AN: Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in writing...real life reared its ugly head. Who knew you could get second degree burns from the hot cheese on a sandwich. And on your tongue and lip at that. I certainly didn't until last week! Thank you all for your lovely reviews; I'm happy to see some interest in this sequel.
Last night I received not one shock but two. The first was a phone call from the special prosecutor handling Peter's case. I was really hoping that I wouldn't be called upon to testify during the trial but that's not the case. Come the new year, I'll need to meet with someone in the prosecutor's office to go over my testimony of what happened; not only on that boat but over the course of our entire relationship. I don't know how I feel about that; having to share with strangers everything that happened. No, that's not true. I do know how I feel. It's discomforting to think that so many people are going to be privy to the various happenings of our relationship. My friends only found out about the relationship because they were following me; not because we had some late night tete-a-tete's going on. Now not only do I have to worry about them looking at me different but also complete strangers.
It shouldn't bother me; I know that. And I shouldn't be upset or surprised that I need to testify as I was really expecting that. But I am bothered on both accounts. For most of my life it's just been me. My father died when I was eleven and fool that I was, I thought it would mean my mother and I would get closer. I should have known that wouldn't be the case but what pre-teen girl thinks that her mother's going to move on and push her child away. She was more than content to let me lock myself in my bedroom or my father's study with books, puzzles and my music. Most parents would worry that their child was exploring drugs or other means of self destruction - not my mother. While my formative years were spent being loved by my father and having him dote on me, my teenage years were spent playing the piano and reading Tolstoy, Austen and Bronte. What a lovely combination none of which leads to an overly social woman who thrives of personal relationships.
I'm learning though. Slowly. And it's because of the people I work with. Malcolm said it best a few months ago when he said that we're a family. Because we are. A bit of a dysfunctional family but a family none the less. Which means I shouldn't be overly concerned about the fact that they know what a failure my last relationship was. But I am. What are they thinking of me? I'm a spook for goodness sake, you'd think I know enough to run a check on the person I'm considering seeing. And I did. Run a check. It came back clean. But then I didn't dig deep enough, didn't scratch away at the top layer that was all nice and pretty and gift wrapped for me. Had I, I would never have gone out with him. Instead I would have wallowed in the misery of finding Harry with Juliet that night - alone. It would have been difficult but a lot safer.
And I'm all over the place. I know this is my safe place to write but it feels like there are so many thoughts in my head, so many emotions, that I don't know how to center them into a coherent piece. Maybe that's why this is such a good idea. A few months of this and I'll have all the tangled webs in my head unwoven.
The second shock was Catherine. That's Harry's daughter. Not that I need to explain that as I'm the only person who's going to read this and I know who Catherine is. But it's there. And it's not going to go away now. Last night we were sitting down for dinner. It wasn't much; Harry had not gone shopping in the week that I was in TRING so I was left with little choice on what to make. While he napped after his shower, I managed to turn the two small chicken breasts I found in the freezer, the onion, green pepper, tomato and mushrooms in the fridge, and some rice from the cabinet into a filling meal. As I said it wasn't much and today I know I need to head to the market if we've any plans to eat this week. And I'm losing my train of thought again. As I was saying, we were just sitting down to eat when the doorbell rang. Seeing as anyone I knew either didn't know I was staying at Harry's or thought I was still in TRING, I knew it wasn't for me. Harry had gotten up to answer the door and when he came back a few minutes later, a beautiful woman followed him. From our past operation I knew it was his daughter but I had never had the honor of meeting her. And last night didn't go over too well. Apparently seeing a strange woman sitting down to a meal in her father's kitchen with said man was not something Catherine was expecting and she was a bit frosty. Things didn't get any better when after the meal; I wound up giving half of mine to Catherine - I couldn't let the girl starve; she diplomatically but definitely with a bit of bottled up anger and jealousy told me that while it was a pleasure meeting me, she needed to speak to her father alone and told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to leave.
That left me in a bit of a conundrum. With my house nothing more than charred remains, I could either slink out the front door to beg Adam and Fiona for a place to sleep for the night or try to slip up the stairs without Catherine noticing. Of course the option was taken away from me by Harry when he announced that I was actually living there. As the two started to argue, I slipped upstairs and shut myself in my room, hoping to make myself invisible. Invisible I was able to do; not listen to their argument not so much. I couldn't hear everything yelled but I do know that Catherine does not think much of the social climbing tart currently living under her father's roof and she's fully expecting me to have moved on within a month's time to greener and younger pastures. Not really the greatest of confidence builders. After hearing that, I had slipped down the hall to the bathroom and prepared for bed. There was no way I was going to venture back down stairs last night. Call me a coward but I really was not in the mood to deal with any of that. Harry tried to talk when he came up but I feigned sleep; I know; another cowardly move but as I said, I was not ready to deal with that.
Which is why I'm currently hiding upstairs in said room still writing in this. Catherine never left last night of that I am sure. Before he had stopped at my door, I heard Harry preparing the sofa bed in his study for Catherine and the two of them talking in rather loud hushed tones. I really am a coward, hiding here in my room when I honestly have nothing to be ashamed of but I'm not ready to deal with Harry's children. That really does not bode well for any relationship we might have, does it? I think I really need to start looking for my own place to live.
Hearing the front door close down below, Ruth looked up from the journal she had been writing in. It was later then she normally got up, even on an off Saturday and as she'd been living with him for almost a month, Harry would be aware of that. Which meant he knew she was hiding out. Not the best of situations but what was she to do; go downstairs and pretend that nothing was amiss. Right, because she was just that good of an actress. As she debated with herself, she stood and put the journal into the drawer of the nightstand. Better to not leave that lying around with a spook and his emotional daughter about. Crossing the room, she opened the door and stepped into the hall. While she would love nothing more than to hide out for the rest of the day, her stomach was growling and unless she planned on eating her pillow, she was going to have to venture down to the kitchen.
It was quiet as she got downstairs and she could say that she was more than a bit happy to see that Catherine's coat and shoes were gone from where they had rested the night before. Stepping into the brightly lit kitchen, she saw Harry sitting at the table, the morning paper spread out in front of him.
"Hi." she said softly, glancing his way briefly before making her way towards the pot of freshly brewed coffee sitting on the counter and the plate of croissants.
Glancing up from his paper, he smiled at her back, amazed but glad that she was still here and talking to him. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
Turning with a cup of coffee in her hand and a croissant, she carefully made her way to the table and sat down. "Yes. How did you sleep?"
"Well enough considering. Look Ruth, I wanted to talk to you about what you heard."
"It's okay Harry. Just leave it be; I didn't hear much of anything."
"I know that's a lie. These walls aren't that thick and we were pretty loud last night..."
"Harry, it's none of my business. Please, just leave it be."
Seeing her face, he nodded, not wanting to get into an argument with her as well. "Alright."
"Thank you. So, what are your plans for today?"
Closing the paper, he grinned at her, his mind going to the plans he had laid out the night before on his quest to not only get Ruth to stay but start slowly courting her. Lifting his own coffee cup, he took a sip before speaking.
"Well, I thought maybe you and I could bundle up, drive out to the country and look for a Christmas tree."
Choking on the liquid in her mouth, she looked at him, sure she had misheard what he had said. Harry Pearce venturing out into the cold wilderness to find a Christmas Tree? Surely he was jesting.
Seeing the look on her face, his grin grew. She definitely had not been expecting that and he was glad to have shocked her. Just because he was a bit of a hard ass on the grid did not mean that he was a Grinch. He had holiday spirit just like everyone else. Usually he just didn't have someone to share it with. This year was going to be different. This year he was going to spend the holidays with Ruth; showing her there was more - much more - to the man behind the glass wall. Setting his cup on the table, he continued.
"It's one week until Christmas Eve Ruth and you'll notice that we don't have a tree yet let alone any decorations up. I thought that we could begin to remedy that by going to find a tree. There's this great little tree farm about an hour and a half north of the city that I visit most years if there's time. Neither one of us are on call this weekend unless some kind of disaster happens so I thought it'd be the perfect time to find a tree. And decorate it and the house some."
"Who knew there was a sentimental man hiding beneath the rough exterior." Ruth said, a smile on her face.
"Hmm. You tell anyone and you'll find yourself working as liaison to the Home secretary's office for the next six months."
"What, no shipping me off to Siberia?" she asked, laughing as she stood to take her cup to the sink. Setting it inside, she turned and leaned back against the counter for a minute.
"No, I'd rather keep you close. Siberia's too for my liking." he said softly, his eyes meeting hers.
Blushing, she pushed off the counter. "Your secret's safe with me."
Standing, he pushed his chair in before looking at her. Taking a chance, he leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek. "I know. There's nothing I can't trust you with. Will you come with me to find a tree?"
Stepping back, he slid his hands in his trouser pockets, suddenly nervous as he waited for her answer.
Biting her bottom lip, she thought about it for a moment before nodding. It would be nice to find a tree and decorate it. Christmas was one of her favorite holiday's and though she was usually by herself, she would go all out. This year...she had someone to celebrate the holiday with and enjoying all the trimmings she usually tackled alone. "I'd like that."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and let a smile fill his face. Pulling a hand from his pocket, he reached out and lightly gripped hers. "Wonderful. I'll just grab Scarlet's lead. Why don't you grab a jumper; it's colder then yesterday out and they're calling for snow again. We can leave in a few minutes."
She felt the tug on her heart as she watched him smile. The fullness of it lit his eyes and took years off his features. In the three years she'd known him, she'd never seen him truly smile at anyone. Swallowing a bit, she made a vow to not let things happen to fast though she would let them happen. Something told her given the chance, Harry could sweep her off her feet in a matter of seconds and she'd never know what hit her. She really needed to look into finding a flat.
AN2: So ... should I write about their visit to the tree farm or skip ahead?