Friday, 31st October 2003 – The Grid
She takes another sip of her wine before she begins pacing once more, staring at the burner phone in her hand, unable to decide whether to ring him or not.
She hasn't rung him yet. It's always been Harry who's made the move to suggest they spend time in bed together. And though it was always going to be difficult for her to be the one to make the first move for the first time, today, after everything that's happened, it seems so much harder than it should be.
He'd had to order the death of a man, earlier today – a war hero, someone who'd tried time and again to use the proper channels of communication to improve the lot of his men, but whose demands had always fallen on deaf ears. True – no one had forced him to go to such extremes to get the DOD's attention, but she's sure that Harry hadn't become a spy to order the execution of men like Major Curtis. None of them have. And on top of all that, Tom seems to have really taken this outcome to heart, and she's sure Harry's equally concerned about that. Seems like a particularly shitty way to celebrate a birthday, even if Harry's doesn't begin, technically, for another three hours or so.
And that's another thing that's been bothering her for several days now. What should she do about his birthday? Ignore it? Get him a card? A gift? What?
Perhaps the answer is nothing. She was part of the group who'd signed the card and given him the whisky today, so maybe that's enough. They're not meant to be more than colleagues to each other, after all, and she's not bought a gift for any of the others' birthdays. Besides, hasn't she spent most of the week tying herself in knots over the end of her secondment?
She'd not been entirely certain that Harry would renew it – fantastic sex or not. She's not seen him outside work in more than two weeks, but even if she had, this is exactly what she'd not wanted – any kind of special treatment for shagging the boss. She'd wanted the secondment to be renewed on her merit as an analyst alone and is very pleased, in a way, that he'd taken so long to approve it, had really thought about her value to the team – especially since the outcome had been favourable, in the end.
She takes another swig of wine, draining the glass and setting it down on the coffee table. Fidget stretches and yawns, digging his claws into the fabric of the sofa and releasing it again before he lifts one hind leg and begins to lick his balls. "Charming," she says, then takes a seat beside him, reaching her hand over to stroke his head. He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he starts purring. "You've got it easy, haven't you, Fidget?" she sighs.
Sod this. It doesn't have to be this complicated. Things could be just as simple with Harry. She might be ringing him partly out of concern for him tonight, but so what? She wants him too. She's missed him, the fantastic sex they have together, over the last fortnight without him in her bed. So what if this is becoming more like friends with benefits, rather than just colleagues? Friends are good. She likes friends and you can never have too many of them.
She dials the number but, though she lets it ring for a long time, he doesn't answer.
Typical. All that anxiety and stress over nothing.
It's hardly surprising though. He's probably still out drinking in celebration. It's not every night a man turns fifty, after all – though technically, he turns fifty tomorrow. She can't fault him for extending the celebration though. Birthdays are the one time a year people feel they have licence to do whatever they want and that's not a bad thing. It's good to let one's hair down sometimes, especially for someone like Harry, who takes life and his duty so very seriously the rest of the year.
Beside her, Fidget stretches and yawns again before he climbs onto her lap and curls up on it, purring loudly.
"You prefer me to a night out on the town, don't you, Fidget?" She smiles down at him and sighs, stroking him and trying to let go of the disappointment. Harry doesn't owe her anything. He's a free agent in more ways than one. A picture of him drinking with others, several beautiful women amongst them, flits across her mind, the stab of jealousy, making her frown in annoyance. But before she has a chance to examine her feelings more closely, the burner phone rings, making her jump and Fidget mewl in protest before springing to the floor and slinking out of the room, haughtily ignoring her apology.
"You rung?" he says, without preamble.
She smiles, far too pleased to hear his voice. "I did."
"Sorry. I was in the shower."
"I thought you might be out."
"No. I just got home from the Grid. There were a few things that needed straightening out before I left."
She smiles. He's so bloody conscientious. So much for letting his hair down. "No rest for the wicked."
He chuckles. "Indeed."
They fall silent for a few moments, just listening to each other breathe until he asks, "Was there something you wanted, Ruth?"
How like Harry. He's not going to make this easy for her, but that's okay. It's his birthday after all. Perhaps hearing that she wants him is the best present she could give him.
"Yes, actually, there was."
"And what was that?"
"You, Harry. I want you."
He'd been so tempted to ask her round to his as he'd stood naked in his bedroom, talking to her on the phone, his bed right there, the thought of her writhing on it as he fucked her making him harden with want, but he'd managed to resist the temptation and he's glad of it. There's already more between them than he'd anticipated or wanted when this had began, and it wouldn't do to add fuel to the fire. He must resist his growing need for her in any way he can, so long as he doesn't have to give her up entirely. He's not at all sure he could do that now, which is more than a little worrying. He tells himself it's the physical pleasure and the convenience of their arrangement that he'll miss, the passion and honesty of their lust for each other, though sometimes he wonders if there's more to it than that.
"Happy Birthday, Harry," she murmurs, the hand that's been caressing his chest, moving South, making him hum in appreciation. It must be after midnight.
"Thank you," he replies, turning to press his lips against her forehead.
"Is there anything in particular you'd like me to do to celebrate?" she asks, turning and lifting herself, supporting her weight on her left forearm and looking down at him, her chestnut hair spilling over one shoulder, her eyes alight, lips smiling softly. He's had her once already – after she'd fed him the leftovers of the simple, yet delicious meal she'd cooked for her dinner – and they've dozed for a while now in each other's arms, replete and sated.
He smiles, lifting his left hand up to cup her cheek, delighting in the way she presses her face into his palm like a cat, all but purring. "One or two things spring to mind," he admits.
She hums, lifting her eyebrows, waiting.
"You could take me in your mouth." His voice is husky, his body stirring at the thought, but her reaction is enough to make him falter and frown. "What?" he asks softly.
"We're not exclusive, Harry," she replies, looking rather worried. "I hate doing that with a condom – the rubber in my mouth makes me want to gag – but I don't feel comfortable without unless I know... You know." She drops her gaze. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know you've done it for me, and it's not that I don't enjoy doing it, but-"
"It's fine," he interrupts, his voice gravelly from the emotions she's stirred in him with those simple words. Has she dated, slept with other men? How many have there been? Were they as good, better than him, than them together? Does she have a similar arrangement with some of them? What if she finds someone she really likes and falls in love? How will he cope without her?
The questions crowd his mind, jealousy and possessiveness flaring in him, vying for dominance as he slips his left hand behind her head and brings her down, kissing her passionately in a desperate attempt to drown them out.
Exclusive. He's not had an exclusive relationship in so long. Not when you count the honey-traps he's set for MI-5. It's been years, decades, so long ago he hardly remembers. In fact, he's not at all sure he's ever been exclusive, ever been that faithful. Loyal, yes, but not faithful.
He rolls them over, trapping her underneath him as he unleashes his passion, desperate to vent all these emotions that have welled up, steam-rolling him, blind-siding him, ravaging his heart and mind and leaving him in turmoil.
He doesn't register her struggle until she manages to turn her head and demand breathlessly, "Harry, stop!" and pinch his side, making him draw in a sharp breath and lift his head to look at her. "I appreciate the passion, but you need to use a condom," she says, her voice low with arousal and it's only then that he realises he's been pushing against her heat, desperate to get inside her.
"Christ," he mutters, rolling off her onto his back with a mumbled apology as he lifts his arm to drape it across his face, his emotions more jumbled than ever as he fights the unexpected urge to weep. He sits up suddenly, swinging his legs out of bed, but before he can get up and leave, he feels her hand gently rest on his shoulder, the warmth of it, the gentleness making him stop in his tracks. He wants to run, to get away, and yet, he also wants to stay in the warmth of her embrace, in the arms of a woman, he believes, he feels, has come to care for him, just a little.
"It's alright, Harry," she murmurs soothingly. She rubs her hand across his shoulders, her touch comforting and soothing. "You don't have to go." Her voice is soft, inviting and it calms him. "Come back to bed. Stay a while longer."
Her fingers slip into his hair, nails raking gently over his scalp, just the way he likes it, sending a shiver down his spine, a warmth welling in his heart at the knowledge that she knows how to please him. He feels her lips against the back of his neck, soft and warm, her other arm wrapping around his chest, hand squeezing his left peck, her breasts pressing against his shoulder blades. "Stay a little longer," she repeats.
He sighs, closing his eyes, savouring the moment, the peace that blankets his heart suddenly as she continues to lavish him with love.
Love? It shocks him – that he should attribute such an emotion to her actions when it's far more likely she's trying to calm and seduce him – but he doesn't panic or rise to leave, the thought of being loved by a woman, one as remarkable as Ruth, not nearly as alarming as it used to be. When had that changed? Why? What is she doing to him?
He has no answer to these questions. In fact, as she works her way around his body and comes to straddle him, hands cupping his cheeks, eyes gazing into his with warmth, lips smiling softly, he can't exactly remember why he's been so adamant he must remain single.
"Would you like to be exclusive?" he asks without thinking, caught up in the moment.
She freezes, the smile slipping from her lips as her eyes gaze at him earnestly, darting from his left eye to his right, unsure, confused, wary. "How d'you mean?"
"Sex," he replies. "Only with each other. I haven't had anyone else in two months. I have no particular need for multiple partners. These encounters we have are good. They're enough for me."
She frowns. "Really?"
"Yes."
"And if they turn out not to be?"
"I'll let you know and we can start taking precautions again."
She drops her gaze, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping her as she shakes her head at him. "You are one of the most confusing, exasperating men I've ever met, Harry."
"Confusing how?"
"You're so honest about certain things, yet about others..." She sighs. "Hasn't it occurred to you, Harry, that if that were to happen, I might not want to continue? It's quite a blow to one's ego to hear one isn't enough for someone, you know."
He stares at her, realising she's right. "I'm sorry. That was clumsy. I just wanted to reassure you that I wouldn't lie about it, Ruth, that I'd be responsible."
"I see." She looks at him in silence for a long time and he wonders what she's thinking. "Alright, Harry. I'll agree, but that doesn't mean I'm going to forgo dates with others. I'm still looking for something more than this, but I'll not sleep with anyone else without telling you."
The twinge he feels at this declaration is eclipsed by the fact that he has Ruth all to himself now, and he can't help the triumphant smile from spreading across his lips, or the way he suddenly, desperately wants her.
"What about testing?" she asks before he can get too carried away.
"Testing?"
"STDs," she clarifies.
"I had my physical last week in honour of my birthday and I always say yes to all the tests. Everything was clear, apart from the fact that I need to cut down on the whisky and get some exercise, apparently. They tell me that every year though, so what do they know? I'm still here and perfect capable of exercising with you." He grins at her wickedly.
She smiles and cups his cheeks again, her gaze fond and inviting. "Well, mine were clear in April and I've only had you since, so..." He sighs, the euphoria this statement produces in him overwhelming.
"I want you," he says, pulling her buttocks towards him so she can feel his growing desire for her.
She hums, "Mmmm. Me too. But first, the birthday boy had a request." And with that, she shoves him backwards and begins to trail kisses down his chest and stomach making him groan with want and painfully delicious expectation.