As the taxi pulls to a stop in front of their house, Ruth's eyes are drawn to the darkened windows. "He's not here," she thinks to herself, a worried sigh escaping her lips. A slight cough has her turning to her handbag, pulling out some bills and passing them to the driver before carefully maneuvering herself out into the autumn evening. As the taxi pulls into the night, she is left alone in the growing darkness, worry gnawing at the knot in her stomach.
"Where is he?" she wonders, arms wrapping around her middle; around their children; as she slowly makes her way along the front path. Briefly the memory of a September night the year before flits through her mind, but just as quickly she shakes it away. She knows he is not with Juliet; not in any way; and the worry grows.
Five hours have passed since he left the Grid under escort; a brief, intense glance filled with masked worry thrown her way the only communication between them before he stepped through the PODs.
Four and a half hours have passed since a heavily pregnant Juliet had come through the PODs, a legion of peons following her as she made her way into Harry's empty office, calling for Adam on her way.
An hour after that, Ruth herself had been escorted off the Grid, suspended indefinitely until Harry was reinstated, or Ruth decided to kick him out of their home, cutting off all contact with him. And while Juliet had a look of triumph on her face, she had shared no information about Harry or where he was with Ruth.
As she had gathered her meager personal belongings, Adam had come over, helping her with her coat, whispering in her ear that Harry had been taken to New Scotland Yard in connection with Sam's murder. Ruth had been shocked, her eyes widening as two of Juliet's minions arrived to check her bag before letting her leave, listening intently as Adam offered himself or Fiona to attend the appointment with her. A quick glance at the two strange faces had her shaking her head no.
It had been a quiet bus ride to the hospital, her thoughts on her husband and what exactly the police thought he had done. Her phone calls to his mobile went straight to answer phone, and as she got closer to the hospital, a knot of worry had started to form. Throughout her entire appointment, she had watched the exam room door, hoping he would miraculously appear, making it in time to find out his thoughts on the gender of their children was correct.
But no Harry.
She had had the hour it had taken the taxi to weave through rush hour London traffic to think about Harry, to try his mobile again, and when hers had died, to hope that he would be waiting at home.
Except that, he is not. Down the street, she can see the generic sedan used by the services in non-covert surveillance, two men sitting inside watching her. She had expected this, had seen the team following her to her appointment and from it, but knowing that she is going to be alone in their house with strangers watching made her uncomfortable.
Pulling the keys from her bag, she unlocks the door, quickly turning to lock it before resetting the alarm. As she reaches for the light switch, Scarlet bounces to her feet, tiny yips of happiness floating up to her as the dog puts her paws on Ruth's knee in welcome. Bending, she scratches her behind the ears, smiling weakly as the dog rubs against her.
"Should we get some super?" she asks the dog, standing carefully and walking to the kitchen.
A key in the lock has Ruth setting her book to the side and sitting forward. From her vantage point in her reading room, she watches as he steps through the door, the slight slump of shoulders, and the worry lines around his eyes the only tell of his weariness. As he mimics her earlier movements of locking the door and setting the alarm, Ruth pushes herself off the couch, reaching the doorway as he turns to her.
Without a word, she throws her arms around his neck, pressing into him as he pulls her tight, his arms wrapping around her waist to support her back with his hands. They stand like that for a few minutes, just silently holding each, until Harry's stomach growls.
"Sorry," he mumbles against her hair, stepping back as far as he can in her grip.
"When's the last time you ate?" she asks, her hands sliding over his shoulders to rest on his chest.
"This morning."
"Harry!"
"Lunch wasn't exactly an option," he said, gripping her hands in his. Smiling weakly, he leads her to the kitchen, his grip on her hands never loosening. "I'll make myself a sandwich. I'm sorry I couldn't call." Sitting her at the table, he crosses to the fridge, taking the last of the tuna salad out as she watches. His back to her, he asks "Do you want anything?"
"No. I ate when I first came home." She watches him a moment, noting the tension in his back as he quickly puts together a tuna salad sandwich. "Harry, what's going on?"
"Hmm," he asks, turning to look at her.
"Why did the police call you down to New Scotland Yard," she pauses a moment, watching him cross to sit with her, sandwich on a plate. "And why have we been suspended?"
With a sigh, he settles into the chair next to her, his eyes on hers as he says "They think I killed Sam."
AN: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and feedback on the last chapter, and I hope you'll let me know what you think of this.