Twenty-one:
Like Tomorrow Doesn't Exist

Emma looked up at Ruth with her enormous brown eyes and said, "Fow me?"

Ruth chuckled and gestured at the white cupcake with its pink strawberry frosting on it. "It's all yours, Emma," she promised.

Emma's face split into a huge smile. "Yay! Cake!"

Ruth and Malcolm had endeavored to make Emma's second birthday as enjoyable for the little girl as they could; she'd been taken to the park to play, and they had gone to the children's theatre earlier in the day for the puppet show, and now she had her favorite dinner of chicken, rice, and mushy peas – and cake besides.

Everyone else had acquiesced to eating the same thing as Emma, but with a little more flavor involved, and there were cupcakes enough for everyone. Harry hadn't come home from work as of yet, but Ruth knew that he would if he could.

The little party was almost as much as a success as Jamie's fourth birthday had been; he'd had a Paddington-themed party, complete with a little blue coat, wellies, and a big hat. He was still talking about it like it had just happened. Soon, they would be planning more elaborate parties for Emma, too.

Ruth was saddened by the fact that Emma had lost so much in her young life; she'd never known her father, and she most likely wouldn't remember her mother when she got older. So Ruth was determined to be the best mother she could be, for Emma's sake. Not just because she should have always been the best mother she could be, for Rose and Daisy and Jamie, but because she would have to prove herself more with Emma. Emma who would always assume that she wasn't wanted; like Daisy had done when she was younger.

Emma put her finger in the frosting and smiled up at Ruth. "Mine," she said cheerfully, licking the icing off her finger with a slurping noise.

Jamie said, "Mummy, can I have a cuppy cake please?"

The front door opened and closed loudly. "I'm sorry I'm late," Harry shouted. "But I had to stop and acquire a birthday present for a very sweet little girl –"

He came into the kitchen and both his eyebrows raised upon seeing Emma sitting in her high chair, face smeared with pink frosting. "Oh, I see," Harry said. "Maybe after the cake."

Ruth smiled and said, "Your dinner is still in the oven, keeping warm. Chicken, rice, and peas."

Harry smiled wanly and went to the cupboard to get a jar of brown gravy; she didn't blame him for wanting to jazz up the food a bit. "Presents after the cake," he said firmly.

"Yes, presents after the cake," Malcolm agreed.

Harry cobbled together his supper and ate it as quickly as the others were devouring the cupcakes. The speed at which he was eating gave Ruth a sense of what his day had been like, and that he probably hadn't eaten anything since his toast and coffee first thing in the morning. She got up and joined him at the counter, and murmured, "Slow down or you'll give yourself indigestion, Harry."

He sighed and whispered back, "I sent Hermione out for Emma's gift – I had too many things on to go myself. I'm actually not sure what she got, as it was already wrapped. I'm a bit afraid for my wallet."

She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Cupcake, love?"

"No, I'm attempting to keep my girlish figure," he said wryly.

She felt such love and devotion when she looked at him like that, just eating and being himself, that it took her breath away. She faltered for a moment, forgetting the past and just seeing him for the man that she loved above all others; the one person she would give anything for willingly, if only it were asked of her. His eyes were beautiful, so full of emotion and truth – and right then, she saw such visions of hope and sweetness within them.

She smiled again, a little hesitantly, but she didn't look away like she had been doing since Albany. This time, she met his gaze, and even felt her heart skip a beat.

Would tonight be it, then? When everything came back together?

He brushed his fingers across the back of her hand and murmured, "Do you fancy a glass of wine later? It is Saturday, after all. No work tomorrow, just the grandbabies and Sunday lunch."

She nodded and murmured, "I'd like that – a white, though."

"I'll chill it and we'll take it upstairs," he said softly. "We can watch a movie and…"

"And?"

He shrugged and moved away a bit. "And."

She didn't want to break contact with him, so she reached out and grabbed his hand. "And," she said with emphatic import.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward almost imperceptibly. "Ruth –"

She pulled him down so she could breathe into his ear. "Wine and a movie and… us. And. It's a very powerful word, and."

He did smile this time. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and whispered, "Very."

Emma giggled and Ruth turned her attention to the little girl. "Oh my god, Emma, how did you get that much cake in your hair?" Ruth gasped.

Jamie was laughing so hard his face was purple. Malcolm just looked horrified at the thought of a small child crushing cake and frosting into their hair. Rose and Daisy were just sitting there, pretending not to laugh.

"Pwesents now?" Emma asked with a huge smile. "Cake done!"

Harry gave Emma a dirty look. "No, we're cleaning you up first," he said firmly. "And then presents."

Emma pursed her lips together, then let out a sigh. "Kay," she muttered.

Harry set his plate on the countertop and got some wet wipes to swab her down. "You, Emma, are a mess," he sighed. "A very untidy mess." Once he'd gotten at least the majority of the cake out of her hair and off of her face, he gave her a kiss. "Better now," he said softly.

"Pwesents?" Emma asked hopefully.

"Yes, presents," Ruth agreed with a smile. "How about this one first?" she asked, retrieving one of the presents on the counter. "It's from Daisy."

"Yes, peas!" Emma cried.

She tore through all the packages, save Harry's and Ruth's, squeaking excitedly at stuffed animals and books and small toys. Ruth had bought her a new dress and shoes to match, and saved it for after all of the fun gifts. "Now, Emma, this is from mum," Ruth said softly, "and I hope you like it."

Emma said, "Big pwesent!" and tore at the paper excitedly. She smiled up at Ruth upon seeing the rainbow striped dress and the sparkly mary janes. "PIDDY, MUM!"

Ruth leaned over and brushed a kiss over the little girl's forehead. She tasted like clean baby, a bit like wet wipes, and a bit like frosting; a queer combination, but so much like a child. Jamie had been much the same when he was quite small.

"Last one's mine, then," Harry said. He got the silver-wrapped gift from the countertop and passed it over.

It felt strangely heavy, so Ruth placed the box on the table; Emma ripped it open with glee. What was revealed inside was so lovely, so thoughtful, Ruth began to cry. Hermione had gotten a photo of Ros and Andrew framed in a lovely, heavy, silver frame.

"Mama," Emma sighed softly, reaching out and touching her picture.

Harry had tears rolling down his face, as well; he truly hadn't known what Hermione would get up to, did he? Maybe he thought she would do something sensible like get a doll? "Do you want us to put your picture of Mama and Daddy on the wall?" he asked, choking up.

Emma looked up at them, sad and lonely looking for the first time in days. She nodded and sighed, then grabbed her new stuffed penguin and hugged it tight.

Ruth sniffled, stopped crying, and moved to hug the little girl. "I love you, Emma," she whispered.

"Uvoo, mum," Emma whispered.

"Come on, love – let's go get you a bath and we can sing together," Ruth said softly.

"Gawiweo!" Emma cried. It didn't surprise Ruth at all that Emma wanted to sing Bohemian Rhapsody; after all, Ros had confessed once that it was her favorite song, despite it's insane popularity and retro appeal.

"All right," Ruth agreed. "Give everyone kisses." When she'd done as she was asked, Ruth said, "Harry, can you see Jamie to bed, please?"

"Of course," Harry said. "Come, James, let's get you a shower and fresh pajamas. And then we can continue reading Macbeth."

Jamie grinned at him and yelped, "YAY!" He hopped down from the table and took off at speed.

Ruth shook her head and sighed. "Macbeth?" she challenged.

He shrugged. "I thought he might balk a bit at Hamlet," Harry said mildly. "He seems to love it."

"It's violent," she sighed. "Of course he loves it – he's your son." Emma tugged on her hand, and Ruth followed the little girl out of the room.

Harry was in the en suite, when Ruth finished putting Emma to bed. Jamie had fallen asleep halfway through a scene, so Harry had studiously marked where they'd left off in the play and beat a hasty retreat while Ruth settled Emma. Now it was nine o'clock on a Saturday night and he had wine chilled and uncorked on the bedside table and a slew of movies lain out across the bed, as if he thought she wouldn't choose The Red Shoes again. It was almost sad, this touching cross-section of their lives, the stolen minutes together away from the children and work.

She picked up a movie at random, shaking her head and chuckling when she saw it was, in fact, The Red Shoes. "Harry?"

"Put in whatever you like," he said gruffly, appearing in the doorway, a bit disheveled, and half dressed. His trousers were off, giving her a magnificent view of his muscular legs and just the very tip of his foreskin, but he still had his socks, dress shirt, and tie on. The man didn't get undressed in any order that made sense to her, never had, but when he was rumpled and vulnerable like he was, she thought he was perhaps the most perfect, most gorgeously sexy man she'd ever seen. All those hardbody Hollywood dreamboats with their perfect smiles and their abs for days had nothing on her paunchy, balding, half-dressed husband.

She raised an eyebrow, then said, "And what if I'd like you?"

"You still need to put something on to cover up the noise," he said, giving her a dour look.

Ruth laughed and chose something other than The Red Shoes – it ended up being North By Northwest. She loved classics as much as he did, but Harry had a thing for Hitchcock films, and it had been a while since he'd indulged himself. "How is this?" she asked, holding it up.

"Fine," he agreed. "Shit, I can't get this unknotted…"

"Let me help," she murmured, getting up and coming over to work on his tie. "Bloody hell, Harry."

"I don't even know how it got that tight," he grumbled as she finally worked the knot loose.

"You get worked up and play with it," she reminded him gently. "And that makes it tighter."

He scowled at her and gestured at the TV. "Are you going to put the movie on?"

"Are you going to be a grumpy Gus all night?" she shot back irritably. "I'm only trying to help."

He sighed and ran his hand over his head. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry. I'm bad company, aren't I?"

"No," she murmured, "you're just… upset about something and you don't want to say anything because you're afraid you'll upset me." Ruth could tell from the look on his face that she'd hit the nail straight on the head. "What's the matter, my love?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No, it's nothing." Harry pulled away and went back into the en suite. When he reemerged, he was in a t-shirt, sweatpants, and bare feet. She wondered briefly if he'd put his trunks back on or if he was hoping for sex and had left them off. She was hoping for the latter, because once they got a bottle of wine put away, she was content to surprise him with her newly-found want of him.

If he was willing, that is. She knew she'd been less than forthright about her wants over the previous weeks, since the Albany incident, but now she knew without a doubt that she was moving forward instead of lagging behind. She couldn't bear the hurt, the pain, any longer. She wanted everything to be right between them again, and she loved him so much her heart ached with it.

She put the movie on and retreated to the en suite to change while he got the wine poured. When she came out of the loo, she was in one of her satin chemises, the thin fabric clinging to her curves in what she hoped was an alluring fashion.

Harry didn't seem to notice; if he did notice, he didn't seem to care. He handed her a glass of wine and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up around his waist. "C'mere," he insisted softly.

She sighed and climbed under the covers with him, snuggling up quite closely. She took a sip of wine and murmured, "Harry, I've made a decision about work."

He'd just started the film; he hit pause very quickly. "You have?"

She nodded. "I have. I will, if the offer is still on the table, take over Section D."

"Oh, thank everything," he exhaled.

"But I have a few conditions."

"What kind of conditions?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, for starters, I'd like to make at least what Ros was making in the position," Ruth said. "We're about ten thousand off that at the moment. You pay me peanuts and work me to death."

"I was going to go fifteen thousand," Harry said. "But your point is valid. Next?"

"My pension benefits need to go up accordingly."

"Of course," he agreed.

"I need a modest budget for redecorating that bloody office – the red wall must go."

"How much is modest?" Harry asked warily.

"I'll do it myself," Ruth said. "Just paint and different furniture. We can raid Ikea."

He huffed. "No Section Head of mine is turning up in Ikea," he grunted. "No, I'll take it out of my office's budget – and I'll send round some decorator's brochures. Bloody fools expected me to redecorate when I took office, but I haven't gotten round to it. You can have my budget for that."

"Okay," she said. "I reserve the right to add or subtract from my team when I see fit."

"Anyone in particular you're keen to drop?" he inquired.

"Not at the moment," Ruth said.

"I have one stipulation," Harry said.

"And that would be?"

"Erin Watts is your Section Chief."

"Dimitri has seniority –"

"Mr. Levendis has already said that he would rather be on the ground than in the hot seat," he said with a sigh. "Miss Watts has shown remarkable leadership and stability since Ros's death. I think you will do well to keep her as Section Chief."

"All right," Ruth agreed. "And one last thing…"

"Ruth, if it's about the computers –"

"No, it's not," she murmured, "though those new tablets wouldn't go amiss."

"I'll add you to the list," he said. "Now, one last thing?"

She turned in his embrace and looked at him full-on. "You have to promise me that since we're on more equal footing now, you will share the burden. That we'll go back to the way things were before…"

"Before Albany?"

"Before Cotterdam," she murmured. "You've all but shut me out since I've been back. I don't know if it's because you feel you can't trust me in the same way or if you were trying to spare me, but stop it. All right? I need you to trust me. I need you to rely on me and my discretion. Our working relationship has to be smooth."

His lips twitched, an almost smile. "Agreed," he said softly. "Now, wine and the movie. We'll talk about this more tomorrow."

She nodded and sighed; it seemed like they were suddenly back at square one. She was desperate to touch him, to kiss him and love him and… but it seemed like this time, he was the one pushing away instead of her.

She frowned and finished off her glass of wine in a hurry. She pulled away from him and got up to get more. His eyes followed her, and she said, "Sorry, just a bit thirsty."

"Obviously," he said. After a long minute, he said, "Ruth, is something bothering you?"

"No," she said quickly; too quickly. "Nothing, my love. I'm just tired. Emma and Jamie had a busy day, and so did I."

"Well, you better slow down with the wine or we'll have a bit of a problem," Harry said gently.

"We will?" she said, arching a brow.

"Yes – you get rather amorous when you've been tippling."

"Two glasses of wine aren't a tipple," she huffed.

"Love, you're on your third, and the bottle is empty," he pointed out.

"Dutch courage," she muttered.

"What?"

She sighed and threw her free hand up in the air. "I'm sorry, I just – god – Harry, we're hopeless, you and me."

"I don't understand." And he didn't; he looked bloody clueless as to what she was on about.

She finished the wine and set her glass aside. They hadn't even started the movie, not really. It was all this and that and the other thing and now…

"Harry," Ruth began, then stopped.

"Ruth," he answered back.

"This isn't easy."

"Life rarely is."

She exhaled and gestured between them. "I don't like this."

"This being… what?"

"Everything. Everything since Albany. Us. Not together. Apart." She paused, then swallowed hard. "I hate not being with you."

"Ruth, it would be uncouth of me to suggest that we have sex when you're clearly still –"

"But you see, I'm not still thinking that way," Ruth said softly. "Lucas – John – he… was a monster. He did monstrous things. The worst thing he did wasn't raping me: the worst thing he did was that he made me feel that I was dirty and awful and wrong for reacting to him." She gestured at Harry, nerves beginning to get the better of her. "I'm not ashamed anymore, Harry. How can I be? It wasn't my fault he did those things and he played those mindgames. But it is my fault that I've pushed you away when you've only been trying to help me."

Harry shook his head and sighed. "Ruth, I –"

"I need to know that you still love me, in spite of all of that, Harry, and you've been ever the gentleman about things – but I need you. I need you, Harry." She took a tentative step forward, then another and another, till she was on the bed, touching his chest, his belly, and daring him not to react. "I need my Harry, the man who loved me so much he took on all my baggage and asked for more." Her admission was soft, low, and so full of truth that it hurt more than any of her emotional scars.

He exhaled and said, "I don't want to add to your burdens, Ruth…"

"You won't," she whispered. "I want you; I need you. I am going out on a limb, Harry, asking you to love me even though I know it's hard and it might hurt."

"Ruth, I've never not loved you," he murmured, leaning forward and pulling her toward him for a tender kiss. "But I don't want to hurt you more because you aren't ready."

"I am ready," she contradicted softly.

"Dutch courage?" he sighed.

"Only in that I thought you might notice I wanted to be tipsy when I begged you to make love to me," she mumbled, blushing a little and glancing away. "So it mightn't be so awkward. But clearly, that just makes me look like a fool."

"No," he said, his voice gentle and tender. "It makes you look lovely and adorable and sweet." Harry sighed and gently stroked her cheek. "You've drunk too much wine, though," he said. "So I will politely decline lovemaking this evening. But try me again, tomorrow, when you're sober and not ready to swing from the chandelier in the sitting room, okay?"

Ruth pouted and sighed. Bloody hell, he wasn't going to make it easy, was he? "Fine," she muttered, crawling back under the covers and crossing her arms over her torso. If that's how he wanted to play it, that's how they were going to play it.

About the end of the movie, she'd finally migrated back into his arms, and he was idly caressing her thigh while she stroked his belly, and lower, her fingers creeping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants… finding no resistance in the form of trunks.

Which meant he'd been hoping for –

"Oh, Harry," Ruth sighed.

"Mmm?" he murmured sleepily.

"We're bloody useless."

"Speak for yourself," he mumbled. "Come to bed, love."

"We're already in bed."

"Mmm… so we are." He sighed and held her closer. Moments later, he was snoring.

Sadly, soon after, so was she.

END PART TWENTY-ONE