Epilogue

"George, you won," said Guillam, as they walked slowly towards the car.
"Did I?" said Smiley. "Yes. Yes, well I suppose I did."

John le Carre, Smiley's People

22 June 1987
Outskirts of London

Harry drove back from Leeds, fuming. The race riots he had been predicting for weeks now had finally erupted the day before, and he had been caught squarely in the middle of it. There were the beginnings of a spectacular shiner to show for his troubles, not to mention a smashed windscreen on the car. He'd had to hire another one to drive back to London. The majority of his ire was directed towards Special Branch, who had applied the match to the dry tinder of tension by beating a young black man excessively. He had warned them – had informed them that the black youths knew the Police was using the sex shop for surveillance, but the plods had not heeded his warnings. And now there were running battles on the streets of Chapeltown and millions of pounds of damage had been done. And to top it all, the sex shop had been burned to the ground.

MI-5 should have known about the high level of threat much earlier, of course. There had been a myriad signs, but they had been disparate and scattered through a large number of agent reports, and because the section did not yet have an intelligence analyst, they had missed it until it had been too late. So he was also angry at himself for not seeing the links earlier. But then it wasn't really his job to sit and read every report that came in and look for links – that was an analyst's job. And they did not have one. The thought deflated his anger and a feeling of melancholy settled over him. They did not have one because he had messed things up with Ruth.

He had not seen or spoken to her since their return to England. By the time he had woken from the anaesthetic she had left the ship, and he had taken that as a sign. She obviously could not forgive him for what he had done to Connie, and he understood. He knew that normal people did not go around killing people, and he saw it as a good sign that he still recognised that. So he couldn't blame her, and had resolved to let her go. He had not looked for her or tried to find out what she was doing now. He hoped that she was happy, and he continued to mourn the loss of her regard, which had become so important to him in those short, intense few weeks in Moscow. As he pulled up in front of Thames House he determinedly banished all thought of her; there would be time enough to remember the feel of her skin under his hands when he lay awake at night, struggling to sleep. But now he had to focus on the job at hand. As he stepped through the pods he immediately looked for Malcolm, who took one look at Harry's shiner and thunderous expression and muttered, "Oh dear." Harry tossed him the keys of the rental.
"Get someone to return the car and fetch ours once the windscreen has been replaced," he barked and looked around. "Where's Clive?"
Malcolm nodded towards the glass office where their Section Head was installed behind the desk and watched as Harry marched straight over and launched into a tirade against Special Branch. He suppressed a smile – some things never changed.

0o0

Ruth paused in front of her new place of work and looked up at the imposing façade. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach; she was about to start a new chapter in her life, one she had thought long and hard over before making up her mind. But once she had, she had determinedly banished all doubt. She was twenty-four; and that was too young to already be burdened with regrets, with if-onlys. Harry's face flashed before her and she sighed; he had proven much harder to forget than she had thought. Oh well. She could not stand on the pavement forever; eventually she would have to go in and meet her new colleagues. So she squared her shoulders and stepped inside.

0o0

Harry was mid-rant when Clive's gaze slid beyond him, towards the pods, and he interrupted with relief. "Ah! Our new intelligence analyst has arrived," and with some alacrity he abandoned Harry, who swung around with an annoyed scowl, only to meet a pair of very familiar grey eyes. Time stopped. There was a strange noise in his ears, like a rush of wind, and he belatedly realised it was his own breath which had sped up involuntarily at the sight of her. Time and distance had not dampened his feelings for her, and they all came rushing back at this first sighting and threatened to overwhelm him. She had come. He cautioned himself not to make assumptions; her taking up the analyst position did not mean she was coming back to him as well, but he could not squash the hope that flared in his chest. He would take whatever she was willing to give him, whether that meant being mere colleagues or something more intimate. He was just happy to be in her presence once more. Dazedly he followed Clive out of the office to join the cluster of people that had gathered around the new arrival.

Clive introduced her to everyone, and Malcolm had a huge smile on his face as he welcomed her warmly. When it was Harry's turn, their boss hesitated fleetingly and then said, "And Harry you already know, of course."
Ruth nodded and smiled bashfully. She could feel a blush push up her neck as she mumbled, "Hello, Harry."
"Ruth," Harry responded, ineloquently. He cast around desperately for something more, something suave or funny; hell, he would settle for anything borderline intelligent. But nothing came to mind. She had caught him totally unawares, and her demure beauty still took his breath away. God, he'd missed her. The silence was about to become awkward when a phone rang shrilly, dividing the room's attention away from them, and he was grateful for whatever national calamity had caused the interruption. "How have you been?" he finally managed, once everyone else had stepped away, and she smiled, a touch wryly, he thought.
"Good," she responded. "You?"
"Good," he echoed. "Busy. You know how it is." Christ. Could things be any more awkward? He didn't think it possible.
She nodded, her gaze on his black eye, but before she could ask Malcolm yelled for him. He hesitated, unwilling to leave her side so soon, and asked tentatively, "A drink tonight? With the others, to welcome you," he hastened to add, lest she thought he was propositioning her the moment she put her foot through the door.
"Oh, er, all right," she agreed and he grinned happily. Suddenly, all those gloomy clouds that had seemed to be gathering over him had brightened. He would look forward to it all day.

0o0

Cricketers pub, London
Evening

The day had simply flown by – the race riots in Leeds meant there would be no easing into the new job for Ruth. She had been thrown straight into the deep end, and had barely had time to unpack her things at her new desk before Clive McTaggart had plonked a huge stack of files in front of her. "This is everything we have on the riots. Go through it, see what you can cobble together. We need something to appease the leaders of that black community," he had instructed before disappearing with Harry at his heels. On their way to a bollocking from Home Office, according to Malcolm. She had not seen Harry for the rest of the day, but then she had barely lifted her head from those files, eager to do well in her first assignment. There was a charged atmosphere inside the room, and everybody seemed to be purposefully busy, and she adored it. She felt right at home. They were all busy with matters of national importance, trying to make a difference, and that felt good. There was an easy camaraderie between the officers and she had immediately been drawn into this. In some ways, it felt like she had finally found her place in the world, the place where she fitted perfectly into a space that had been vacant until her arrival. The realisation brought her up short and she had taken a moment to look around her, to appreciate it and to be grateful for it. And when, towards the end of the day, she had found something, some nugget of information that everybody else had missed, it felt like the best day of her life.

And now she was ensconced in the pub with her new colleagues, listening as they teased each other and entertained her with their war stories, and knew that she had made the right decision. She would be valued here, amongst these people; her social awkwardness and shy nature would not matter one iota in this milieu. They simply accepted her as she was, perhaps because they had more important things to worry about than popularity contests. Whatever the reason, she was grateful. The only dark cloud on her horizon was Harry. He and Clive had not yet joined them – apparently they were still locked in talks with Special Branch and the Home Secretary, but had sent word that they would come over as soon as they were done. They would have to talk, sooner or later, and she dreaded it. At the very least she felt that she owed him an apology, but further than that she was stumped as to how to approach the pesky issue of their relationship. They seemed to be particularly bad at direct communication, rather relying on the innate connection between them to communicate their feelings. But surely that was fraught with danger – there were bound to be misunderstandings. No, there would have to be some straight talking so that they both knew where they stood, and that would not come easy.

She sighed worriedly, and Harry chose that particular moment to walk through the door, Clive at his side. His eyes found her immediately and even across the smoky interior she saw them soften. This was going to be even harder than she had thought. As soon as they joined the group they were each handed a drink, and Clive made an impromptu speech to welcome her officially to 'the clan', as he fondly referred to the Section. After that the conversation resumed without missing a beat, and she did not get a chance to speak to Harry. Every once in a while she would catch him looking at her, and when she did so he would avert his eyes somewhat guiltily. She did notice, with interest, that he nursed only one glass of whisky all night.

0o0

21:53

Eventually the group began to disperse as people said goodnight and drifted home, and she found herself on the pavement outside the pub with Harry and Malcolm. The techie cast a shrewd eye from one to the other before briskly saying goodnight and disappearing around the corner, and finally they were alone. Harry was the first to step into the breach. "Can I give you a lift home?" he asked cautiously, indicating the car parked at the curb, hoping once again that she would not get the wrong idea. And when she hesitated his heart sank.
"Er… I was going to take the bus," she responded and he stared at her in disbelief.
"At this time of night?! Don't be ridiculous! It'll be full of weirdos and drunks."
She suppressed a smile; still the gentleman, as ever. It brought back memories of the first time she had met him and she said, unable to resist, "I can look after myself."
He immediately picked up on the reference and smiled wryly at her gentle teasing. "Of course you can. But that doesn't mean that you should have to," he played along, and she could no longer suppress her own smile.
He took a step towards her and said gently, "Let me take you home, Ruth. I promise my intentions are nothing more than to see you there safely."
So she nodded and let him open the car door for her.

0o0

The first part of the journey passed mostly in silence, and she stole furtive glances at his face as he concentrated on the road. As she did so she could not keep the memories at bay, and their time together in Moscow played before her eyes. She felt again the warmth of his gaze as he looked at her with adoration, the ignition of desire the moment he touched her, and the sensation of falling off a precipice as he took her over the edge and into oblivion. She remembered the long nights in her apartment as they pasted shredded documents together, simply talking and getting to know each other, and his expert instruction as he taught her how to spot a tail. She remembered his intelligence, his humour, his passion and his honour, and she was momentarily overwhelmed by it all, by his close presence, his smell. He was here before her, still the same man she had been so angry with, and yet not. She saw him more clearly now, more objectively, maybe, after the six months of separation and the intelligence training she had undergone, and she knew, deep down, that Malcolm had been right. Harry was a good man - an honourable man doing the best he could under impossible circumstances.

He pulled up in front of her house and got out to see her to the door before she could object. She was fully intent on simply saying good night and going inside, but then she made the mistake of looking up into his face. As she did so she caught a fleeting look of desire so intense it took her breath away, before he hid it from her by taking her keys from her hand and opening the door for her. "There we are – safe and sound," he said with false joviality as he handed the keys back, and the streetlight highlighted the contrasts in his face and turned the shiner an even darker black. Before she realised what she was doing, she was reaching up and touching the dark skin gently, surprising them both.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly but he couldn't answer; he had stopped breathing at the first brush of her fingers. And once she had started touching him, she simply could not stop. Her fingers trailed down his cheek and came to rest on his shoulder, before she flattened her palm over his shirt, in the spot where he had been shot. "And this?" she breathed, "Does that still hurt?"
His chest rose and fell under her hand as his breathing sped up and his fingers flexed involuntarily as he fought the urge to take her into his arms. "Ruth," he said raggedly, the word a plea, but he was uncertain whether he was asking her to stop or to continue and she laughed, a low and surprised sound.
"I was going to tell you that we should just be colleagues," she admitted as her hand travelled to his open collar and she rested one finger against his hot skin, barely touching. He was staring at her, trying to make sense of the conflicting signals she was giving him, and his eyes were a glittering black in the evening light. He did not dare speak, lest he break the spell they were under, and waited for her to continue. And she did. Thank God, she did. "But now…" she said, her voice trailing off, and he could not take it any more.
"But now?" he asked, his voice low and urgent, and her hand fisted in his shirt.
"Now I think I want more," she said simply and he finally let go of his self-restraint. His hands rose and came to rest on her hips, and nudged her closer to him.
"Mm. Like colleagues with benefits?" he asked, his mouth inches from hers, and her gaze fell to those full lips as though hypnotized.
"Yes. Colleagues with benefits," she agreed breathlessly, and then he was kissing her.

She took him to her bed without hesitation, and when he buried himself inside her their eyes met and held, and what neither of them would yet dare to say out loud was plain to read in that look. That this was more than a mere benefit, much more, and this knowledge would be enough until the day they were ready to admit it.

Fin

Thank you for reading.