed her; it was unfair, really, the way he could turn her from sensible and pragmatic to a bit barmy and soft. When he pulled away, she murmured, "Maybe things will be better in the morning?"

"If they aren't, that's why you have me," he pointed out. "I'm outside the situation, aside from wanting to beat the crap out of your friend. And I do use the term casually."

"I don't want to talk about him," Ruth sighed. "I love you, Harry. I never cared about him."

He gave her another light kiss, then pulled away. "I think what you need is a nice hot soak and then we'll get some sleep."

"On one condition," she murmured.

"And what would that be?"

"You join me in the tub." A memory burned, white-hot, through her, of a time so very long before when they'd washed each other's sins away in the bath. They'd been too tired to make love, but it was so warm and fresh and intimately wonderful…

"I'm not entirely sure we could both fit," he admitted. "I've seen your tub, love."

She sighed. "Nevermind. It was silly."

"No," he said firmly. "Nothing you've ever done is silly, Ruth."

"Just forget I even asked," she said, pulling away and heading toward the bathroom.

While she was in the bathroom, Harry made a couple of calls; one of which being to Joe Gregory's private line. He'd only played dumb with Ruth when he'd pretended not to have heard of the man. Of course he'd heard of him; not only that, he'd had a hell of a job protecting him near the end of his career. The chap had been so damn pleased that he'd offered Harry the exchange of a favor if he needed one.

Well, the time had come and he needed that favor.

"Hello, Joe? Sir Harry Pearce."

"Sir Harry! It's lovely to hear from you –"

"Can we meet for early breakfast somewhere tomorrow? I've need of reeling in that favor from you, quickly as possible. It's to do with my fiancée."

"What's she gone and done? Not get enough airtime for a Knight of the Realm?"

"No, possibility of too much airtime. Plus she's got fired from her job and she's got this bloody complex about allowing me to pay her mortgage. Bloody women. Can't live with them, can't strangle them." His fingertips drummed lightly on the table. "I thought you might have something in your organization that might suit. She'll be calling you to call off your date on Sunday, so you know."

There was a long pause. "You're… marrying Janet Williams?"

"I am," Harry said firmly. "Don't tell me you had designs on getting in her knickers, too. I really thought you were above that, Joe."

"My intentions might have been less than honorable," Joe rejoined, "but they were not in that vein. I'd intended to poach her from the start, especially after the disaster that was Naomi Humboldt a few weeks ago. Now I have the chance to offer her a real job instead of the bloody mess she's gotten herself into."

"Good," Harry said. "But please keep it that way. I have enough complexes without adding a media mogul to the mix."

Joe laughed mirthlessly. "How is Five, by the way?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry replied cheerfully. "I've retired."

"Ah, yes, well… forgive me, but you didn't seem the type to just give in and walk away."

"Health reasons," he replied dismissively. "And then I happened by Janet purely by coincidence – we used to know one another, until she left Britain, you see… and the rest is history, now. I do believe I shall be moving to the States rather shortly, as I shan't like to leave her for very long."

"Well, I wish you both the best of luck," Joe replied. "Marriage isn't for the feint of heart."

"Indeed," Harry agreed. "I've kept you for too long. And Janet will be done in the bath soon and I should like to assure her that losing her job has no bearing on how I feel about her. She's rather worried about that for some reason."

"Go comfort her – by the time she phones me tomorrow, I'll have all of the details in place."

"Thank you," Harry said, honestly.

"Besides… Jan's not really my type," Joe said with a chuckle. "Good evening, Sir Harry."

Harry glanced up to see Ruth standing in the doorway. "Who was that?" she asked.

"No one –"

"Harry…"

"It was Catherine," he lied. "She's worried about you."

Ruth shrugged. "Doesn't matter much, really." She sighed and crossed the room, coming to rest beside him on the bed. "There's nothing she can do about my predicament, Harry, and there's not much you can do, either. I brought it onto myself, as usual. I'm always taking things onto my shoulders that I shouldn't."

"Give yourself a bit of credit," Harry said gently. "You've done a wonderful job raising our Portia."

She shook her head and sighed. "No, I've not – I kept her from you, Harry… that's not doing a good job. That was living in fear that someone would connect the dots and hurt you because of us. It still is."

"Ruth," he sighed.

"No, let me… please, just let me say this," Ruth whispered. "Everything I've done has been done out of fear, Harry. Fear of being hurt by you, fear of hurting you, fear of other people hurting you… fear of letting Portia down. I want to give you back the ring and send you home because I'm terrified that you'll find out that I'm not what you really want. I'm frightened that, one morning, you're going to wake up and hate me for the things I've done. And I don't want that to ever happen."

"It won't," Harry said, his voice equally soft. "Because I have the same fear, Ruth. That one day, you'll wake up and realize you've married an old man with more battle scars than a Viking and nightmares that will keep you from your sleep, and you'll leave me again. And I can't bear that thought. But I can't bear the thought of not taking this leap and being together. Do you understand? The need outweighs the fears."

"But why? Why do you need me so much?" she asked, face crumpling. "I'm nothing and nobody, Harry, but you've sacrificed –"

"You sacrificed everything for me," he said. "Everything, Ruth. Why did you do that?"

"Because I love you."

The answer was simple, but so full of pain that it nearly broke his heart to hear it. "I love you," he said, his tone low and full of every emotion he could muster. "Nothing was the same after you left, because I didn't have you to share secrets with. I didn't have you to hold in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. I love you, Ruth Evershed. Do you understand now why I can't walk away? Why I don't care what you've done?"

She nodded and leaned against him, her wet hair cold against his jaw. "What am I going to do, Harry?" she whispered.

"You're going to worry all night tonight and in the morning, we're going to get up and start over again," he said gently. "I will cover the mortgage payment until you get back on your feet, and life will go on."

"You've already spent a small fortune on me –"

"That doesn't matter. All that matters is that you know that I will take care of you, Ruth, and our Portia, as well," he murmured. "All right?"

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "All right."

"And no matter what anyone says, I won't stop loving you because you slept with some silly bugger. I will, however, do my best to protect you from him."

"You know, when I was seconded to Five, your reputation preceded you," she said, her voice low and sad. "'Likes to love them and leave them', 'Has more notches on his belt than a bomber pilot', 'Goes after anything in a skirt'. I never expected you to be different, to have no interest at all."

"My reputation came about when I was much younger," Harry sighed. In point of fact, he was embarrassed still about his behavior as a callow youth. Affairs and neglecting his family, not to mention being a workaholic, had clouded over what should have been a good time in his life. And by the time he'd managed to save at least a shred of dignity, he'd managed to fall in love again and lose her in one fell swoop. "By the time I met you, I'd been celibate for ten years. I wasn't that man anymore, Ruth. It would take someone truly extraordinary to turn my head." He laid his hand over hers gently and squeezed it. "You are truly extraordinary in every way. I apologize for not fighting harder to get you home, but it wasn't safe until you were cleared of the murder charge. And by then… I had no idea where to begin looking."

"You're here now," she whispered.

"I am," Harry acknowledged. "And I'm not leaving again… without a good reason like my bloody heart doctor and such."

Ruth swallowed hard. "Maybe… maybe we could go with you?"

"Maybe," he agreed. "We'll talk about it later, though." He kissed her gently on the forehead, wishing he could take all of her troubles away.

Ruth gave up sleeping after a while; her mind wouldn't stop racing in circles, each one tighter and more intricate than the one previous, until she was sick to her stomach and scared to death for morning to come. Above all else, despite Harry's declaration of love and that he wasn't about to leave her, she was almost convinced that when the cold light of day was upon them and he saw her in a different light, he would leave her there to face certain doom alone.

After a few hours of her tossing and turning, and fidgeting, Harry finally woke up. "Are you still awake?" he mumbled, voice rough with sleepiness.

"Yeah; can't shut my mind off," Ruth whispered. "I'm sorry – I can go to the living room and –"

"Don't you dare," he said, smothering a yawn.

"I don't want to keep you from your rest," she sighed.

"And I'm awake," he said. "Turn on the lamp."

"Harry –"

"Turn on the lamp," he repeated.

She rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp. When she turned back, she saw his tired eyes… but more importantly, she saw the smile on his lips. "What are you smiling about?" she asked softly.

"How beautiful you are," was his immediate reply, "and how lucky I am right now to be waking up and looking at your beautiful face."

"Oh, Harry, you say such… such… such things," Ruth accused softly, leaning in to kiss him. "I'm not beautiful," she whispered against his lips, "but thank you for thinking I am."

"Oh, you are," he said in a no-nonsense tone. "Beautiful and incredibly intelligent…"

"If I wanted the Jane Austen version of seduction, I'd ask for Mr. Darcy," Ruth said pointedly. "But you're Sir Harry, and you had me at that bloody meeting on my first day, when you made that stupid joke and laughed like a psychotic lunatic."

"I did no such thing –"

"You did," she murmured with a smile. "Point being, I would've dropped my knickers for you, even then. Despite being told you were no good."

"I am no good," Harry replied with a grin. "But what about those knickers, Miss Evershed?"

"You're close enough," she breathed. "You find out."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Do you need one to get into my knickers?" she shot back. He gave her a look, complete with raised eyebrow, and Ruth giggled. "Harry Pearce, you are a naughty man. Yes, all right –" She wasn't expecting him to almost pounce on her, but somehow wasn't surprised when he'd already done it and her knickers were already off.

Looking back, she'd never felt so valued, so cared for, so loved, as she did in the stolen moments in the middle of the night when Harry worshipped her skin, her body, her very soul. This night was no exception; he raised her to the very peaks of ecstasy, and let her down again gently, cradling her in his arms and whispering to her all the ways she meant more to him than life.

And there, in the dim lamplight, she began to forgive herself a multitude of sins.

Harry got up before Ruth (bloody time zones), and made sure the coffee was brewing. Still in his pajamas and dressing gown, he gathered up the trash and recycling, having gathered that it was pickup day, and headed down the driveway with the plastic receptacles. He wasn't expecting people on the front lawn, despite Ruth's fears, nor was he pleased when more than a few of them began taking photographs of him. "Bloody hell," he swore, pushing past them to the curb to leave the trash out.

"And who are you, then?" one of the offenders asked.

Harry grunted and tried to push his way through, but was stopped by a sea of offending bodies. Eventually, he threw his hands up and said, "Why the hell are you here?"

"Iain Lewis –"

With the name of that prick echoing in his ears, Harry smiled coldly. "Ah, yes, well, I'm the man that's going to set your record straight," he said in his best no-nonsense tone. "And then you will leave. Or I will call the police and have you arrested for trespassing on private property."

Dealing with the idiots from the Daily Mirror was going to come in handy.

END PART EIGHT