Three days later – Friday, 28th October
It's been a busy last few days and it seems she hasn't had a moment free to eat and sleep, let alone see Harry, though they've managed somehow to talk almost every night on the phone and send each other texts throughout the day when they've had a free moment. It had been an animal welfare group that had caused the chaos this time and now that it's finally over, she feels like she could sleep for a week, preferably, in Harry's arms.
Her phone chirps, alerting her that she has a message, so she quickly fishes it out of her coat pocket and reads Harry's text – 'Where are you?'
'By the Thames,' she replies quickly, smiling softly to herself.
'On my way' is his speedy reply, making her smile more broadly and sigh in contentment as she turns her face up towards the sun and lets her eyes drift shut. Its rays are very weak now at the end of October, but it's still a welcome sight and she can't help feeling happy. This week seems to have passed by in irregular spurts, some hours flitting past in seconds and others seemingly taking aeons, but tonight, she really hopes that she can finally spend some time with Harry.
Despite how busy the team has been this week with two on-going cases, plus the crisis with the animal welfare group, Adam and Harry had insisted that she keep every appointment with the MI-5 psychologist, Miranda Saunders, and though she'd been somewhat annoyed by this initially and inclined to stubbornly refuse, they hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd feared. She's clearly very intelligent, capable, and experienced in dealing with spooks, and she'd impressed her from their very first meeting by being upfront about the whole thing. "Ruth," she'd said after they'd shook hands and taken their seats, "may I be honest with you?" She'd nodded and Miranda had continued, "I realise that you're here because you have to be, and I also realise that you're likely suffering from PTSD after what happened. I want to make it clear that my main concern here is your well being, but we both know that I need to report back to your superiors regularly on your progress. This makes our relationship far from ideal and I doubt very much that you will feel inclined to share more than you have to with me. I would, therefore, like to suggest, unofficially of course, that you make time to consult a colleague of mine who specialises in the treatment of PTSD. His name is Peter Olsen and he's an army medical officer. He's good and I often refer people to him." She'd smiled and given Ruth his business card, adding, "I know you're probably thinking it'll be hard to talk about what happened to you with a man, Ruth, but please consider meeting him first before you make a decision about seeing him regularly or not. He really is one of the best."
So she'd met him and had been pleasantly surprised by how much she'd liked him, and she already feels like she's made some progress even after just two sessions, if only because she understands so much better what's going on in her head and why her brain is responding in this way. It's funny, he reminds her a little of Harry, though he's older and nowhere near as good-looking, but there's something about his manner that has convinced her that he's honourable and a gentleman, and has made her trust him. It helps of course that Harry had called in a few favours with some old army contacts to double check that he's worthy of her trust. Dear, sweet Harry, always doing his best to protect her.
"Hi," he murmurs softly as he stops and leans against the wall beside her, his arm and shoulder making gentle contact with hers.
"Hello," she smiles as she turns to look at him. "Do you need me back inside, or is this just a pleasant interlude in a busy day?"
"The latter," he replies, his eyes darting over her face, drinking her in. "Definitely the latter. What are you doing tonight?"
"Seeing you, I hope," she says, crossing her arms so she can surreptitiously caress his elbow with her fingertips.
He smiles and copies her motion, brushing the inside of her palm with his fingers and making her shiver. "Would you like to go out to eat?"
"I'd love to," she murmurs, "but I think I might be too tired to really enjoy it. Do you mind coming round to mine again? I could cook or order something?"
"I'll order something and bring it round like last time," he replies, linking their fingers together and turning to study her face. "You look exhausted, Ruth. Perhaps I should let you sleep."
"No," she shakes her head. "Please come round, Harry. I've missed you... and besides, I sleep much better when you kiss me goodnight."
He smiles and nods his agreement before asking, "Are you still having nightmares, Ruth?"
She sighs and looks away, unconsciously gripping his fingers tighter with her own. "Every night," she confesses. "I think they're getting better though. They're not so... detailed or... disturbing."
He squeezes her fingers in silent support, murmuring, "And you're remembering to tell yourself that it's not your fault?"
She smiles and nods, lifting her eyes to his. "I remember you telling me that every time it gets too much," she confesses softly.
"I wish I could hold you," he whispers, his eyes full of tenderness and longing and... could it be love?
"Big issue, Sir?" a man's voice asks, and she can't help smiling at the look of annoyance that crosses Harry's face before he releases her hand and turns to face the unfortunate person who's interrupted them.
"No, thank you," she hears him growl as she too turns towards the unknown man, but as her eyes fall on him, she freezes and she suddenly can't breathe, the rough beard, cold, grey eyes and short, brown hair so familiar, the stuff of her nightmares. She's hardly aware of lifting her hands protectively as she backs away from him, feeling the low wall behind her and sidling along it to her right, desperately trying to get as much distance between them as possible.
"No, please," she begs softly as she moves away, covering her face with her hands, trying to hide away, to protect herself. She feels someone's hand on her forearm and wants to scream, but all she can manage is a quiet, "No." The hand withdraws and after a few moments she hears a soft, gentle voice, a familiar voice, speaking to her.
"Ruth," he murmurs, "Ruth, it's me. It's Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. Listen to my voice. You know my voice, Ruth. It's me. It's Harry. You're safe." She stops moving and hears him add, "Look at me, Ruth. That's it. See? It's only me." And as she raises frightened eyes to look, she sees his kind, gentle eyes and his warm smile and feels her heart flood with relief.
"Harry," she whispers and launches herself forward into his embrace. He catches her and pulls her against his chest, encircling her with his arms and rubbing a comforting hand across her back, cradling her head against his shoulder.
"It's all right, Ruth," he murmurs. "It wasn't him. He's dead. You're safe, Ruth. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise, you're safe." She cuddles into his warmth without thinking, delighting in the feel of him against her, the reassuring strength of his bulk and the feeling of protection that envelops her. If only she could stay like this with him forever. After a few moments, she hears him say, "When I said I wished I could hold you, Ruth, I didn't mean for it to happen quite like this."
She smiles and whispers, "Then you should be careful what you wish for, Harry."
"Harry?" a familiar voice brings her back to herself and reality, and she quickly pulls out of Harry's arms. "What's happened?" The tone of Fiona's voice is full of concern which, once the first moment of panic subsides, makes Ruth realise that she's witnessed more than just their brief embrace. This thought makes her initial panic return with a vengeance as she worries about how long Fiona has been watching them, how much she's seen and gleaned from their behaviour. It doesn't last long, however, when she realises that even Fiona wouldn't dare interrupt Harry embracing her if she thought there was anything going on between them other than one colleague helping out another. No one would if they valued their position in the Security Services.
"Flashback," Harry replies simply, releasing her and turning to face Fiona. "Would you walk with Ruth back to Thames House, Fiona? I need to get to Whitehall."
"Yes, of course," Fiona replies, her eyes moving from Harry to her.
"I'm fine," Ruth volunteers immediately, dropping her gaze in embarrassment. "Really. I don't need minding. It was just... He looked..." She tails off, shuddering at the recollection. "Sorry," she murmurs, and lifts her gaze to find both Harry and Fiona looking at her with concern. "I'm fine," she reiterates more firmly.
"Good," Harry replies, his eyes and face unreadable once more.
"Thank you, Harry," she murmurs, doing her best to hide her true feelings for him by imagining that it had been Tom who'd just held her and protected her and behaving as she would towards him.
"Think nothing of it," he replies, and with a nod, turns away, pulling out his phone as he walks briskly away from them towards Whitehall.
He's so good at masking his true thoughts and feelings, she thinks fleetingly before she turns to Fiona and gives her a small smile and then sighs, "This is awful. I'm not nearly as... fragile as everyone's going to think when this gets out."
"It won't. I won't tell anyone and neither, I'm sure, will Harry. And besides, it's all right to be a little fragile after what's happened, Ruth," Fiona shrugs as they turn together towards Thames House. "It's been less than ten days after all."
"I know, but I still feel... stupid and like such a... wimp," she confesses quietly.
"Well, you're neither of those things, Ruth. You just need time," Fiona replies with a warm smile that surprises her a little - not the smile per se, but the reassurance and comfort she's offering her. Fiona's always been friendly and warm, but she's also remained a little aloof until now, engaging only in conversations about work, or all kinds of fun and teasing on the Grid. Of course since Danny's death, she's been quite different, more withdrawn and serious than before and more prone to worry, especially about Adam and Wes.
They're silent for a few moments while they cross the road and then she adds, "Not many people know this, but after I left Syria, even knowing that Farook was dead, I kept seeing his face in the street and there were moments when I would just freeze completely in terror."
"How did you make it stop?" she asks, desperately hoping for some trick, a quick solution to her problem.
"I didn't," she answers. "It happened on its own. Once the nightmares abated and I started sleeping better, it was easier and less frequent. Adam was a great help. We helped each other. He had the nightmares too... If you need anything, Ruth, just let us know. You're not alone."
"Thank you," she smiles, feeling touched. "That means a lot."
"Have you tried taking something to help you sleep?" she asks gently.
"No," she shakes her head. "I picked up the prescription, but I haven't actually taken it yet."
"Try it tonight," she encourages gently. "It'll do you good to get some proper rest. You look exhausted."
"That's what Harry said," she sighs without thinking, then realising what she's said, she adds quickly, "He stopped to chat when he saw me on his way to Whitehall and he said I looked exhausted and should go home early tonight." She knows she's babbling and that she should stop before she arouses Fiona's suspicions, but it's easier said then done; she's always had the tendency to share too much when she's nervous. However, the last thing she needs right now is for everyone to begin speculating and gossiping about her relationship with their boss. She doesn't think she could cope with it on top of everything else. "Thank goodness, he was there," she whispers, and is relieved to see nothing to alarm her when she looks into Fiona's eyes.
"What happened?" Fiona asks, her curiosity clearly piqued.
"The homeless man," she murmurs, "he looked so much like him. I panicked and froze. It was awful, like I was back there, only I wasn't prepared for it this time and it was almost even worse then when it happened. I didn't fall to pieces then."
"I'm sorry, Ruth," Fiona says gently. "Still, it was lucky it was Harry who was with you. He would have figured out what was going on much faster than anyone else. He would have seen the resemblance between the men."
She nods mutely, but luckily they've reached Thames House by now, so they say nothing more as they walk inside and back onto the Grid.