AN: I am so sorry it's taken so long to update this story. Seven months have seemingly disappeared between updates and that is not acceptable at all. I can only offer my apologies and say it's because of some major changes in my life. Now that I'm getting everything under control, seven months shouldn't pass between updates.
This chapter is for Rosetintedblindness who listens to my whining and complaining as well as all the various ideas I have for stories without telling me to f off. *hugs* Thank you for believing in me when I don't always believe in myself.
"And Thursday you have your weekly late night JIC meeting, so I won't worry about picking anything up for super. At least nothing that isn't ready made; maybe a Steak Pie that you can pop in the oven when you get home."
She's standing at the kitchen worktop, biros in her right hand as she jots down the last of her market list. It's mid-Sunday morning, the day they usually spend doing lazy things together; picking up the weeks groceries from the market, tossing in a load of their non-dry clean only clothes (mostly under things and socks), arguing over the answers to the Sunday crossword in the morning paper (Ruth's usually right), and just continuing the process of meshing their lives together.
But this week is different.
This week Adam and Zaf are already in the backyard, arguing over how to cut out the hedges, one wanting to trim from the top to bottom, the other from bottom to top.
Behind them, Malcolm and Colin pour over the property maps they'd acquired from some database, debating the best fence or wall to install and how to run the necessary cameras and alarm sensors to provide maximum security.
From the bits she's picked up from their conversation, she'll be having a conversation sooner rather than later with Harry about the difference between being an overprotective father and an unreasonable prison guard.
Shaking her head, Ruth smiles as she looks from her list to the window, watching a moment as Jo and Fiona work harmoniously to clean the bricks that were once a patio.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come?" From the sink, Harry finishes rinsing his hands clean, elbow turning the faucet off as he reaches for the dishtowel. "Or I could go while you stay here."
Eyes meeting his, she offers a softer smile, her left hand raising to caress the growing bump that was her stomach. "I'll," she pauses, the simultaneous kick and hand pulling on her arm has her grinning as she corrects herself, "sorry, we'll be okay."
Hanging the towel on its hook, Harry crosses to where she stands, one arm wrapping around her waist to pull her to him, the other raising to mess Wes' hair. "Promise you won't lift anything? The Tesco Metro in Covent Gardens will put all the groceries into the car. Just ask for George at the till."
"Harry..." there's warning in her voice as she entwines their fingers.
"Don't worry Uncle Harry, I'll make sure Aunt Ruth listens."
Laughing, Harry pulls the boy into a quick hug before releasing him to fully wrap his arms around Ruth. Lips pressing into her neck, he holds her tight. "I'm not going to apologize for taking care of you and the peanuts, even if I have to pay off the manager of the market closest to Thames House."
Smile on her face, Ruth listens as Wes recounts his misadventures during the week at school, her mind wandering to if this will be what she has to look forward to in seven years. Tomatoes in her hand, she carefully places them in a baggie before maneuvering the trolley across the aisle to the onions.
"And then Meghan said she would only be his girlfriend if he carried her books to class. Can you imagine Aunt Ruth, wanting a girlfriend? I don't!" Grabbing an onion from the bottom of the pile, the seven year old hands it to his honorary aunt, a grin on his face as the pile teeters but doesn't fall. "Girls aren't fun; hating football and sports, worrying about getting dirt on their pink skirts, running from worms."
"I don't think they're that bad Wes." Taking the onion he's holding up, she adds it to the basket of the trolley.
"They are! I'm just glad you and mum aren't girls." Grabbing the handrail, Wes pushes the trolley to the meats counter. "Mum and dad even play football in their room. Which isn't fair because I always get yelled at, but it's still neat. Dad won too, at least that's what he said when I asked if they were okay after mummy screamed and woke me up."
Choking back a laugh, Ruth reaches for a large pack of beefburgers, making a note to talk with Fiona later. Stepping back, she bumps into someone.
"Oh, I'm sorry." she breathes out, dropping the package into her trolley. Lifting her face, the smile that's been present all day slips and she gasps, arms crossing over her babies. "Peter."
Basket on his arm, filled with various vegetables and fruits, Peter lifts an eyebrow, a lazy smile on his face as he reaches past her for a packet of steak. "Hello Ruth." His eyes drift from her face to her protruding stomach, his smile growing sinister, his hand hovering between them. "I see congratulations are in order; wasted no time with the old man, did you?"
"What are you doing here?" she asks, her eyes briefly moving from him to the young boy standing next to her. "Are you following me?"
"I live in the area. But you wouldn't know that, would you? Always too high and mighty while we were dating to..." he pauses, his eyes drifting to the boy. "Well, you know."
"Just...go away Peter."
Placing the packet of steaks in his basket, he steps back, his fingers curling into his palm as he stops himself from reaching out to touch her bump. "I'd say it was nice bumping into you, but I'd be lying."
With that, he steps away, moving to the shelves of packaged chicken.
Shaking slightly, Ruth looks at the boy next to her and offers a weak smile. "Come on Wes, let's get done and get back to the house."
"Okay." he says, reaching out to take his Aunt's hand.
As they make their way to the already made meals, Ruth listens as he tells her about the awesome new movie he wants to see, her eyes constantly watching for the other man again. What she doesn't see is him lurking behind her, fingers gripping the metal handles of the basket so tight his knuckles are white as he stares at her stomach.
Closing the driver's side door, Ruth watches as Wes all but jumps free of the SUV, running around the side of the house as he calls out to his parents, in his hands, a new football that Ruth had seen in the sports store across from the Tesco.
As she clicks the key fob to open the trunk, she feels arms wrap around her waist from behind. Yelping, she tenses and moves away, heart in her throat as she turns around, eyes glaring as she sees her husband. "Harry!"
Alarmed, Harry moves forward, his hand reaching to settle on her arm as he steps forward.
Before either have a chance to speak, Wes comes running back around the side of the house, football in his hands as he looks around. Stopping next to them, he looks once more around before looking up at his aunt.
"What's wrong Aunt Ruth? Is it that mean looking man again?"
Looking between the two, Harry steps closer to Ruth, his hand sliding down her arm to grip her fingers. Stomach pressing against their children, he lifts his free hand to brush a fly away hair from her eyes as he stares at her. Fingers brushing her cheek, he slides his hand to the back of her neck.
"What man?" he asks the boy, eyes not leaving Ruth's.
"At the market. He walked into Aunt Ruth on purpose when she was getting the beefburgers. What did you call him Aunt Ruth?"
"What man?" he asks again, this time his attention on Ruth. Eyes traveling over her, he doesn't see anything amiss, but he's not willing to take any chances.
"Wes, I bumped into him." Ruth says, ignoring Harry for the moment.
"No you didn't." Head shaking no, Wes looks between the two. "I saw him purposely walk into you when you got the burgers. He had an angry look on his face."
"What man?" Harry asks again, voice dropping a degree as he stares into Ruth's eyes, his arm pulling her infinitely closer.
"I think Aunt Ruth called him Peter."
AN: You really didn't think Peter was really gone for good, did you?