Back To December

Amy Littière

TITLE: Back To December
RATING: K
CHARACTERS: Ruth and Harry
SPOILERS: Series 9 (mostly 9.1, I think!)
SUMMARY: But this is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you saying sorry for that night and I go back to December all the time...
A/N: Lyrics in italics and centred are from Taylor Swift's 'Back To December', which, save for a line about "tan skin" is essentially just Ruth and Harry... there's also an 'Atonement' (book) quote embedded in there somewhere for you to hunt out... reviews are love, and, as ever, this is unbeta'd...

"Harry." Her voice is hesitant, as was the knock on the door. He senses that this hasn't been easy for her, and a part of him feels a rushing, giddy sensation telling him that it might be good news; it might be what he wants to hear. The rational, overriding part of him, though, knows that it won't be, and instead of reacting in any way that might have revealed his inner feelings, he merely says "Ruth", and indicates for her to come in.

Her face is tight; her expression pained. She stands behind the chair, her hands gripping its back and her knuckles bared. She opens and closes her eyes, evidently strained, and her lips are pursed. He can almost hear her willing herself to speak, and so he leans forward, his brow creased with concern, and asks "what is it, Ruth?"

"Oh..." she whispers, eyes snapping open. "Oh, it's... it's nothing like that, Harry." She laughs, almost, her voice that little bit too light; "it's not an emergency." Except that it is. "There's been no new disaster." Except that there has. "It's... just me being silly." Being sensible. Being right. Being... being... "I... I just..."

"Ruth?" He stands as he says this, and the concern in his voice melts her a little bit more; "what is it, Ruth?" he asks, again.

"Nothing." She sighs, smiling wanly as she walks towards the door. "Nothing at all."

Everything... everything in the world, Harry... everything...

Once she's out of his office, she collapses. She leans against the wall of the corridor, her hands pressed flat against it, and her weight seems to slip from under her, her knees buckling, so that she's sobbing into them as she sits on the floor. She's not quite sure when she became such a wreck. She remembers vividly every thought process which lead up to her declining Harry's wonderful proposal, and she knows, deep within her, that she made the right decision. The thing is, though, that with every passing day, hour, minute, her resolve is cracking. She said no because he was at a funeral; because he was overly emotional; because they'd only shared one kiss before; because she wasn't the kind of woman to make rash decisions; because she loved him too much...

But, she reasons with herself, now, wasn't that reason enough? She loves him too much... too much...

These days I haven't been sleeping
Staying up playing back myself leaving

Images begin passing through her mind – memories, moments, stolen from time and captured, snapshots of the life they've shared, but haven't, and, slowly, her opinion begins to change. They could be more together than they are now. In every way, they could be more together than they are now. They... She... she...

We small talk, work, and the weather
Your guard is up and I know why
'Cause the last time you saw me
Is still burned in the back of your mind
You game me roses and I left them there to die

In a few short weeks, how much their relationship changed; she regrets it more than she can mention... all of the curt replies, and dark looks, and longing glances suppressed. All the moments on the rooftop she's missed out on, even though she knew he was up there... all of the worries, and the short answers, and the happiness drained from both of them.

She knows, inside her, that everyone has noticed that their dynamic has changed. Everyone sees it, but no one knows why because they've told no one what came to pass between them... if only she'd said "maybe" and given herself the chance to think it through... if only...

And then the cold came, the dark days
When fear crept into my mind
You gave me all your love
And all I gave you was goodbye

She's often thought back to the time just after she returned; to the way he treated her, and to how he so obviously loved her still, and to how she treated him. She's always been the antagonist in this story. She's always been running away. He tried so hard to make her see that she was back; that she was home; that he was sorry. She treated him so badly. She'd lost everything, but it wasn't his fault. If only she'd been honest... if only she'd wanted less...

If only she'd read his expressions and his tone of voice better. If only she'd known that he never meant for her to get tangled up in all of this again, and that he was only offering her her old life back out of kindness.

If only she'd seen that he was giving her a blessing: that she was back where she truly wanted to be, with whom she truly wanted to be with. If only she could have accepted it, then, and felt less guilt for the lives she'd broken in Cyprus. If only...

And how you held me in your arms
That September night
The first time you saw me cry

And further back, to the night she lost everything; to the night she left. That first, lonely, tentative kiss in an empty dockyard, and the way it tingled through her whole body like no other kiss she'd ever experienced, and the way that it mixed with her tears and it would always stay with her.

In the dark times, the in between times, she'd often run that kiss through her mind. She'd remember back to the dockyard, and she'd play it over and over, drawing him back to her, making him hers again.

She'd make resolutions, for if she ever got back. She'd promise herself that she would be more open, more forthcoming, less... less, well, less Ruth. She'd let him know that she loved him. She'd let him tell her, too – although they both knew it. She'd find him, love him, marry him, and live, without shame...

And what is she doing now? Walking away from all of that; from all that might have been, and from everything she'd promised herself. She has a second chance, the way that so few do, and she's wasting it...

Then I think about summer, all the beautiful times
I watched you laughing
From the passenger side
And I realized I loved you in the fall

And back further still, to a case they worked on together a very long time ago indeed. He was driving her. He was driving her. He'd insisted. It is a tiny, insignificant moment, compared to everything that they've shared over the years, but it's stayed with her more than most. She's always held on to it; always remembered.

He told her that he'd dismissed his driver. They had half an hour together, he said, to get to know each other. Goodness, it must have been a long time ago!

There's one expression on his face that day that's stayed with her down the years. She'd glanced up at him from under her eyelashes, laughing at a joke, and feeling like a teenager with a first crush again, and he'd smiled, and his hand had brushed her leg as it went for the gear stick.

It was one of those moments that only happen in bad romantic movies. He'd pulled his hand away and flushed, smiling his apologies as he turned his head abruptly back to the road, and she'd watched as he tried to ignore her gaze...

She knows, now, that she's loved him for a long, long time, but if she had to pick a moment, she'd have to say that it was then. It was his smile, his hidden, secret smile, in that one little moment, which really pushed her over the edge, and sent her falling, head-first.

It's taken them so long, she realises, to get to this point – and she's letting it slip away...

But this is me swallowing my pride
Standing in front of you
Saying sorry for that night
And I go back to December all the time

Footsteps on a rooftop; a scene repeated so many times throughout their history. Each time one of them is breaking, the other knows exactly where to find them. This is their place. It's everything they've ever been, together, and it's the one thing that will always tie them together.

He's been coming up here more and more often since the funeral, and since she said what she said, and, more often than not, he's been here alone. He always makes sure that she knows he's going; he walks conspicuously past her desk and makes some passing comment to Tariq or Beth about being back soon, which he knows her quick, analytical brain will translate instantly, but so far, he's been wrong. He's been alone. He clings, vainly, to the hope that she might, one day, follow him up here, but he can't help but think, more and more now, that she won't.

This time, though, she's come. This time, she's going to face up to this mistakes she's made. She smiles, tentatively, as she walks towards him, and as his eye catches hers the barriers break down.

"I'm about to hear what you wouldn't tell me earlier, aren't I?" he asks, knowingly, as she leans up against the railings beside him. She nods, and he places a hand gently over hers.

"I..." she stutters, again, and he wonders how long this is going to take, whispering "it's alright, Ruth," soothingly to her.

Eventually, she gets the guts. Eventually, she speaks. Eventually, it all comes flooding out, and she's baring all, breaking down every wall she's carefully built for her own protection, recounting all the memories, so that what's left in front of him is a raw, quivering cocktail of emotions, wound up round and round and round again by her own unwillingness to face her feelings.

Carefully, he reaches out and wraps an arm around her, pulling her to him so that she's crying into his shoulder and he's stroking her hair.

Slowly, she comes back around, and the tears subside. She leans out of his embrace, and smiles slightly, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, with their tracks dried crispy on her face. "So..." she says, eventually, "I suppose what I wanted to say was... what I wanted to say, Harry, all along, really, was yes... 'Yes', if you'll still have me... 'yes'..."

She smiles, slightly, watching his expression carefully; for a moment, it's unreadable, and so she smiles again, leaning in to kiss him delicately on the lips as she whispers the word "please?"

I'd go back in time and change it but I can't
So if the chain is on your door, I understand