6

Demonstrations of Love

Set a few weeks after the end of season 9…Two parts. This one rated k. The next one, to be written, will be rated M.

Thanks for the comments, as ever….I don't know when I will get tired of writing RH fics…right now, though, I am enjoying too much to consider stopping, as long as you guys are still happy with the stuff. Oh, and I know I have to finish A Letter, but somehow I have gone stale with it….

HRFan.

1.

He gets up early that day, as usual, his body clock still set on the brutal schedule of his work days. He can't remember when was the last time he was at home at 10am in the morning on a day other than a Sunday. He knows it must have happened, at least once, since his suspension six years ago, but he simply has no recollection. The house feels too big, too empty, too devoid of character somehow, despite Scarlett's joy at having him around all day long.

He knows he should make the most of those days, and sleep, reads, listen to music, but his gnawing fear at the outcome of the inquiry into his whole career eats up at him. He knows where the skeletons are, and the leverage that this gives him, but he is lucid enough to realise that if they really want to get rid of him, they will. The fact that Alec, of all people, has been put in charge, does not quite reassure him. On the contrary. Too unpredictable, with a massive chip on his shoulders and an equally massive grudge against the Service…It's been two weeks since the Home Secretary asked to see him in private, after his initial warning phone call. Every single word of that conversation is etched, burningly, into his memory. What on earth made you do it, Harry….it's treason for God's sake. He had looked at Towers consideringly, weighing each word before replying. I draw the line at sacrificing the life of one of my officers, he'd said calmly. Come, come Harry…I've made inquiries. Not anyofficer, surely. This one, in particular, as we both know…well, I hope the sex's worth it at least…And to that he had said nothing, not trusting himself to speak without hurtling abuse. Towers had cleared his throat then. Anyway, he'd said, looking away. I've had a word with the PM, the DG, and the head of Internal Affairs. Suspension with full pay for the duration of the inquiry. You're not to get in touhc with any one from your team. From the whole service in fact. At best, you will be decommissioned with your pension intact – in the light of the best parts of your record. At worst….

He'd nodded at that, and uttered the right words in response to Towers' more or less empty words of reassurance, and left, the taste of ungratefulness bitter in his mouth.

And now that he has nothing to do during the day except walk his dog, read the papers, and try and get his daughter to make time for him, he takes the full measure of how empty, dry, dessiccated his life had become. But what hurts, most of all, is the fact that Ruth has not been in touch. Not a phone call, not a word, not an email, not a text message….nothing. True, her usual comms are very probably monitored but still, he can't believe she couldn't find a way to encrypt them – she who finds breaking into foreign intelligence servers so easy. As he makes himself some coffee that morning, it occurs to him that he was chasing a dream. And that even though he would have traded his career, his freedom even, for her life irrespective of her feelings for him, part of him always was hoping, if not for her love, at least for her continuing friendship. Work, the Grid…that's all there was between us. Always. Nothing more…he tells himself bitterly.

The doorbell rings. He can make out the postman through the glass panel. 'Your copy of the Times, sir.'

He frowns. 'My copy of…' But some instinct, some sixth sense tells him that he must act naturally, as if he was expecting this, if not for the benefit of the postman at least for the benefit of the tails which IA has diligently assigned to follow him and watch his house 24/7.

He shuts the door behind him, hands shaking. He knows he never ordered the Times. He checks his bank account online, and notices a recently set up direct debit, monthly, to the Times. He opens the classified ads. It takes him a couple of minutes to see it. Supporter of Atlanticism seeks advocate of the Grand Tour for spirited exchanges of views to be held when we may observe the day to begin. Discretion essential.

He drops the newspaper on the kitchen table, mouth dry. It's her. It's got to be. But where, how, when are they supposed to meet…and above all, how is he supposed to lose his tail when all CCTV cameras within 2 miles radius of his house are fed directly into IA's computers….When we may observe the day to begin…He racks his brain. What does she mean by that?

And suddenly, he knows. Oh Ruth my love…you genius…And he's got a few hours to figure out how to get there undetected.

2.

He gets ther shortly before midnight, having changed clothes five times, used underground, bus, and boat to get there. Thank God for Adam….I'd never had managed to do this if I hadn't observed him do this so many times…

He takes position a few metres away from the spot he thinks she meant, hidden in the shadows. He doesn't have to wait long. She is ascending the slope to the Observatory, from the other side. It's full moon and the night is clear. He knows it's her. Softly, slowly, he starts whistle Beethoven's Ode to Joy. She changes course and walks straight up to him.

'Harry', she whispers.

'Hello, Ruth.'

'You made it' she adds unnecessarily, not really trying to hide how nervous she is.

'When we may observe the day to begin…', he quotes. 'Midnight following reception of the Time, Greenwich Observatory, on the meridian line. I worked it out eventually.'

'I thought you would', she chuckles weakly. They fall silent, watching each other's faces hungrily, looking for signs of fatigue and tension, their concern for each other obvious in their eyes.

'I'm sorry I haven't been in touch before', she says finally. 'It's been…hellish.'

'It's alright, Ruth. You don't need to explain.'

'Why didn't you tell me that Albany was a fake?'

He shrugs. 'I didn't have time…anyway, why does it matter?'

'Would you have done it, Harry? If it had been real?'

He sighs. 'I don't know, Ruth…and it's unfair of you to ask me', he points out mildly.

She rubs her eyes tiredly. 'You're right. I'm sorry. It's been a long day. Do you mind if we sit down on that bench? I take it you managed to lose your tail…'

He leads her to the bench. 'Yes. Not without difficulty…meeting here was a brilliant idea though. That way I could take the Westminster boat and escape from the CCTV for a while…You?'

'Same.'

He doesn't quite understand what's going on. She is reserved, obviously finds it difficult to meet his eyes, and is back to her fidgeting ways. 'Ruth….why did you want to meet me tonight?' he asks bluntly.

She turns to him at last and he can see that her eyes are glistening. 'I wanted to thank you', she says. 'But also to tell you that…'

'You don't need to thank me. I didn't have to think about what to do. You're alive. And that's enough for me. No matters what happens now.'

'I wouldn't worry too much there', she says neutrally.

'How can I not worry? They are planning to go through everything. Everything Ruth. My training at Sandhurst, my Northern Ireland Tours, my time in Berlin….my stint in Paris…one way or another I have been involved in some of the dirtiest secrets our successive governments have concocted. So how can I not be worried…'

She looks at him squarely this time. 'Depends on what they find', she says patiently.

'But I'm telling you, they…' He stops, with a very uneasy feeling. 'Ruth…What have you done?'

'I think it's best if you don't know', she says calmly.

He grits his teeth torn between exasperation, fear for her, admiration and love. 'Ruth, I….please. Whatever you've done….if they find out, you'll be decommissioned, liable to criminal charges, possibly a prison sentence….at least tell me what you did. Please.'

She looks at him for a long time. 'OK. Let's say that…I had a trawl through Registry. Whatever might have been there which they could have used against you is not there anymore.'

His jaw drops. 'But that stuff is so classified that…how on earth did you even manage to even get it off the shelves? I mean, we're talking some of the dirtiest, nastiest…There's no way you would have got clearance for it. Especially given that Towers knows about….well, about us. So…'

She places her hand on his arm, as much to calm him down as to steady herself. And although the night is mild, it is getting cold and she needs his warmth and the feel of him underneath her fingers. 'You have more friends at MI5 than you realised, Harry. So do I, as a matter of fact. As for accessing the stuff…' She remembers going down the tunnels with a flask of coffee, having deactivated the central heating system via the server..persuading the archivist that she needed to look at files on totally connected operations…she remembers pouring the cold, shivering archivist a welcome mug of coffee laced with a strong dissolved sleeping pill. She remembers moving down the shelves quickly, knowing that she had three hours at the most to go through dozens of pages of classified documents spanning the whole of Harry's career, and decide which ones to hide underneath her woollen top…she remembers pretending to wake the archivist up after finishing up…'You don't need to know. All you need to know, really, is that the worst stuff has…gone. I burned it at home and buried the ashes with my garden compost.'

His throat tightens. 'Thank you', he whispers. 'Thank you so much. I don't know what to say or do or…'

She smiles sadly. 'You don't need to say or do anything. I couldn't bear the thought that they'd hound you out. After all you've done…Besides, I did it mostly because I …'

But he doesn't let her finish. 'But you'd already sacrificed so much for me. Five years ago….'

She lets her hand drop off his arm. 'Is that what you were doing? Paying off a debt?', she asks, with a slight tremor in her voice.

He looks at her sharply, her face barely visible now that the moon has disappeared behind some clouds. 'You know very well what I was doing, Ruth', he says in a low, strained voice. 'It had very little, if anything at all, with repaying my debt to you, and everything to do with…' He stops, unwilling to once again make himself vulnerable to her.

'With love', she says softly. 'Yes. I know. Well. Welcome to the club.'

He goes very still. Then on an impulse he brushes her cheek with his fingers. 'What kind of world do we live in….I love you. You love me. And the only way we can express our love for each other is by sacrificing everything for each other. Christ.' He shakes his head, frustrated, bitterly amused almost by their ridiculous situation.

'It doesn't have to be only that way', she says softly – so softly that he almost didn't catch it. He swallows. 'Ruth…I…for all that you've done, I have no idea what will happen to me. I might still be going to prison. And even if I don't, I might have to leave the service. And if that happens….I don't know what will become of me, what I will do, how I will…'

She reaches up to him, and silences him with a kiss – light, feathertouched at first, then deeper as he responds to her fully, warmly. At last they pull apart, breathless. She frames his face in her hands. 'I love you, Harry. At the end of the day….it's so simple. I'm yours. I always have been. If you'll still have me.'

'If I'll still…my God. You have no idea how much I long for you, do you…' He draws her to him again and resumes his long, patient exploration of her mouth, her skin, her scent, drunk of the moan which escapes from her. 'If I have to leave the Service…it might have to be the little house in Sussex', he whispers. 'Can you cope with that?'

'If you have to leave, there won't be a public inquiry anyway because they're too scared of what you know. And as I said…you have more friends than you think. So I'm sure that you'll get offers from corporations, international organisations, Interpol…I'm not worried. And I'll get a job easily too.' He marvels at how calm, confident she sounds – so different from the young woman who barged into the meeting room all those years ago. 'And even if it were the house in Sussex…' She runs her hands on his lapels. 'You almost got killed, Harry', she says brokenly. 'And in that moment….I'd have settled for a bedsit above a dry cleaning shop in Barking so long as we'd be together. I still would. So the little house in Sussex would do us fine.'

He lets out at last the sob which has been stubbornly lodged in his throat. 'I love you', he says, 'I love you…So much.' He takes a deep breath. 'We should know within two weeks or so the outcome of the inquiry. I think it's best if we are not in touch at all til then. But the day they let me know…you'll be the first to know. And that evening…that night…'

She smiles at him, a bit shyly but her eyes blindingly bright with the promise of things to come.'That's a promise', she says.

They rise from the bench and slowly climb down the hill towards Greenwich town centre. 'What will you tell them when they have a go at you for evading them?', she asks curiously.

He shrugs. 'I'm not on house arrest and technically they are not supposed to follow me. So….I'll make something up. It's better if we make our way to town separately though.'

A few mns before they get to the taxi rank outside the mainline station, he stops walking and takes her in his arms. 'Wait for me, my love', he whispers. 'Two weeks. And after that..'

He seals his intent with one last kiss, and soon she's gone, swallowed by the night.

3. Three weeks later

'Ruth? It's me. The line is secure. I'm in the clear. Yes. Well. Let's say that they found it convenient to buy the story I told them – 'in the interest of security giving Albany to the Chinese saved the life of the service's top analyst – don't be silly, of course you are – but more importantly taught said Chinese a valuable lesson, ie don't mess with us.' It's all bollocks, I know it, they know it, but with no evidence to destroy my reputation and my thorough knowledge of our national skeletons' resting places…Are you crying? Oh, sweetheart….no, not for another week….can you take time off? I know it's short notice but…you're kidding me. You'd already planned it? What, because you know we'd find out today? Fair enough. No, I'm not making fun of you, I'm just…chuckling. That's all. Well, you're going to have to get used to that sound, aren't you…Now listen. I'm going to send you a text with an address. It's a….well. It's a hotel. With a restaurant. Would that be alright? I think you'd like it. 8pm tonight OK? Good. Very good I'll…..I'll be looking forward to it. Very much so. And Ruth? I love you. Bye.'

4.