Twenty-three:
Putting Things Right

It was past suppertime when Ruth got back from the hospital. Harry had been particularly stubborn during his physiotherapy session, grueling away at his tasks like it was all he had left in the world. As if she wasn't right beside him, helping, guiding, hoping. And then, afterwards, he'd been taciturn, curt, irritable, as if she was just another thing to be endured for the sake of it.

She knew he was upset; frustration came easily to her Harry. She knew he wasn't dealing well with his inability to cope with being relatively immobile, and she knew he was missing Portia. But he had been the one to make the decision that he didn't want to see her till he felt a bit better. But who was in charge of determining the extent of that 'bit'?

Alison was there, waiting, at the door when she let herself in. "Can I take your jacket, m'lady?"

Ruth shrugged out of the hoodie she'd borrowed from Catherine and handed it over. "Is there any supper leftover?" she asked in a small, tired voice. "I didn't stop to get anything from the canteen and Harry might have thrown his pudding cup at an orderly, so I had to calm him down before he worked himself back into another state."

"Mrs. Whatley has some soup on the hob," Alison replied.

"Oh, good," Ruth exhaled.

"Mr. Gregory and his children arrived about fifteen minutes ago by helicopter," Alison said. "The soup was put on for them, but I'm sure there will be plenty."

"Okay," Ruth agreed. "I need to speak to Joe, anyway." She stifled a yawn and then sighed. "Alison, can you make sure that there's petrol in the Rover tomorrow? I'm going to go out and tour the parkland in the afternoon with Portia. Do we need to take a gamekeeper with us in case?"

"In case the deer attack?" Alison asked with amusement. "Or maybe the cows?"

"Ha ha," Ruth replied, scowling. "I just meant –"

"You should be fine," Alison replied. "I think Miss Portia would enjoy some time away with you. She's been very worried about her dad," he added pointedly.

"God, who isn't?" Ruth replied, wearily running her hands over her face. "Right. Soup and a glass of wine, I should think, and then tuck Portia in for the night."

She hurried off to the kitchen and caught Mrs. Whatley dishing up what looked to be vegetable soup for Billy and Maisie, who were sitting at the small dining table in the corner with Joe. "Will there be enough for me, too, Mrs. Whatley?" Ruth asked with a small smile.

Maisie squeaked in glee and cried, "Miss Jan, Miss Jan! We rided in a helichopper!"

"Oh you did?" Ruth replied with a smile. "Did you have fun?"

"Uh huh," Maisie replied with a smile. "Is this your house? It's a nice house. Daddy says so."

"She doesn't shut up," Billy groaned as Mrs. Whatley laid out the soup.

"Well," Ruth said patiently to the little boy, "when you're four, everything is big and exciting."

Billy frowned, then made a face. "I'm glad I'm not four," he muttered under his breath.

"Did you have a good trip over?" Ruth asked Joe, who was nursing a cup of tea.

He sighed. "It was fine till we were all alone on the helicopter and they were everywhere and wouldn't settle down," Joe admitted quietly. "Too much excitement, I should think."

"Does Cate know you've arrived?" Ruth asked.

"No, we just got in and the butler bustled us into here for some food," Joe said, standing up and giving Ruth a huge hug. "How is Harry doing?"

"Well," she sighed, "he did a passing fair imitation of a toddler throwing their toys out the pram earlier. He's just not used to being patient or sedentary. It's driving him mad."

Joe released her and sat back down again. "From what I know of Harry, yes, I'd assume that to be the truth," he said.

Mrs. Whatley laid out some soup for both of the adults, and got some crackers down as well. "Mrs. Whatley, do you mind if I open a bottle of wine?" Ruth asked.

"Well, that would be up to His Lordship, m'lady," Mrs. Whatley said.

Ruth rolled her eyes and sighed. "All right, fine, I'll just go find him and ask, then. I'll be back," she said. By the time she tracked David down, her soup would be cold – but she really wanted the wine. She found him in the sitting room, pasting photographs into a scrapbook. "Hello," Ruth said, getting his attention. "I've just gotten back – would it be all right if I opened a bottle of wine? Mrs. Whatley seemed to think I need to come and seek permission."

David was peering up at her through his glasses, and he sighed. "That bloody woman," he muttered. "She was always fond of Jane; I apologize she's winding you up. Whatever you want from the cellar is yours, Janet."

"Harry was quite cross today," Ruth said softly. "Nothing made him happy; he threw a pudding cup at the orderly who brought his dinner."

"Bloody pudding cups," David muttered. "They're rubbish."

"That's neither here nor there," Ruth sighed. "I'm going to stay here tomorrow, let Harry get on with things without me for a day or so. Scare the hell out of him. You know, remind him of how easy it would be for me to just not be there at all."

"That will probably backfire on you."

"Yes, I'm sure it will," she agreed, "but then he might stop acting like a child."

David laughed a little. "Yes, well… such is Henry," he said. "Is your boss here yet?"

"Yeah, Joe and his kids are in the kitchen, having some soup," Ruth replied. "I'll bring them in when they've finished, okay?"

"It's been a long time since there were children here," David said, "but suddenly, I can't imagine what it would be like not to have the little scamps running around." He looked wistful and sad for a minute, then he shook himself. "You don't have to bring them in. I'll make certain that Alison puts them in their rooms for the night and I'll meet them tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"I trust you," David said simply. "And they've had a long trip."

"I was thinking that Maisie could stay in with Portia tonight," Ruth said. "Since they get on well and Maisie will be more likely to behave and go to bed if they're having a 'sleepover'."

"Whatever you think is best," David replied with a small on his lips. "You know, you'll be the lady of the house someday."

Ruth inhaled, then exhaled. "It's a grand old house," she said softly. "With a rich history. And I'm not sure that I would be a good steward –"

"Nonsense," David replied. "Your soup is probably ice cold by now. Go eat and we'll talk tomorrow."

"I'll just go get a bottle of –"

"You'll need to get the key from Alison," David said, "or just send him down to fetch whatever you want."

"Do you want anything?" she asked.

"Oh, no, not tonight, thank you…"

She looked at her father-in-law and saw how small and fragile he appeared to be. It was odd; for someone that Harry had looked up to, feared even, he was frightfully unassuming now in his old age. And yet, Harry still retained that air of authority and temper of doom, despite his ailments.

"Well, you get some rest tonight," Ruth said gently. "You'll want it with a four year old and a six year old running around," she teased.

David smiled a little. "And that's why we have telly," he rejoined with a chuckle.

After the kids were put to bed and the adults shared several bottles of wine between them, everything seemed much less tense and dramatic. Sarah and Graham crept off to bed, whispering and laughing softly to each other; it didn't take a genius to realize that they were going to give the housekeeper a heart attack with the laundry the next morning. Catherine and Malcolm were sitting in the corner, discussing microcamera footage and stabilization; it was a foregone conclusion that the two were always going to talk shop. Which left Ruth and Joe free to quietly discuss things.

"How long do they think Harry's recovery will take?"

"If he keeps fighting everyone tooth and nail, god only knows," Ruth sighed softly. "But that's just his nature – always has been, ever since I've known him, at least. He's suspicious to a fault, always questioning motives and giving people a length of rope to hang themselves…"

"Because he's a spook," Joe replied with an amused smile. "You had to fall in love with a spy…"

Ruth shrugged and murmured, "Seemed apropos at the time."

"And I suppose your friend Malcolm over there –"

"I have no comment," Ruth said, taking another sip of wine. She took a deep breath and said, "Joe, I know we've barely begun restructuring the network, but I'm wondering if now might not be a good time for me to bow out of the game."

He immediately sat up straighter, his posture becoming a farce of Harry's boss-like demeanor. "Janet, when I took you on –"

"I need you to understand that I'm not considering this out of reasons of sabotage or malice," she interjected softly. "You've signed the Official Secrets Act, yes?" He nodded, and she sighed. "Okay, well… I don't know where to begin, really."

"The beginning is usually the place to begin," Joe said, his voice unreadable. His eyes were dark and stormy, however, and Ruth wasn't looking forward to having a row with her friend.

"I used to work for GCHQ," she said. After a pause and a deep breath, she added, "And I was seconded to MI-5. I worked for Harry in Section D." Ruth glanced away from him and twisted her rings around her finger. "I was the senior intelligence analyst; I was important and bloody good at my job. But there was an… incident… and I had to leave. I had to assume a different identity and hide like my life depended on it. And it did." She finally met his gaze. "My name isn't Janet Williams, Joe; it's Ruth Evershed."

He was very quiet for a moment, absorbing what she was telling him. "Whatever made you leave –"

"It's not resolved," Ruth said very quietly. "I was exonerated, but they think Ruth Evershed is dead, thanks to Harry and my mum. So… I became Janet Williams. And I wandered."

"Portia?" he questioned.

"I didn't know I was pregnant when I was forced into exile," she admitted quietly. "Once I found out, everything I did was for her. I went without food so she could eat; I took menial jobs so she could have clothes and tissues for her runny nose and… and the day we met, when you plucked us up off the side of the road, Joe, I was so badly off I was contemplating doing something stupid." She finished her glass of wine and turned the glass in her fingers. "And now… now, I've jumped into the deep end and I feel like I can't swim. And all I can think about right now is how close to losing Harry I've come in the last few days. I can't lose him. Not again. And if that means quitting my job and helping him recover… so be it."

"You can take leave and –"

"No," she said very quietly, "I can't. Because when I come back from leave, I'll have to get on a plane and go from place to place and I can't stomach the thought of leaving them behind."

Joe sighed. "I suppose you haven't thought about things like the bills and the house and –"

She sighed and closed her eyes. "I'll get a job here," she said very quietly. "It won't be very difficult. My skill set is widely varied." Ruth paused, then mumbled, "To be brutally honest, I hate PR. Every bloody moment someone's looking down their nose at me while I try to keep them clean makes me sick. I loathe spinning other people's lives into something palatable for the general public whilst I can't even live my life out in the open."

Joe sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "Shit, everything about you is a lie –"

"No," she said very quietly. "Not everything. And I'm sorry if I've upset you –"

"Compromise," he said in a clipped tone. "When Harry recovers enough, you take over the London offices. You serve out your two year contract. And then we'll figure it out from there. That way I have someone I trust implicitly in charge here while we expand and – and – fuck, why didn't you tell me any of this, Jan? You could have told me."

She smiled sardonically. "Giving the head of a television network blackmail fodder? Since when has that ever been a good idea?"

"Yes," he admitted, "I can see your point."

She exhaled and set aside her wineglass. "I think… I've made a lot of mistakes in my life and it's time I began atoning for some of them."

"Two years in the London offices," Joe said. "Will that be acceptable?"

She inhaled deeply, then nodded. "London is just a relay station, really, isn't it?"

"It's our European Headquarters," he said mildly. "Not exactly a relay station, but it would keep you close to your family. All of them. You never really had anything in Los Angeles, did you? Just Cate and her family…"

Ruth sighed and mumbled, "I should have chanced it and just come back to Britain."

"Could have, should have, would have," Joe said. "If that's how we want to live our lives, I never should have married her… we should not have had children. But if I hadn't thought of all the things we could have had together, I wouldn't have Billy or Maisie." He fixed her with a piercing stare. "Do you love him? Is this your end or just a beginning?"

"I hope," Ruth whispered, "that it's the beginning of something extraordinary. But we have to want it, don't we?"

"What do we have to want?" Catherine asked cheerfully as she came over to collect their glasses.

"Jan and I were just talking," Joe said. He looked up at Catherine and smiled. "You ready to go up? I'm told I'm in the Grey Room –"

Catherine smiled and said, "I'll take you up. It's just next to mine."

Ruth smiled half-heartedly. "You two get some rest – Harry will want to see you both tomorrow," she said.

"Aren't you coming up?" Catherine asked.

"In a bit," Ruth replied. "I've got a couple of things I need to take care of first."

"You want me to look in on Maisie and Portia?" Catherine asked.

"No, they'll be fine," Ruth dismissed quietly. "I'll check on them when I come up."

Malcolm waited until Joe and Catherine had left before he stood up and worked the kinks out of his spine. "I should be heading home soon," he commented, "but I'm concerned about leaving you alone here."

Ruth shrugged and sighed. "I've been alone for a long time, Malcolm. It's being with people that's difficult now." She fell quiet for a moment, then said, "I want to thank you for coming. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to spend time with my friends," Malcolm said simply. "Exile agreed with you."

She smiled sadly. "No," she contradicted very softly, "it didn't."

There was so much wrong that she wasn't entirely sure how she would ever make amends or begin to make things right again.

It was just after supper when Ruth stopped in Harry's doorway, watching him struggle with the pre-packaged juice with his meal. "Here, let me," she said softly, catching his attention. She took a couple of steps forward and gently took the juice from his grasp, opening it without fuss. "How are you feeling?"

He grunted something unintelligible, then finally said, "Where the hell have you been?"

"I've had a few things I had to tend to immediately," she murmured, settling in beside him. "I'm sorry; how was therapy?"

The annoyance on his face was bitterly obvious. "I'm getting stronger but I still can't bloody open my juice," Harry muttered.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I had trouble, too," she pointed out gently. "Portia asked if you're well enough for her to come and read to you. I told her if you're amenable, maybe tomorrow."

The gruff anger was gone in a heartbeat. "I'd like that," he said, his voice lowering to a normal, fond tone. "I miss her."

Ruth tried not to take it personally; she knew she was a convenient target, a physical representation of everything that was really wrong right then for him. She nodded and took his hand, gently holding it. "I'm not sure you're ready for all the other young ones," she murmured, "but you're ready for her."

"You didn't even tell Catherine to tell me you were coming," he pointed out after a moment's silence.

"Drink your juice," she instructed softly. "I didn't want to get your hopes up if I took too long with things. I was on the phone most of the evening. Bloody time differences."

"I thought you were going to talk to Joe –"

"It wasn't work," she murmured.

"I don't suppose you want to tell me –"

"I was trying to make arrangements for Portia to be enrolled in school," she said. "Nothing earth-shattering, love." She stroked his hand, feather-light touches. "And I had to wait till a reasonable hour to contact my realtor about renting out the house in Burbank, since we're going to be moving to London and all."

He blinked, once, twice, three times, then croaked, "What?"

"It's time we came home," she said simply. "But I don't want you to worry about anything right now. Just let me handle things. You just rest and try to get to feeling better, Harry."

"Did Joe talk you into…"

"No," Ruth said softly, earnestly. "If anything, I talked him into it. I've got leave till you get back on your feet and then two years booked in at the London offices. After that, everything is up in the air. But I want to come home, Harry. It feels like everything in my life has led to this moment of finality. I want to come home and be with you."

"I'm a broken wreck of a man," he mumbled.

She smiled and gently ran her fingertips over the soft planes of his face, taking him in. "Yes," Ruth agreed very softly, "but you're my broken wreck of a man, Sir Harry. Mine and no one else's." She leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. "So, I've been thinking…"

"Oh god help me," he chuckled softly.

"Mostly about where we should send Portia to school," she added cheerfully.

He exhaled in relief and they settled into a gentle conversation until he drifted off to sleep. Ruth didn't leave his side until the nurse threatened to throw her out or admit her to the psychiatric ward for being so devoted to a temper-tantrum-throwing middle aged man.

She left a hastily scrawled note for him, and went back to Kindwell for the night.

END PART TWENTY-THREE