Firstly apologies that this story began its life categorised partly as humour. That was initially its intent, however it has seemingly spiralled into darkness. This chapter should hopefully began the process of bringing it back into the light!
Before being hauled into an ambulance Harry instructed, or more accurately insisted, that Malcolm take Ruth home and make sure she took as much time as she needed.
It was a bit rich coming from Harry, seeing as soon as the damage to his leg had been treated, and against doctors orders, he checked himself out of the hospital. He went home, showered and rested before being on the grid at 6am the next morning for a debrief with the team who had just returned from Scotland.
All these things he did … but not before he called Ruth.
A series of awkward pauses spread before them as he waited her reassurance that she was okay; and she insisted he should still most definitely be in hospital.
They ended the call without really saying anything.
At 8am the team convened for the briefing. Harry easing himself into a seat with a derisory discarding of the walking stick he'd been given, even though his leg was giving him hell.
"Morning," said Ruth as she entered the room and proceeded to sit at the end of the table.
"Ruth, what the -?"
"I'm here for the debrief."
"Ruth." he snapped.
"I'm fine, Harry."
"But you should be -"
"Stop fussing."
And that was that.
Harry glanced around the room.
The others looked at each other - something had changed since they had been away. They had no idea how much.
The meeting moved on, Faslane was discussed, Kazal's contacts and his mode of access into the country.
When it came to debriefing the team about the events in the safe house, Harry was judicious with the details
As they filed away to continue to tie up the loose ends, he called Ruth back.
"I told you to take some time."
"I don't need time."
She was already on the way out.
All day he watched her. All day he never let her stray far; wary and watchful; protective and alert; concerned that at some point it would catch up with her. And so he watched.
His leg was hurting him she could tell, he masked it in front of the rest but she saw it when he was alone in his office, when he grimaced and reached too early for the scotch. And she wanted to go to him and sympathise, but she feared the conversation that would inevitably follow.
And so it was the whole day long - each of them more concerned for the other than they were for themselves.
Until the grid was empty and they were alone.