Twenty-seven:
A New Kind of Normal

When Ruth got home that night, the house was too quiet. Everything that had happened overnight had left an open, aching chasm of silence that draped itself around the house like a cloak. She knew Portia and Harry were home because the light was on up in Portia's room and the sitting room was lit up, as well – all things she could see from the front drive. But it was just too quiet.

She found Harry in the sitting room, head lolled back against the edge of the sofa, snoring softly. She felt a pang of fear that he could so easily have been taken from her in the middle of the night, but then she pushed it aside. "Harry?" she called softly.

He inhaled and shook himself awake, mid-snore. "Ruth?" he mumbled. "Sorry, these pain pills –"

"I know," she assured him. "Should I go get something for supper right quickly?"

He rubbed his face with the hand that wasn't immobilized in a sling, and sighed. "No, I called for Chinese a bit ago, but they're a little backed up. So I gave Portia a couple of biscuits and she's upstairs reading, I think. I didn't intend to fall asleep," he explained, as if he thought Ruth might be cross with him.

"No, it's all right," she said softly. "Do you want me to get you a blanket in case you fall asleep again? Your arm will be worse if it seizes up on you and gets stiff…"

He peered at her through tired, bleary eyes. "Is this your way of saying I'm sleeping on the sofa tonight?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Earlier in the day, she might have said yes. But now… "No, I'm just trying to keep you comfortable, you stubborn old goat," she sighed. "When's that takeaway coming?"

"Seven," he said. "What time is it?"

"About ten till."

"I should set the table, then," he said, trying to get up.

"You just stay put," Ruth said sharply, pointing a finger at him. "You were shot this morning," she reminded him. "Just relax for once in your bloody life."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, blinking at her forcefulness.

"I will pay for dinner," she said, "and we aren't going to worry about the dishes tonight. They'll clean up well enough later. How is your arm?"

"Bloody miserable," he said with a pout. "The bullet was lodged in the bone and they almost broke the bone trying to remove it. I'm not meant to move it for at least a week – they're afraid if I do anything untoward, it will fracture along the hairline crack."

She flinched and tried to turn away before he could see that she hurt just because he did. "Oh, Harry," she sighed. "What on earth were you thinking? I could have helped if you'd only let me in –"

"Ruth, I didn't –"

She held up her hand as the doorbell rang out. "I'll be back," Ruth said firmly. "You just stay put."

She paid for dinner and took the food into the kitchen. She laid out the plates and drinks and the food, and then went back to get Harry, who had drifted off again. It was a good thing, then, that Portia was old enough to sort of manage to take care of herself. Ruth leaned down and kissed him ever so gently on the lips and whispered, "Supper is ready, if you want to go in and start serving yourself. I'll go get Portia."

He blinked up at her tiredly and mumbled, "Please tell me I don't have to sleep on the sofa tonight. I got the bloody window replaced earlier –"

"Shh," she whispered, "I know. Go get something to eat." She gave him another kiss, worried but trying not to show it. He seemed so frail and at odds with the Harry she knew and loved so well; but she supposed that maybe was how he was after a big op, when the adrenaline had let down, and everything was back to some ruddy semblance of normalcy. She didn't know, not really, not properly. They had only been taking such fleeting, faltering steps at a relationship before Cotterdam; she'd not seen him at his worst, except immediately after Tom Quinn had shot him. But it hadn't been like this. "Harry?"

"Mmm?"

"Mr. Levendis offered me a job today."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't take it," he growled, suddenly defensive as hell. "Don't even think about going back to the Service –"

"No, I'm not," she said softly. "But I thought you should know."

"It's not the same as it was," he said sharply. "The modern Service will eat you alive, Ruth –"

"Harry," she said, putting her hand gently on his chest, "I have no intention of going back to work for MI-5. None whatsoever. I plan on working at iNBC, paying off my bloody medical bills, and then who knows. Go get some dinner – I'll go get Portia."

She left before he could respond properly. She went up the stairs and into Portia's room, avoiding the darkened spot on the wooden floor where blood had dripped through the expensive Persian runner (which had been out in the rubbish bin soon as). Portia was belly-down on the bed, a book propped up close to her face.

"Hello, love," Ruth said. "How was school?"

Portia sighed and said, "It was okay."

"Supper's here if you want some," Ruth murmured. "I'm sure your dad got your noodles."

"One of the girls locked me in the bathroom today," Portia whispered. "She's mean and her dad is very important so she thinks she can be mean to everybody. But she's really mean to me because I'm littler than everybody else."

"Oh, sweetheart," Ruth sighed. "I'm sorry –"

"When Miss Gaither let me out, I told Patsy if she ever did that again, I'd tell my dad and he'd hang her up by her pigtails." Portia looked up at her mother guiltily. "I didn't want to be mean, but I was so angry."

Ruth gently stroked her daughter's hair and sighed. "You can't threaten people," she said softly. "No matter how cruel they are to you. It does no good for anyone, love. But I will speak to your Head Teacher and make certain that you and Patsy are kept apart, all right?"

"She's in almost all my classes," Portia said with a pout. "I hate her."

"No," Ruth said, "you don't hate her. You dislike the way she behaves. It's not the same thing, love, and you shouldn't waste your time hating anyone."

Portia finally sat up and put her bookmark in her book. "I'm hungry," she said quietly.

"Then let's go eat," Ruth said in an equally soft tone.

"Are you going to tell dad?" Portia asked, suddenly alarmed. "Don't tell him I said what I said – he'll be so mad at me, mom."

"You just worry about eating supper and getting ready for bed," Ruth said gently. "I won't tell your father unless things get worse – but you have to tell me what's going on, love. I can't protect you if you don't tell me what's happening."

"You won't always be able to protect me," Portia whispered.

"No, but it's my job to try," Ruth murmured. "Come on, let's go eat before the food gets cold and your dad gets cranky."

Ruth gently nudged Harry. "Time for bed," she murmured. "Up with you."

He groaned and opened one eye. "These pain pills are god-awful," he muttered. "I can't seem to stay awake for more than a few minutes."

"I think that's more to do with being shot at your age," she scolded gently, "and less to do with the pain pills not doing their job. Come on, Harry, it's bedtime."

"It's barely half nine," he complained.

"And you can't keep your eyes open," she teased, giving him a gentle kiss. "Come on."

"If I come to bed like a good lad, will you flash me your knickers?" he asked.

She gave him a Look. "Henry James Pearce," she said, indignant. "A lady does not 'flash her knickers'."

He scowled. "And you're a lady, now?"

She poked him in the chest. "Cheeky bugger," she muttered. "If you go to bed like a good lad, I might let you find out if I'm wearing knickers at all."

That had the intended effect: he was off the sofa and to the doorway faster than she could react. He paused in the doorway. "Well, are you coming or what?" Harry asked.

"I'm going to lock up for the night and set the alarm," Ruth said sweetly. "You go upstairs and get comfortable."

He huffed a little. "I'm meant to set the alarm and check the locks –"

"Oh please, if you give me any of that 'I'm the man, so I'm supposed to…' bollocks, you won't get any kind of skin out of me tonight," she said sharply. "Go upstairs and I'll be up in a few minutes."

It took five minutes for her to check over everything and set the alarm. Duchess followed her upstairs, but made a beeline for Portia's room, so when Ruth got up to the top floor, all that was waiting on her was Harry.

Harry, who was lounging on the edge of the bed in his trunks awkwardly, the sling on his arm preventing him from easily removing his shirt.

She could tell he was getting frustrated with his inability to make the buttons behave, and he huffed irritably before he gave up entirely.

"Let me help," Ruth murmured, redirecting his attention to her.

"You aren't bloody here all the time," he sniped. "I have to be able to do it myself, and I can't and –"

"I know," she said softly, "but you're also high as a kite on painkillers."

He huffed. "Oh, fine," Harry muttered. "Do your worst."

She very carefully helped him out of the sling and ever so gently unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, careful not to hurt him. But every time she accidentally brushed her fingers over his skin, he jolted like she'd shocked some sense into him. "Better?" she asked with a tiny smile on her lips.

There was a long pause, and she looked at him with concern. Finally, he muttered, "No, not better. Now I've got a bloody hard-on."

He was clearly loopy from the drugs, otherwise he'd never be so blunt about it. "Oh," Ruth said softly. "Well, god knows we can't have that, can we?"

He blinked at her, almost blushing. "I'm not sure I'm up for sex," he stammered.

She looked down at his trunks, then back up to him with guileless innocence. "I'm not sure your body agrees with you," Ruth commented gently.

"Are you holding that against me?" he asked , his voice wavering.

"Never," she said with a teasing smile.

"Liar," he accused softly. Her smile grew and she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. The soft sound he made at the simple contact spurred her on, and she kissed her way down his body. "Ruth, I –"

"Shhh," she whispered. "Let me do this for you, Harry."

"You don't have to –"

"I want to, you stupid man," Ruth muttered. "I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't want to."

"Stubborn mule," he said with no small amount of affection in his tone as she caressed his side.

"Stupid man," she shot back, smiling. "Do you want me to help you back into the sling or…?"

"No, I want you to – well – " He was blushing, a little bit, stammering, and her smile grew a little bit more, knowing that he was still flustered by her attentions.

So she leaned in and kissed his chest again, then began to trail kisses lower down his body. He made a soft noise of conflicted contentment and need that made her pause and look up at him; but then she continued.

He always seemed to assume that when she went down on him, it was a reflection of his skills as a lover; that she wasn't satisfied with him. When, in truth, it was exactly the opposite: she loved him and wanted him to be as happy as he made her. Why should she get all the pleasure from oral sex and not reciprocate? It just left her wondering what kind of shit Jane had put him through during their marriage. Ruth saw them as equal partners in this crazy endeavor; clearly, his earlier wedded 'bliss' had not been so fortunate.

She loved the taste of his skin; salty and somewhat musky, indefinably Harry. She loved the solid feel of him in her mouth, the power that coursed through her veins at being able to give him so much pleasure. But he wouldn't understand that; he believed that she did it out of duty to them, their marriage vows.

She licked him playfully across the tip of his cock and smiled up at him. His eyes were closed tightly, his good hand clenched in a fist, as if he were trying to fight it all. He probably was, stubborn git.

But his fight soon melted away as she continued licking, sucking, nipping at him, finally taking him entirely in her mouth, humming softly as she did. His hips jerked forward and he came hard, with a grunting mewl that surprised her a little. She backed off, swallowing slowly and smiling up at him. "Harry," Ruth said softly, "I love you."

He blinked, then sought eye contact. "I love you," he parroted back at her, his voice low and hoarse.

"And now you need to put your sling back on and go to bed," Ruth said with a cheerful little smirk.

"No, I need to –"

"If you say you need to give me anything, I will punch you in the face," she said firmly. "I certainly don't expect an orgasm every time I blow you. Sometimes, I just want to do something for you."

"You don't have to –"

"I want to, you stupid man," she muttered.

"I'm not stupid, I just –"

She got his sling and gestured to his arm. "Let me help you," she muttered, "and then I'm going to let you get some rest. I've got some things to go over before tomorrow."

"Are you angry?" he asked as she helped immobilize his arm again.

"I admit to being a little cross that you seem to think that it's okay to go to town on me, but if I want to go down on you, it's something awful and dirty and shameful," she said, her tone sharper than she wanted it to be. "But it's not worth being properly angry over."

"I don't think it's – god, Ruth…" He sighed and closed his eyes as she maybe slightly roughly finished her job. "Ow," Harry protested. "It's not worth beating me up over, either – if you don't remember, I was bloody shot this morning."

"Being a stupid bloody hero," she snapped. "So excuse me for being angry about that."

"I was trying to –"

"I know," she said. "But you aren't a young man anymore, Harry. You could have been seriously injured or killed. What in god's name would I have done then? Why should I continue to raise Portia on my own when you're here? You're here now, Harry. Don't be a fucking hero!" The venom and power behind her voice made even her squirm; it had the benefit of making Harry look extremely guilty right before he averted his eyes, breaking contact. "I'm going downstairs. When I come back up, I expect you to be asleep from your painkillers. If you don't take them, I'll know, and then you'll be even more in the shit."

The next morning, Harry woke up with sunlight streaming over his face and Ruth gone for the day. That was unsurprising, but what did surprise him was the note on the pillow.

Harry,

I'm sorry I was in such a foul mood last night. Please don't hold it against me; I was terrified I was going to lose you all over again. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone.

Your Ruth

He smiled just a little, then winced as the pain in his arm got maddeningly worse. Duchess whined from the foot of the bed, and he muttered, "Yes, old girl, I'll get up and we'll go for a walk in a bit." The dog whuffed and cheerfully followed him into the en suite. Harry struggled to get moving; after the pain pills kicked in, he felt a little better, but he frowned at his reflection in the mirror. He looked scruffy. And old. And… and he couldn't see what Ruth saw in him.

He let the dog into the garden and carefully made himself breakfast, despite it being well past lunchtime. The pain pills were good, and he wasn't as young as he'd once been.

There was another note, at the sink.

Harry,

Don't try to wash the dishes. I'll do it when I get home. And don't go to pick up Portia: you shouldn't be driving. Malcolm will pick her up and bring her home, along with a takeaway for dinner. Just try to relax.

Your Ruth

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or put out or take it at face value. So he let Duchess back in and settled in on the couch with the television. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have, because the next thing he knew, Portia was flopping dramatically into a chair and saying, "Daddy, I wanna watch something else…"

Malcolm was standing in the doorway, smiling. "She's a little spitfire, Harry," he said. "You have your hands full."

"Thank you for picking her up," Harry said, smothering a yawn. "I've been in no condition to do anything but sleep today, apparently."

"Ruth said you were in rather a bad way," Malcolm commented. "I said I would think so, considering all that transpired. And don't give me that look: I can hack into the Grid at any point I wish, undetected. It helps when the DG calls and asks for software patches. No one even knows I was in the system."

Harry glowered at him. "You're a public nuisance," he muttered. "What did you pick up for dinner?"

"Curry," Malcolm replied. "And I'll be glad to reheat it when it's closer to dinner time. Ruth said she might be a few minutes later than normal, as she has a programming meeting that might run over."

Harry grunted. "Okay. Is she still cross?"

Malcolm shrugged. "It's not my place to speculate on Ruth's state of mind."

"Why does everyone call mom 'Ruth'?" Portia sighed. "Her name is Janet."

"Her middle name is Ruth," Malcolm said without hesitation. "And we call her Ruth so we don't accidentally call her Jane."

Portia wrinkled her nose. "But that's funny," she said. After a couple more minutes in the armchair, she moved over to snuggle up against Harry. "I love you, daddy," she said simply before turning her attention back to the television.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Harry said quietly, curling his good arm around his daughter.

It was just about seven when Harry's phone began ringing. He startled awake and fumbled until he found it and answered. "Hello, Pearce…"

"Sir Henry? It's Mrs. Whatley –"

"Mrs. Whatley, what can I do for you?" Harry asked, tiredly rubbing his face with his hand. He heard Portia and Malcolm in the kitchen, and dishware clinking together. And even as he heard that, the front door opened and closed, and Portia squealed a hello to her mother. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap – it's been a long couple of days and…"

"Your father collapsed a few hours ago," Mrs. Whatley said. "Alison took him to hospital, but he's had a stroke and he's in a very bad way. He might not make it through the night."

Harry felt all the blood drain from his face, and he was glad he was sitting down. "I'll make arrangements immediately," he said, "to come up. Thank you for calling. Please pass my number on to the doctors as next of kin."

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news –"

"No, it's all right," Harry said.

"Shall I prepare the room for Miss Portia, as well?" the housekeeper asked almost eagerly.

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. "I'll have to speak to my wife first. For sure, make certain the White Room is ready."

"Of course," Mrs. Whatley said. "I'll go do that now. Good night, Sir Henry."

"Good night," he muttered in quiet reply.

Ruth was standing in the doorway, watching him. "Harry?"

"I've got to go," he said very quietly. "My father –" It only took those two words to break him completely. After all the work they'd put in to reconcile with one another, now was when he would lose him. It wasn't fair, it wasn't just, it was wrong.

Ruth's arms came around him, steadying him, holding him gently. "Oh, Harry," she whispered.

Life had run into him with the force of a freight train, and suddenly, all he felt was broken.

END CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN