Later that night
Outwardly she's calm and collected, but inside everything's in turmoil, and it isn't until she steps onto the Grid and finds Harry there, solid and strong, his eyes warm and reassuring that she feels everything begin to right itself inside. Harry – her anchor, her centre, her calm oasis in the storm raging all around her. "All right?" he asks gently, leaning in towards her, his hand lifting from his side as if to touch her.
"Yes," she whispers, dropping her gaze from his, scared that they'll all be able to see how much she wants him to hold her tightly and never let her go. She's never felt such a strong desire to fling herself into someone's arms before and it takes all of her self-control to keep her feet firmly rooted to the floor.
She sees him drop his hand back to his side at her reaction and turn his body slightly to his left, saying, "Zaf?" and she can't help the mixture of relief and disappointment that bubbles up inside her as he turns away and she hears Zaf confirm that he's fine too. Why does everything have to be so complicated, she finds herself wondering. Why can't her life be simple and straight-forward for a change?
"Ruth," Fiona's voice brings her back to her surroundings, "do you feel up to telling me what happened?"
She lifts her eyes to Fiona's and nods slowly, grateful for the gentleness and compassion in her gaze. "Use my office," Harry murmurs, catching Fiona's eye before turning away to follow Adam and Malcolm towards the technical suite where the latter will attempt to trace Joanna Portman's phone.
"Zaf, you're with us," Adam calls as he turns away, and she sees Zaf eagerly follow him out of the room, clearly pleased to have avoided the debriefing she's getting for now.
She watches them go for a moment, keenly feeling the loss of Harry's reassuring presence, before she turns to follow Fiona into his office. Normally, she knows, there would be two senior officers present for a debriefing, but tonight all the other members of the team are busy, so Fiona has to make do with a junior officer instead. Ruth's somewhat relieved to see that she's picked Amanda for the task; she likes Amanda and they get along well.
It doesn't take long for them to go through the events of this evening. Fiona spends some time probing her with questions about the tracker they found on her coat, and seems pleased to hear that she hadn't left it unattended anywhere except in the cloak room of Thames House. "I don't always use it," she confesses crossly, her frustration and upset at being the one who was bugged getting the better of her. "I usually leave my coat at my desk. I wish I'd done that yesterday."
"It's all right, Ruth," Fiona reassures her quickly. "In a way, it's good. It means we probably have CCTV footage of at least one of them that we can run against the sketch Malcolm got from Hicks. We should be able to identify him."
"I hope so," she sighs, feeling a little better about it.
"Well, that's it for now," Fiona smiles, but before she can say more, the door slides open and Harry enters his office, carrying a mug of steaming tea. Fiona gets up, saying, "We're done, Harry. Thanks for letting us use your office."
He nods and walks towards his desk as Fiona moves towards the door, closely followed by Amanda who looks a little jumpy and scared to find herself in the same room as him. Poor Amanda, Ruth thinks as she follows them towards the door, it'll take her ages to get over the bollocking Harry must have given her. She's still not sure what he said to her exactly, but she can imagine how harsh he must have been, given that he'd asked her to keep the information to herself and she hadn't. He can be cutting and quite brutal with his words, and he hadn't known, at the time, that the leak had happened before he'd warned her to keep her mouth shut. Not that that would have made much of a difference, she realises now; Harry would have expected her to have enough sense to not spread rumours about her bosses without needing to be warned about it beforehand.
She's almost at the door when Harry saying her name causes her to pause and turn towards him. "A word please," he says, lifting his eyes to hers. The others don't wait to hear more but continue out of the room, Fiona sliding the door closed behind her.
She takes a few steps back towards him and sits down in the chair he indicates, leaving the desk between them. She's found it quite difficult to know how to act around him when they're alone lately, imagining that the others out there on the Grid are watching their every move and discussing them in low voices, but right now she doesn't seem to have the energy to worry about all that. Let them watch if they want to, she thinks bleakly; there's really nothing to see any more.
He looks tired and dishevelled, and she finds herself longing to reach out to him, kiss his sensual lips, sit on his lap, and run her hands over his rough stubble and through his soft hair. He smiles softly at her and slides the mug of tea across the desk towards her. "Here," he says, "drink this."
She hesitates, dropping her eyes to the pale blue mug that, she's surprised to find, isn't his, but one of the extra ones someone must have left behind on the Grid ages ago. "Thank you, but I'm fine, Harry," she murmurs as she briefly wonders who the mug belonged to and why it was left behind.
"Take it, Ruth," he insists. "Please. I made it for you." Her eyes dart up to his in surprise at that, and she sees him smile, his gaze softening. "You've had a terrible shock. Drink it. It's only sweet tea. I promise I haven't poisoned it." Then seeing her still hesitate, he adds, "Look, I'll taste it first, just to prove it's safe." His eyes twinkle at her as he lifts the mug to his lips and takes a large gulp of tea, and it reminds her of the joke she'd made the other day when he'd mentioned his less than stellar culinary skills, and suddenly, she feels tears spring to her eyes.
She looks away, blinking rapidly, trying desperately to get her emotions under control. God, she's made such a mess of everything, she realises, but before she can dwell on it, she feels him press the hot mug into her hand, murmuring, "Come on, Ruth. It'll do you good." So she nods, wraps both hands around the mug, and brings it to her lips, gratefully sipping the hot liquid and feeling its warmth slide down her throat, loosening the lump that's lodged there and spreading its warmth into her insides. She takes another sip, greedily drinking more until the mug is empty and feeling much better for it. Then she lowers it back down to his desk, lifting her eyes to his as she murmurs her thanks. "It's my pleasure, Ruth," he replies, his eyes still gentle and warm as they scan her face over and over again as if he's seeking to reassure himself that she's really here. And that's when she realises that he must have been really quite worried about her when he heard what happened at the safe-house, and she feels her heart lift with hope.
"Did you really make it for me?" she asks softly, feeling that this small detail's incredibly important all of a sudden.
"I did," he smiles.
"Thanks you," she whispers, feeling tears well up and begin to slide down her cheeks as she drops her gaze and lifts her right hand to swiftly wipe them away. "That's very kind of you, Harry... though I'm sure I don't deserve it."
He's silent for a moment before he reaches across the desk and takes her left hand between his, gently squeezing it as he says, "Of course you do, Ruth... And besides, you know I care about you. That hasn't changed... Nothing will change that."
"But I've hurt you," she objects, utterly confused by this, by his ability to apparently forgive her though she's been so unforgivably hurtful. She's never met a man who could do that before, not one who isn't needy by nature. "By rights, you should hate me."
"I think I've told you before, Ruth," he smiles, "that I could never hate you."
He's still holding her hand and staring into her eyes, his gaze intense and open, waiting for her response, when his phone rings. She starts at the sound, and suddenly remembering where they are, she attempts to remove her hand from his grasp, but he doesn't let her. Without taking his eyes off her, he reaches one hand over to lift the receiver, bringing it to his ear, while his other hand tightens its grip on hers. "Yes," he says, pausing to listen for a moment before he adds, "I'll be right there." Then he puts the phone down and leans in towards her, murmuring, "I've been wrong to ignore what's happened between us, Ruth. We need to talk about it. Don't you agree?" He pauses, watching her intently until she nods her head. He's right; they do need to talk, no matter whether they decide to give themselves another change, or end it once and for all. "Good," he says softly. Then he pauses for a moment more before he reluctantly adds, "Now, however, is not the time for that. We need to deal with this threat first and get you safely back home. Malcolm's found something," and she can see his whole face change as he lets go of her hand and shifts back into work mode.