I've had more time to write this week, so fingers crossed that this good fortune will continue. You'll recognise a few lines of dialogue from Spooks here, but the rest is my own work. Thank you again to all of you for reading and especially to those of you who've taken the time and trouble to review. Cheers, S.C.
Next day – Thursday, 3rd November
It had been a lovely evening and a wonderful night. Their love making had been slow and tender, and though she'd wanted to confess her love, in the end, she hadn't quite been able to muster the courage to do it. She'd suddenly had an ominous feeling that, if she put it into words, everything would fall apart, and though she'd known that it was completely irrational, she hadn't been able to shake the feeling and get past her fear to tell him.
She hadn't slept well despite the sex and his presence in her bed. Her dreams had been troubled, though thankfully devoid of anyone trying to rape her. She'd woken several times in the night, and every time he'd been there, sometimes already awake, stroking her back and murmuring words of comfort, and sometimes waking moments after her and turning towards her, pulling her into his arms and soothing her back to sleep. But when she'd woken with a start at dawn, managing somehow not to disturb him this time, she'd spent what felt like hours watching him sleep, lovingly tracing his features with her eyes in the dim light, thinking how much younger he looks in sleep and marvelling at the fact that he was actually in her bed, something she'd fantasised about for so long. "I love you," she'd whispered to his sleeping form, and it had made her feel lighter somehow to be saying those words and so happy, even if he hadn't been awake to hear them.
In the morning, he'd woken her with a kiss, and she'd been somewhat disappointed to find him out of bed and leaning over her, fully dressed and ready to go. "Good morning," he'd murmured softly, kissing her once more. She'd slid her arms around his neck then and kissed him back, telling him to come back to bed, but he'd refused, saying softly, "If only I could, Ruth, but I have to go... I just didn't want to leave without saying goodbye." She'd sighed and smiled up at him at that, thinking how wonderful he is as she'd watched him straighten up and turn to go, and it had been only after she'd heard the front door close behind him that she'd spied the cup of coffee he'd left for her on the bedside table.
She smiles now as she thinks of it, of how generous he is and of how much joy he brings her. She's walking back along the embankment, having felt the need to escape the Grid for lunch again today. This morning's been even worse than yesterday, and she's beginning to fear that she's not actually being paranoid after all, but that her colleagues really do suspect something. The thought fills her with dread and she's so thoroughly absorbed in her fearful contemplation of this possibility, that she doesn't hear Malcolm calling to her until he materialises suddenly by her side, saying softly, "Hello, Ruth."
"Malcolm!" she starts. "Sorry, I was miles away."
"So I noticed," he smiles. "Good lunch?"
"Yes, thank you," she replies. "And you?"
"Fine," he nods. "I went to try out a lovely, little place a friend recommended – Jim's Café. Have you heard of it?"
"No, I haven't," she replies with a smile, feeling grateful for the distraction Malcolm's conversation always offers. He's a good man and a good friend, and she enjoys talking to him. "Is it good?"
"Very," he says. "A bit further afield than my regular watering holes, but well worth the trip. You should try it sometime. Take Harry; he'd love it."
She stops walking at that, her heart pounding. "Harry?" she almost squeaks. "Why would I take Harry? We don't... We're not..."
Malcolm suddenly looks as uncomfortable as she's feeling, dropping his gaze for a moment before clearing his throat and murmuring, "I'm sorry, Ruth, it's none of my business. Please forget I said anything. What you and Harry do in your own time is none of my concern." Then he glances up at her and adds with a small smile, "Though I am pleased for you both. I think it's wonderful. You're perfect for each other."
"God, Malcolm," she exhales, turning away towards the river in an effort to calm herself, the subtle change in her junior officer's behaviour towards her, the knowing looks from Adam, bright smiles from Fiona and sly smirks from Zaf suddenly making perfect sense. She grips the wall before her to steady herself and closes her eyes for a moment, fighting for control. She feels sick to her stomach and can feel the tears begin to build behind her eyelids, threatening to spill at any moment. It had been so good, what she and Harry had. Just for a few days, it had been so very good and now... "Who else knows?" she whispers as she turns to look at him, sensing him standing beside her.
He doesn't reply, but he looks so uncomfortable that she doesn't need him to confirm that the entire Grid knows by now, and she knows now that it's only a matter of time before all the rest of the higher-ups in the service are also privy to the information. Harry Pearce has a lot of rivals and enemies who will be only too happy to reward anyone who brings them this thrilling titbit of information.
She's not quite sure what happens after that, only vaguely recalling making her way back to the Grid and getting back to work, backstopping Fiona's legend for next week, doing some translations that crop up, updating the surveillance report on Volkov, her mind and heart in turmoil as she suddenly grasps the full implications of her relationship with Harry – for her, for Harry, for the team, for the service and for the country. While half her mind is engaged on her work, the other half is distracted, thinking, exploring all the angles, creating lists of pros and cons, throwing them aside, picking them up again, analysing everything and arriving at the same, heartbreaking conclusion every time.
By the time she reaches the same answer for the millionth time, it seems, she's shattered, exhausted, spent, a small part of her dying inside. She saves the file she's working on, rubs her tired eyes, and looks up for the first time in what seems like days. The Grid is empty save for his office and she has a vague recollection of various people – Amanda, Colin, Fiona – saying goodnight. She stops to watch him, a bitter-sweet moment during which she remembers all the moments they've shared these past few days, all the wonderful things he did and said, her heart fluttering in her chest, beating fast, frantically protesting against the course of action her mind has chosen. In vain does she wish for one more minute, one more hour, one more day, one more week, one more month, one more lifetime of blissful ignorance, of being alone in the world with him, of feeling like the only thing that matters is Harry and how he makes her feel.
She watches as he lifts a hand to tiredly rub his eyes, watches as he leans back in his chair, massaging his neck and lifting his eyes to look at her, watches the smile lift the corners of his sensual lips and light up his eyes when he sees her watching. He motions to her, silently inviting her into the inner sanctum of his office for a drink. She nods, taking a deep breath and steeling her heart for what must come before slowly getting up and walking to his door.
"I've never seen you work so hard," he smiles as she slips into the room, "and that's saying something. You've been lost to the world for hours. Everything all right?"
"Yes," she replies and takes the tumbler he holds out to her, bringing it to her lips and taking a large, fortifying sip of the amber liquid inside it. It's not a lie, she reasons, as it's true on the work front at least. She takes a seat in the chair on the other side of his desk before looking up at him again. He's frowning down at her, clearly having picked up something in her manner that's making him concerned. He's a spook after all, and a bloody good one at that; she knows she can't fool him for long.
He hesitates before slowly sitting down in his chair, leaving the desk between them. He doesn't drink, but sets aside his glass, leans forwards, and reaches across the table for her hand, taking it gently in his own before asking softly, "Ruth, are you sure? You look... troubled."
The impulse to pull her hand away in case someone sees is great, but then she remembers that it doesn't matter any more, and besides, nobody's about and she so wants him to hold her hand, to hold all of her really, to cherish and protect her from it all... but she knows that he cannot. No one can protect her from what's coming, protect them both, if they continue to see each other. She's been a fool to think that their relationship could survive in this environment of lies, secrets, treachery and deceit. She can't look at him though, and she can't speak, the words she's been rehearsing in her head, the words that will end it all getting stuck in her throat.
The silence stretches on for a few moments before he continues, clearly deciding that she needs some time before she's ready to tell him what's the matter. "I've been thinking," he murmurs, his voice warm and hopeful, "that it might be nice to get away from the Grid for a couple of days, take some time off and go somewhere... together."
Her heart leaps at the thought and she can't help lifting her eyes to his, wanting so much to say yes, but suddenly remembering all the reasons why she can't. "I can't, Harry," she replies sadly, her heart falling, breaking into a million pieces, all belonging to him.
She watches his eyes darken as the hope in his gaze fades and he asks, "Why not?"
"They know," she explains, dropping her gaze to her drink and pulling her hand from his, mourning the loss of his touch as she does, fearing that she'll never experience it again. "They all know... about us. They're laughing about it."
She hears him sigh heavily and can't help lifting her eyes to his. He doesn't look surprised, just... resigned. "So what, Ruth?" he says. His gaze is hard, challenging now as he leans forward, reaching for her hand again. "It was only a matter of time before someone figured it out."
She's silent for several moments, unable to articulate the depth of her feelings about this, how debilitating she finds it to be the centre of people's attention and gossip, how unhappy it makes her, how it poisons the memories and all the wonderful feelings that their relationship has brought her, and how worried she is that someone, somewhere will use this against them and tear them apart. Better to end it now on her terms than to lose him like that.
He's silent for long moments watching her before he adds softly, his tone of voice gentle now and ever so slightly pleading, "I sit in meetings, listening to briefings that would chill the bone of any ordinary citizen. I've made decisions, seen things, done things... shameful things, and I have to live with that, with their consequences, every day. I've survived twenty eight attempts on my life, Ruth... so I think you'll forgive me if I don't give a rat's arse if a few people find my personal life amusing. The way I see it, we've earned the right to a little bit of happiness, Ruth... and frankly, it's none of their business."
"But they're not just anybody, Harry," she protests. "They're members of your team. Don't you see? It undermines your authority and that's unacceptable."
"To hell with my authority, Ruth," he replies, squeezing her hand between his own and adding softly, "It's just gossip, Ruth. It'll die down in a week or two. They'll find something else to talk about."
She shakes her head sadly, murmuring, "It won't, Harry. You know it won't. My desk officers are already walking on eggs around me and Adam and Zaf can't stop smirking. Every new officer that enters the Grid will know and will respect you less, and as to the rest of Five, Six, the JIC, Juliet Shaw, they're going to have a field day when they find out. They're going to use this, milk it for what it's worth, use me to get to you, you know they will and I couldn't bear to see..." she pauses and swallows, finishing the sentence inside her head, "the love die in your eyes," for though he's never said it, she's almost certain that it's there in his heart and that she can see it in his gaze when he looks at her. Perhaps she's mistaken, but she's sure he feels something for her, a little affection at the very least, and they've certainly become more intimate than she's ever dared hope in the last few days.
"Ruth," he replies, and this time, he is pleading, "please, Ruth. We can ride this out. I know we can. There's nothing wrong with-"
"How can you say that, Harry?" she interrupts, pulling her hand away from his and getting up, beginning to pace around the room in agitation. "You're my boss! Of course this is wrong. It's totally inappropriate. You think I don't know what they're all thinking, what they're saying behind our backs? How they think you're just... screwing me because I'm young and pretty, how they think I'm looking for special treatment and a leg up to a better position? I can't cope with this, Harry. I can't stand being talking about like that. I'm sorry, I just can't!" And with that she flees the room, the heartbreak she sees in his gaze as she glances up at him before she runs, bringing tears to her eyes that begin to roll down her cheeks so that, by the time she reaches the bus stop, she can hardly see where she's going, so blurred has her vision become.