An AU story, set at 8-1, where Nico doesn't exist. Thank you to theoofoof for reading this through for me.

George

Ruth is standing in the tiny kitchen, making tea in the dingy flat she calls a safe house in the middle of London. Something from her past has come back to haunt her, which meant we had to come to England. I don't know why, and when she's being this distant with me, I'm not sure I want to. She has her back to me, but I recognise the rigid line of her spine. She's not really here. She's just bracing herself for whatever might be coming, whatever discussion we might have, or rather, the discussion I might impose on her. She needs to explain why we're here, but so far nothing has been forthcoming.

I'm in love with her, this enigma of a woman who never lets me under her guard. I know she doesn't love me, but I pretend that I don't know that. Because of how much I care for her and it's just easier that way. If I don't push her, she won't leave me. It's hard to bring up the subject which could push away the person you love.

"Ruth?"

She turns, her blue eyes a mask which I can't see behind. I never can. Before I can even think how to word what I want to say, the door opens. No knock, no polite pause waiting for us to answer, just a man barging in. I look and see a man of about fifty maybe. Shorter than me, slightly overweight but he looks like a strong man. His eyes run through the flat, wild and panicked. He settles his glance on me and I know that I've been assessed and judged within the two seconds he looks at me. Then his glance falls on Ruth. And just like that, I know.

I know he's the man who she always thinks of when she gets that distant look. The man who makes her do a double take whenever the word "London" is mentioned in the news. He's the man we both like to pretend isn't between us when we make love. And the dark intense look in his eyes as his gaze falls on Ruth lets me know exactly how he feels. He's in love with her, and I don't even need to hear him say it. It's in the air all around me. I actually feel like I'm the intruder here.

He's looking at her, his eyes intense but his body frozen. His eyes are running over her figure as if making sure she's really here. And as I look at her, I see that she's doing the same thing to him.

That tension Ruth always has, except with sleep, that tension has gone. She hasn't moved, but her entire body has softened towards him. This stranger who must have been responsible for her leaving London in the first place. Ruth looks almost happy. Still, there is this charged silence which no one is breaking. I feel like I'm the outsider looking in. As this thought occurs to me, I realise that is exactly what I am.

Physically Ruth and this stranger are very different. But the look on their faces is identical. The longing, the painful separation they must have had. She's never told me, but I've watched her face for endless months. I've never seen her look this open, and it's written on every plane of her face.

She didn't even tell me his name. Ruth isn't crass or careless. It wasn't as if she'd ever called out his name during sex, or mentioned him at all. That would have meant she'd let her guard down with me, which she never did. Only now, seeing her complete opposite behaviour am I aware of just how much of her she hid from me.

"Harry," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. Maybe it's a testament to her mask she's worn for the past year, but I don't hear the longing I thought I would from the look on their faces.

"Ruth," he replies. He says her name as if it's the most sensual word he knows. At that moment, I know I'm going home to Cyprus alone.

What do you think?