Two days later – Thursday, 10th November
It's been two days already and they're still no closer to finding who's behind Clive's death and after Gary's life. They've been working flat out on this and the lack of results is frustrating them all. Gary of course isn't helping at all with his tendency to rub people up the wrong way. He can be charming, of course, and quite lovely when he wants to be, she remembers, but he can also be a real arse when he's cooped up and can't get on with what he wants to be getting on with. He's been like that since she'd found him hiding out at her place, a bundle of nervous energy, smoking like a chimney and being generally irritating and unhelpful. Only Malcolm seems to be capable of maintaining his cool around him, and of course, Fiona, with whom he makes much more of an effort.
Harry looks ready to strangle him every time their paths cross, and she can't help wondering if it's, at least in part, because he's jealous, remembering what he'd said about John Fortescue just the other day. This morning, she'd been quite struck by how similar they actually are in appearance and had began to wonder if she has a type. Tall, brown, curly hair, brown eyes, intelligent, tenacious, great in bed and, of course, caring with a strong sense of justice and a desire to make a difference, though sadly Gary seems to have lost those qualities somewhere along the line. He used to write the most insightful articles, she remembers, thinking back to how he used to be when they'd first met, at a bookshop in Oxford. She'd been so timid and unsure of herself then, much more so than now, and she recalls feeling somewhat dazed when he'd asked her for her number and then called her later that day to ask her out. Their relationship had lasted several months, but it had ended badly between them, in the end, after she'd found out he'd cheated on her. She was just a source, he'd protested, and she'd meant nothing, which might have been true, but it hadn't made it hurt any less. She remembers yelling at him that the fact that he'd been pumping her, quite literary, for information didn't excuse his betrayal.
Men are such pricks, she thinks now as she turns to put the kettle on. 'Harry's not,' her inner voice protests, but she's not sure she agrees with that. He might not have cheated on her yet, but he's abandoned her instead. 'But isn't that what you wanted?' her inner voice asks again. Is it, she wonders, not for the first time. Certainly that's what she'd told him, but she's not really sure any more. Perhaps what she'd really wanted was for him to come after her, pull her into his arms, tell her everything will be all right, and declare his undying love for her. Cue music.
She sighs, dumping a tea bag in each of the four mugs on the counter before picking up the kettle to fill them with water. She has no idea what to do about Harry, so she's decided that she needs to wait until this operation is over and she's back home; it's just too difficult to sort it all out in her head in the midst of this upheaval. A little time and distance would probably be good anyway, and perhaps it'll help her gain some perspective. Certainly, it's getting easier to be in the same room as him without wanting to cry and the pain isn't as acute any more, but more like a constant, dull ache deep in her heart. She sighs, and after taking one of the mugs through to Steve who's on duty tonight, she returns to the kitchen to pick up the rest before heading next door.
"Thanks, Ruthie," Gary smiles up at her as she hands him the mug. She used to like it when he called her that, she remembers, but now it does nothing for her. Now she longs to hear someone else's voice calling her name – Ruth, plain and ordinary but, from his lips, a gentle caress, something infinitely precious. She shakes her head to push the thought away; she wasn't going to think about him, she reminds herself sternly.
She hands Zaf his mug and takes a set in front of the telly, wondering why they're watching EastEnders but deciding against saying anything. Truthfully, she doesn't care what she watches. It's only to kill time anyway until she can go to sleep, hoping that tomorrow will bring a resolution and she can move back home again, to her things and her bed, and to Fidget. She's no idea where he is, and that worries her a little, but after finding out from Malcolm that 'Harry's taken care of it', she hasn't dared broach the subject with him. In fact, she's been doing her best to avoid Harry, trying to confirm the rumour she'd tried to spread through Amanda and John that Amanda had been mistaken.
"Look, both of you," she'd told them on Tuesday in exasperation, "I know what you saw, Amanda... between me and Harry, and I realise that it must have looked... intimate, but the truth is that Harry and I aren't together. We're just very good friends. He was just... being kind; he's been very supportive since... operation Blackwater and, I'll admit, I was very rattled by the experience and he's been a tremendous help to me. So please, I wish you would stop walking on eggshells around me. I'm not his informant and I certainly don't share with him anything more than what he really needs to know as Head of Section. He has enough things to worry about without knowing all the details of what's going on around here every second of every day." And it actually seems to have helped somewhat to confront them about it as they've stopped being quite so careful and are much more relaxed around her, though not as relaxed as they used to be. But as to whether anyone will believe that she and Harry aren't an item after all, she doesn't know. In truth, the damage is already done and she's come to realised that nothing she says or does is going to change that. People will believe what they want to believe, regardless of the truth.
It had been her therapist, Peter Olsen, who'd made her see that. She'd had an appointment with him yesterday and she'd been amazed by how much he'd helped put everything into perspective. He'd challenged all her assumptions, asking question after question and almost making her yell at him in frustration, but he'd been right about many things. Why had she assumed, for instance, that new recruits would think less of Harry if he was in a relationship with her? Nobody had thought less of Adam or Fiona when Fiona had joined the team because they were already in a long-term, committed relationship with each other. If she and Harry made it that far, no one would think anything of them working together. Junior officers might not confide in her as much, but the longer she stays in MI-5, the more senior she becomes, and the less likely junior officers are to confide in her anyway. She's getting four new desk officers by the end of the month, and as much as she doesn't really like being in charge, it's something she has to do and get used to, and being with Harry or not has no baring on it at all.
She signs, pushing thoughts of her and Harry aside again and turning to look at her companions. Zaf's head is bent forward at an angle that suggests he's either dozing or very soon will be. She smiles fondly at him. Poor Zaf – he's had a rough time of it with Gary. At least he'll be spending the night at home tonight, she thinks, remembering that Adam will be relieving him shortly. She hates that she has to stay here, at the safe-house, her need for protection interfering with her colleagues' lives. She's always hated inconveniencing others and being dependent on them. Perhaps that's the real reason behind her decision to end it with Harry, she muses before she curtails that train of thought crossly; she wasn't going to think about him. She turns her attention to Gary who's being suspiciously quiet, tucked away in the corner, seemingly watching the telly, but probably working on his story and looking for a way to outwit them all so he can get it published. She'd forgotten how pig-headed he can be at times... another thing he has in common with Harry. Even their bloody names rhyme, she thinks ruefully. But Harry is so much more than Gary ever will be. To her, he is everything.