By the time the working day is nearing its end, she's exhausted despite the fact that it's been such a slow, uneventful day in terms of work. In fact, she decides as she glances at the clock for the eighth time in as many minutes, she'd much rather battle terrorists, with all the angst, tension and high stakes pressure it entails, instead of dealing with the debilitating paranoia she's experienced today. The past hour or so has been a perverse kind of slow torture, her little remaining energy draining away completely and her productivity flagging, and she would give almost anything for a hot bath right now, a large chunk of chocolate, and a glass of wine, followed by an evening spent curled up on the sofa, watching a good film, and an early night. Instead, she's stuck here, not really doing anything constructive and wondering if anyone would miss her were she to walk off the Grid now, or rather in a few minutes when the clock strikes five. She's usually one of the last to leave at night, so she should feel entitled to an early night today and she's sure no one would begrudge her that, or doubt that she's earned it, but unfortunately, her current state of anxious apprehension over her relationship with Harry being discovered makes her extremely reluctant to break her routine in any way that might arouse suspicion. Yet, at the same time, she cannot see how she can survive another two hours of this.
Her office phone rings, making her jump, and she almost knocks the receiver onto the floor in her haste to answer it before anyone notices how little attention she's been paying to anything at all. "Hello?" she says a little breathlessly.
"Ruth," Harry's warm voice greets her and she can't help looking over at him through the glass wall of his office. He's watching her, his eyes soft and concerned.
"Hi," she replies, dropping her gaze for a moment in flustered confusion before glancing around, her paranoia flaring up again. There's a flurry of activity going on around her now, a sure sign that five o'clock's approaching fast, with people frantically finishing up their work, tidying their works stations, taking mugs back to the kitchen, or delivering some last minute report or memo before they head off home.
"Is everything all right?" he asks softly, drawing her attention back to him as she relaxes back in her chair, knowing that the chances of anyone overhearing or noticing anything beyond their immediate vicinity as they attempt to get off the Grid as soon as possible are minimal right now.
"Fine," she smiles, then hesitates before adding, "I'm just a little tired."
"I'm sorry," he replies.
"It's not your fault," she reassures him quickly, distracted by some of the junior officers who pass by her station and wish her a good evening on their way out to some bar or pub, no doubt, before they head home. She smiles and wishes them good night, following their progress towards the pods for a few moments before Harry's next words make her eyes snap back to his.
"Isn't it?" he purrs, his voice dropping several registers, his gaze intense all of a sudden, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth, and she can feel her face heat up as she quickly drops her gaze to her table and starts fiddling nervously with her pen.
"Harry!" she protests softly, desperately trying to get him to stop before someone realises what's going on.
"Sorry," he replies, his voice softening and sounding contrite, "I couldn't resist," and she can't help forgiving him, a small smile spreading across her lips as she glances up at him for a moment before dropping her gaze once more. He's so serious most of the time that it warms her heart when he says or does anything playful, even when it does cause her a little discomfort. "Come round to mine again tonight, Ruth," he murmurs after a brief pause, his voice gentle and hopeful. "I'll cook and we can watch a film or something. It's not every day we get the chance to leave so early, you and I."
She feels a thrill pass through her at that, but before she can lift her gaze to his again or reply, Zaf calls her name from across the room. Reluctantly, she covers the mouthpiece with her fingers so as not to deafen Harry and turns her head towards him, raising her voice as she asks, "What?"
"We're going to the George," he explains. "You coming?"
"Not tonight," she shakes her head.
"Go on, Ruth," he protests, moving towards her. "It'll do you good. I'll even buy you a drink to sweeten the deal."
"Aw, Zaf," she smiles, "that is sweet, but maybe another time. I've got plans tonight."
"Plans?" he queries, raising an eyebrow at her as he sits on the edge of her desk and leans in, not even bothering to hide his curiosity. "What sort of plans?"
"A glass of wine, a relaxing bath, and an early night for me," she elaborates. "I'm shattered."
"Tell him to sod off, Ruth; you're being entirely too nice to him, the nosy Parker," Harry whispers in her ear then and it's all she can do not to laugh. Instead, she twists round in her chair a bit and leans forward, her body language indicating clearly, she hopes, that the person on the other end of the line has come back.
"Ruth, you work too hard," Zaf says, still trying to sway her. "Put the phone down and let's go. You need to get out and enjoy life a little."
But she just waves Zaf away impatiently as she says, "Yes, I'm still here," and pulls a blank sheet of paper towards her.
Zaf sighs theatrically, shrugs his shoulders in a hopeless gesture of defeat, gets up, and walks away, which is just as well because Harry's next few sentences infuse her whole body with a warmth she doesn't think she can hide from anyone as she feels her skin flush from the end of her toes all the way up to the roots of her hair. She quickly spins her chair round, until she's partially hidden by her computer monitor and begins to scribble furiously, ducking her head down and looking for all the world as if she's taking notes on what the person on the other end of the line is telling her, rather than scribbling a mixture of gibberish and doodles as she listens to Harry's words, transfixed by them, by the warm, husky tone of his voice, her mind conjuring wonderful, vivid images as he speaks while, at the same time, wondering what it would be like to hear him talk like this in bed, describe in infinite, exquisite detail what he wants to do to her, what he wants her to do to him.
"Persistent little bugger, isn't he? On second thought, Ruth, tell him there's a bottle of white wine chilling in my fridge," he murmurs in her ear as she presses the receiver harder against it in an effort not to miss a thing; "tell him there's a luxurious bathtub with your favourite, lavender scented bubble-bath just waiting to envelop you; tell him there's a warm fireplace and a soft blanket ready to keep you warm while you watch your favourite film; tell him there's a man, a man who cares for you deeply, Ruth, ready to take care of your every need, your every whim, your every desire. And don't forget to tell him about the bed, Ruth, the сексодром that's waiting for you, that's happy to finally be fulfilling it's true purpose instead of merely serving as a place for me to rest my weary bones at night." There's a pause, and in the sudden stillness over the line, she can hear how laboured her breathing has become. "Ruth?" he whispers. "Come home with me tonight, Ruth. Please."
"Yes," she croaks, her throat feels so dry. "I will, Harry."
"Good," she hears him exhale, but she doesn't dare look up. Instead she waits for him to speak, trying to still her racing heart and calm her breathing. "I'll pick you up in a cab in front of the DoubleTree hotel, about quarter of a hour after you leave here. All right?"
"Okay," she whispers.
"Go now," he replies and puts down the receiver. She stays on the line a little while longer, staring down at the piece of paper in front of her that's utterly covered in gibberish, noting with an abstract kind of fascination how her hand had trembled in places and wondering which particular words had affected her so deeply, before she begins to pull herself together, saying a few appropriate words into the phone, pretending that the call had been work related, before hanging up and beginning to tidy up, locking the doodle filled scrap of paper securely in her top drawer and taking herself off to the loo.
When she comes out again, she's completely calm and unflustered, collecting her things and saying good night to the various people still on the Grid, including Harry as she pops her head into his office and says, "I'm off, Harry."
He looks up from what he's doing and nods, his gaze unfathomable and his voice calm as he murmurs, "Goodnight, Ruth," before turning back to his task, seemingly unconcerned.