Home is Where the Heart is

[Silktie]

Harry and Ruth. Takes place after 8.6: I still think they might have gone for that drink after all. Here's my take on it.

She asked before she could convince herself not to, before she could remind herself of the myriad reasons why she shouldn’t. Why they shouldn’t.
“Harry, do you want to get a drink?”
A moment of hesitation, of disbelief almost, before: “Yes I think I do, Ruth,” followed by a decisive closing of the file before him and a determined stride towards her. Their eyes met, and held, and Ruth felt her heart expand, felt herself breathe, felt alive for the first time in months.
But then Tariq made his discovery about the money, and the moment was broken. Harry snapped back to his professional persona, and Ruth only had a moment to mourn the lost opportunity before having to step back into analyst mode herself.
And as the minutes ticked by, she convinced herself that it was for the best, that providence had prevented her, them, from making a mistake. You can never relive the past, she told herself, you can’t get back that which was lost on a cold winter morning next to the Thames.

* * *

An hour later, and they were no nearer making sense of it. Harry rubbed a hand across his face. He looked tired, and frustrated.
“We won’t achieve anything more tonight. Go home, get some sleep. We’ll carry on tomorrow.” His eyes lingered on Ruth, who was still frowning at her screen in concentration.
Tariq, oblivious, accepted the suggestion gratefully. He quickly gathered his things and was through the door in minutes. Ruth was much slower to switch off her computer and begin an attempt to clean up the mess on her desk. Her mind was still running through the many different scenarios this latest development suggested, none of which she liked. She only noticed Harry still hovering near her desk when he spoke.
“Ruth, I still need to make two calls, but they shouldn’t take long. Why don’t you meet me at the car – Charlie’s driving me this week – and decide where you want to go while I finish up?”
Her head snapped up and she stared at him, startled grey eyes reflecting the light.
“Oh! I thought you said we should go home, get some sleep…”
She had assumed that the chance had gone, that the idea of going out for drinks had died along with the latest crisis, and that it wouldn’t be mentioned again. She hadn’t expected him to still want to take up the offer, had assumed that he would be a good little coward, like she was, and let it go. She almost wished he had.
Almost.
But she saw so much in his face in the few seconds that passed in silence after her indirect rejection, before he turned his head away from her, and said resignedly: “Yes of course. I did. You’re right of course. You go home, get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”
Once again he had bowed to her wishes. But not before she’d seen the mutinous flash in his eyes, the way he’d bit back his refusal to accept her rejection. The way the hope had been extinguished in him, so that by the time he’d turned away from her, all that was left was sadness, defeat.
“Goodnight, Ruth.”
It was said so quietly, as he walked away, that she had to strain to hear it.

And suddenly she was sick of it - of the fear, the anger, the guilt, the loneliness, the despair, of denying what she felt for Harry out of respect for George. She was sick of the carefully neutral expression Harry tried to maintain when talking to her, when she could so clearly see, in those moments when she was truly honest with herself, the underlying pain and yearning which being around her evoked in him.
No more.
“Actually, I could still do with that drink.”
She watched him, saw him freeze at the sound of her voice, and take a deep breath before turning around.
“That’s… uh, that’s good.” His expression was that of a little boy, who had received a much coveted gift, but who feared that it was going to be snatched from him as soon as he reached for it. It melted her heart, and caused her to smile at him. It lit up the room, and rekindled the hope in his heart.
“I’ll meet you at the car.”

* * *

She’d chosen a cosy pub near her flat. Perhaps seeking refuge in familiar surroundings, she mused as she watched Harry placing their order at the bar. The ride over had passed mostly in silence; somewhat awkward, but strangely comforting at the same time. Both of them were conscious of the weight of the occasion, and loath to say or do something that would jeopardise these first tentative steps back toward each other. Toward what they both deserved, surely.

Once Harry was settled back at the table, talk turned to safe, familiar topics, and they rehashed the fall of the Home Secretary. To Ruth, it brought a strange symmetry to the evening. It was Harry’s dejection over what had happened to Nicholas Blake that had moved her sufficiently to make the offer of drinks in the first place, after all.
“He tried to have me and my team assassinated once, you know.”
Harry was smiling ever so slightly into his drink at the memory.
“I’m sorry?”
He chuckled slightly at her shocked expression, and proceeded to tell her about the whole sorry mess – Iran, Yalta, and Davey King. His account was slightly abbreviated; his memories of their final conversation all those years ago preventing him from including certain facts.
“Don’t get shot.”
“I won’t.”

Ruth shook her head at the end of the account. What a strange world they inhabited. She was amazed at the equanimity with which Harry seemed to take the whole thing. How did he live with so many betrayals? Jo had told her some of the things that had happened in her absence, especially the events that had led up to Harry and herself ending up in that warehouse. She could not fathom any circumstances in which the powers that be could have believed Harry to be a traitor. How had he forgiven that injustice? His belief in Blake seemed incredible after all that’s happened between them.

Harry watched her, trying to decipher the emotions playing over her face. She’d been silent for a while, and he wondered what she was thinking. She was still so beautiful to him, and such an enigma since she’d come back. He found that he could no longer read her as easily as he once did. She was more mature, but also more guarded. It saddened him. As his eyes roamed her face, committing every little detail to memory – still so afraid that he would never have another opportunity like this – he wondered if she thought of George in moments like this. If, during her moments of silence, she goes back to Cyprus, to her simple and elegant life. Her life where she’d had a family; before this life, his life, had intruded again and ruined everything for her. And he knew that they would have to address the huge elephant in the room with them if they were to make any progress.

The emotional cripple in him hoped that she would be the one to address it. That she would take the initiative, like she had done with the drinks invite. But when she said his name, softly, he realised that he owed her more than that. That he would face possible humiliation for her, as certainly as he had once been willing to go to prison for her.
That he loved her. Was in love with her, irrevocably and irredeemably.
He took a careful sip of his drink.
“Will you tell me how you ended up in Cyprus?”
Her eyes, which had followed his hand when he lowered the glass, snapped back to his. Harry held his breath. He read surprise in her face, and something else which he was struggling to place. She exhaled slowly, as if expelling a long-held tension from her body. And he realised the look she wore was one of relief, and that she’d probably been wondering how to broach this most difficult of subjects all evening. She began to talk, telling him of the circuitous route she had followed after leaving England, the odd jobs she had done, the people she had met. She told him how exhausted she’d been by the time she'd reached Cyprus, how George had been kind to her, how much she had adored Nico.
And Harry listened, not only to what she was saying explicitly, but also to what she was only hinting at – how scared and lonely she had been, how much she had missed England.
And him. For once he could read her perfectly as her eyes kept telling him how much she had missed him.
It brought a lump to his throat. He felt an overwhelming need to apologise; for what, he wasn’t quite sure.
“I’m so sorry, Ruth.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“For what? Malcolm and Jo were right; you made the right choice in that warehouse. It wasn’t your fault, Harry. I know that now, I mean truly know it.”
“Perhaps. But you were happy there, Ruth. And this life, my life, this job, cost you that. And whether it’s my fault or not is immaterial. I shall always regret that it cost you so much, because of all the people I know, and have known, you deserve to be happy most of all.”
She had tears in her eyes, even as she smiled at him.
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
He smiled back, albeit slightly wobbly, as both struggled to get their emotions under control. Harry finally steered them back to safer ground with a switch in conversation, asking Ruth about the cats she had taken back upon her return.

* * *

Harry walked her to her flat. They were both quiet, content in each other’s presence, grateful for the groundwork laid that evening. Both knew instinctively that this was only the first of many steps they needed to take, that there was a long road ahead.
Harry drew to a stop in front of Ruth’s building, and turned to her. They were standing close, Ruth looking up into his face and hers, for once, totally unguarded.
What he read there made his heart race. He reached for her, pulling her into a fierce hug. Her arms went around him, holding him tightly, as she buried her face in his neck. They stood like that for a long time, oblivious to their surroundings. It was Harry who finally broke the silence to murmur into her hair.
“Welcome home, Ruth.”

Fin

[Beatriz]

Brilliant!!! I loved it! Thanks for this wonderful "DVD extras" of Harry and Ruth.

I do like how Ruth felt sick of all their insecurities and decided to go for that drink

And that hug *sighs* so sweet Welcome back home, Ruth!

[Tea Lady]

Yey !! I really liked this. Loved the name "good little coward" They really are, the pair of them.

I wish we had seen this scene in S8. The series was crying out for it. Beatriz is right, it feels like you have just given us a DVD extra Silktie. A much welcome one.

Keep up the R/H stuff. I am really enjoying it.

[Aria]

Lovely story, Silktie I really enjoyed this and wished we could have seen it onscreen. Loved how Ruth was suddenly sick and tired of being unhappy and the image of Harry as a little boy Loved the ending as well, it seemed very in character. Hope you post more H/R stories.

[Nia M]

Absolutely beautiful, Silktie.

The embrace at the end was really heart-warming

[Fidget]

I love it, I just hope we get lots of hugs in series 9

[JHyde]

This is great, Silktie. It reminds me a lot of Laurie M's one shots that she used to write. Except different.

It's very believable and very gentle. Very appropriate.

Really lovely. Thanks for posting.

[Silktie]

Thanks all, for the kind reviews. Guess being bored during the World Cup does have some advantages!

[lwhite53]

Geez, Silktie, this is great -- lovely images, terrific dialogue and you've captured both Harry and Ruth really well. I think there's been a writer hiding inside you for awhile, waiting to come out -- glad you've chosen our star-crossed lovers as your muses!

[Philippa]

That was absolutely beautiful! I really loved it!