A/N: Hello, everyone. A bit of an interlude between episodes today, seeing as I'm setting the next chapter and 2:10 a few months after Christmas. Thank you for continuing to read and review this story. You make my day. Cheers, S.C.
Thursday, 25th December 2003 – Saffron Walden, Essex
"Call yourself a spy," he complains. "You daft woman, how could you have forgotten your gloves in December?" They've stopped walking to look at the castle and, upon noticing her rubbing her hands together to warm them, he'd asked her where her gloves were, to which she'd replied that she'd left them at home.
"I remembered all the important stuff," she protests, narrowing her eyes at him as he removes his own gloves and takes her hands in his.
"Such as?"
"Toothbrush, toothpaste, that sexy little number you enjoyed so much last night."
He smiles. "Touché."
He's pressed her hands together, sandwiching them between his own, toasty warm ones for a moment or two, his eyes full of an amused fondness.
It still amazes her a little that he'd come up with this plan to spend Christmas together, escape London and come here for two nights and a day of sex and food and a few strolls around the town, despite the chilly weather. It had been such a wonderful prospect not to spend Christmas alone with Fidget – since David and her mum had arranged to spend this Christmas at their holiday home in Spain – that she'd said yes without hesitation, and truthfully, she's glad that she did. It's been just as much fun as she'd hoped it would be so far, and she can't imagine any reason why it won't continue being fun for the next 24 hours too.
They'd arrived after lunch yesterday, had gone for a stroll through the town, had stopped to buy some supplies at Waitrose – apparently the only supermarket in the centre – and the local off-licence before the shops closed for Christmas, coming out well stocked with an assortment of chocolates, sparkling wine, whisky and other treats, and retired to their hotel room to unpack, consume some of their goodies, have sex, go downstairs for dinner, return to their room to have some more sex and whisky and chocolate and strawberries, all at the same time, and fall into a deep, satisfied slumber.
This morning, Harry had been just as amorous as the last time they'd actually slept in the same bed for his birthday, and she's beginning to wonder if perhaps she should arrange to spend all future holidays and celebrations with Harry, just for the thrill of being awakened like that in the morning.
"What?" he asks, spotting the upward tilt of the corners of her mouth.
"Nothing. Just thinking."
"About?"
"How much I enjoyed this morning." She smiles up at him, watching as his eyes begin to twinkle at her.
"There's plenty more where that came from, Ruth," he offers.
"That's good. Can I have my hands back now?"
"Almost," he says, using one hand to reach into his pocket to pull out his black, leather gloves and proceeding to slip them onto her hands.
She's not sure if she should be touched or exasperated by this, so she settles for a mixture of both. "Harry!" she protests. "It's sweet of you, but I'm fine. Really. I have pockets."
"Which you clearly don't use," he counters, his eyes still lowered as he works to push the gloves on. "Open up your fingers, would you? I can't get this on unless you cooperate."
She huffs indignantly. "Who says I want to cooperate? I'm fine. You're fussing like an old woman," she complains.
"Old woman?" he repeats, his eyes glinting dangerously as he pauses and looks up.
"Figure of speech," she says quickly, waving in a dismissive gesture and causing his glove to drop to the ground. "Oops. Sorry."
He growls, reaching down to pick it up and slapping it against his thigh to shake any dirt off it. "Would you just let me be a gentleman, Ruth, and wear my sodding gloves?!" he demands, sounding exasperated. "I'm trying to do something nice here. Stop being such a stubborn..." He pauses.
"Minx?" she offers, smirking at him. It's so much fun to tease Harry that she has trouble resisting the temptation, especially on the Grid where she knows that she mustn't.
"Mule," he counters. "Old mule."
She laughs. "We're quite a pair then, aren't we? The old woman and the old mule." The look on his face is priceless.
"When we get back to the hotel," he warns, "you're going to pay for that, Ms Evershed."
"I look forward to it," she replies and turns.
"Oh no, you don't! You're putting on these gloves, or I swear, I'll..."
"What?" she challenges.
"I'll eat all the raspberries and the chocolate and drink all the-"
"Okay. Fine. Give them here." She takes the gloves from his hand and slips them on. They're much too large for her of course, but they're warm and it's a nice gesture and it warms her heart that he's made it. "Thank you," she says, lifting her eyes to his, all teasing gone from her gaze. In truth, it's been a very long time since anyone cared at all if her fingers were frozen, and even longer since someone's given up their gloves – or anything else for that matter – for her.
"My pleasure," he replies, stepping closer, threading his fingers through her hair to push the strands that the wind's toying with out of her face. "I'm actually being very selfish," he murmurs. "I know you'll need to warm those fingers up once we get back inside otherwise, and I have a feeling I'm the one you're going to be warming them up on."
She smiles broadly at that. "I think you might be right. You'd certainly be my first choice."
"And if, heaven forbid, you were to choose the wrong part of my anatomy to do so," he murmurs with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you might very well end up with an old woman."
She snorts with laughter at that, his words so unexpected and funny that she can't help wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his coat, her fondness for him overflowing. "You're wonderful," she mumbles into his chest, her heart flooding with affection and love.
"What?"
For a moment, she doesn't react, frozen in time and the realisation that her feelings for Harry have shifted substantially since the last time she took stock of them, when she'd decided that she can no longer think of him as merely a colleague, but as a friend as well.
Oh well done, Ruth! So much for guarding your heart, you ninny. She's but a hair's breadth away from falling in love with him.
Slowly she pulls out of his arms to look at him, but his face betrays nothing but pleasure. "I didn't catch what you said," he says.
"I said, this isn't much of a castle anyway," she invents quickly, nodding over his shoulder at the heavily eroded walls behind him. He turns to look, giving her a much needed moment to compose herself and steady her heart.
She can't be falling in love with Harry. She just can't. Not when she's tried so hard to remain detached and unaffected by him. Not when she's known from the start that this could never work out, that falling in love with him would mean a broken heart, that Harry could never give her all that she wants from a partner. He's charming to be sure and so sweet and considerate sometimes, but so are most men who want to get into one's knickers, so this should come as no surprise and it shouldn't mean anything. She's tried so hard not to be swayed by it and had been so convinced she could handle the challenge. How could she have been so wrong?
"It's very old," he says, stepping away from her to look at the information plaque by the gate. "It says here it was built in the 12th century. To be honest, I'm impressed it's still standing at all."
He's slipped his hands into his pockets and is pursing his lips pensively as he studies the castle, lost in thought, and as she watches him, she realises that he's become her dearest friend and that she couldn't bear to lose his friendship, his regard for her, his support. She can't end what they have even if it means more heartache later. Their limited, quasi relationship gives her more joy and hope than anything else in her life at the moment, including her job, and she can't bring herself to let it go. It's too late now to step away unscathed. She's just going to have to see it through to the end, whatever and whenever that end might be.
Besides, she can't discount the possibility that maybe, just maybe, if she's very lucky, they can go on like this forever. Maybe things will remain like this between them – fun and passionate and beautiful. Maybe neither of them will get tired of the other. He doesn't want more, and only seeing each other sparingly makes each encounter more passionate and she loves that. Maybe they can continue seeing each other every few weeks or so, taking a few weekends off together. And if one day she wants more... well, maybe she'll get it. Maybe he'll fall in love with her too, or maybe she'll meet someone else who will steal her heart away from Harry without the need for heartbreak. You never know your luck.
"Ready to head back then?" he asks, turning to face her once more.
She blinks at him.
"Yes. I've got a solution. Here." She pulls off the right glove and holds it out to him. "You put on the right glove, I'll stick with the left, and we'll hold hands in the middle."
He smiles. "Brilliant as always, Ruth."
He pulls on the glove and holds out his hand for her to take, and they walk back hand in hand to their hotel room.
Friday, 26th December 2003 – Ruth's Place
"Cup of tea?" she offers once he's pulled up in front of her home.
"That would be lovely," he replies, pleased not to have to part with her just yet.
They get out and he lifts her overnight bag from the boot, but she doesn't let him carry it, daft, independent woman that she is, he thinks fondly as he locks the car and follows her to her door. They're back in London now and tomorrow they'll be back at work, and he knows he must refrain from any overtures towards her – anyone could be watching.
Once inside her home, however, after they've discarded their coats and she's fussed over her cat while he's put the kettle on, he doesn't hesitate to draw closer, loosely wrapping his arms around her as he leans in for a gentle kiss.
The cat in Ruth's arms just starts purring louder.
"Would you look at that," she says. "He doesn't seem to mind having you around any more, Harry."
"Maybe that's because you don't seem to mind me being around either, Ruth," he observes.
She smiles. "That's true. I've grown rather fond of you."
He grins, suddenly feeling euphoric. "Me too. Friends with benefits?" he suggests with a wink.
She laughs. "Yes, though friends actually know certain things about each other, Harry. For instance, their pets' names." She gives him a pointed look.
He chuckles happily and releases her to make the tea. "Scarlet. Her name is Scarlet. She's a Jack Russell. She's four years old now."
"Did you get her as a puppy?"
"No. I got her from an animal shelter. She was fifteen months. Her former owners enjoyed having a puppy around, but I guess, they hadn't realised the commitment involved long-term."
"Poor Scarlet," she says, burying her face in her cat's fur.
He smiles to see her lavish such love on her cat. "At least she wasn't mistreated and they did make the effort to train her a little. She's very bright. She knows all sorts of tricks now."
"And do I get to meet her one day and see all the tricks her master loves to brag about?"
He's stirring in their sugar with his back to her, but he can't help hesitating for a moment. If he lets Ruth into his home, he'll be breaking all the rules that have kept him safe and detached yet, also, very much alone all these years. He'll be opening himself up to the worst kind of pain again, yet he can't help but acknowledge, perhaps the best kind of happiness too. Not only has he come to love Ruth, but to trust her too, and that is something he never thought would happen to him again. He has this feeling that he could tell her anything and she'd still not betray him, which is ridiculous really. There's no way her loyalty goes that deep, there's no way she would protect him, even under duress, or sacrifice herself to keep him safe, is there? She might be fond of him and enjoy spending time with him – and shagging his brains out, but that's beside the point – yet there are limits to friendship, he knows, and to most people's loyalty, limits that he cannot afford to test. Perhaps he can meet her in a park with Scarlet. Perhaps he can take her to his shag pad instead and bring Scarlet along there too. Perhaps she'll forget about Scarlet once the moment passes anyway, and he'll have no more reason to worry about it.
"I'm sure that can be arranged," he murmurs and picks up their tea, carrying it over to the table.
Her cat, he notes, is eating his dinner, no longer paying either of them attention now that he's got what he was looking for. He's never understood the point of having a cat. Seems like a lot of work for very little reward to him, but Ruth clearly loves it, so who is he to judge? He supposes it's less work than a dog, at any rate. You don't need to walk a cat and he has moments when walking Scarlet feels like a chore and he'd love to be able to skip it.
"Thank you," she says, taking her tea and sitting down beside him, only to jump up again. "Biscuits," she explains and goes off to get them. "Chocolate Rich Tea." She puts the packet down in front of him and sits beside him. "I know you love them."
He groans. "I think I've had enough food and chocolate and sugar in the last two days to last me the rest of the year."
"All five days of it?" she teases, making him chuckle.
She opens the packet and offers it out to him, so he takes one. "If you're not careful, Ruth," he grumbles around a mouthful of biscuit, "I'll be fat soon."
"You will be?" she teases.
"Watch it," he growls, but she only laughs.
"What are friends for?" she grins. "Besides, I love that you're a man of good appetites, Harry, and I love your love handles."
She loves them, but does she love him? And what would he do about it if she did? Is he ready to offer her more than what they have at the moment? To bring her into his home and his life wholeheartedly? And what would that mean for their work together? What would it mean for her? What if she were targeted to get to him, like Johnny Marks did with Roger Welk's daughter? Would she accept extra security? Would she accept people knowing about them?
Too many questions without satisfactory answers yet, so he must wait and see.
"Speaking of good appetites," he murmurs, swallowing the last of his biscuit and washing it down with a mouthful of tea. "Kiss me, Ruth."
"Bossy, aren't you?"
He lifts one eyebrow. "Yes," he concedes. "Now kiss me. I have to go soon and I don't know when I'll get the next opportunity. We have to work for New Year's. I need a kiss to keep me going until then."
"In that case, I can do better than a kiss," she says and gets up, lifting up her skirt and pulling down her knickers before she straddles his legs, smiling, her hands threading through his hair as she leans in to kiss him, and he can't help the groan that escapes his lips at the feel of her heat settling over his groin, her nails scraping his scalp, the passion of her kiss, his all consuming need to have her. But she is in control this time, of the rhythm and the pace, and all he can do is relax and enjoy and let her have her way with him.