Irresistible Force

[Silktie]

This my obligatory 'How Harry and Ruth got together' story. I tried to stay out of Schmaltzville and true to the characters, but I'm not sure I succeeded. I had great fun writing it, though! It takes place over the course of season 9, and I make certain assumptions based on what happened in episode 8.8.

IRRESISTIBLE FORCE

Ruth awakens slowly, languidly. There is a pleasant heaviness to her limbs, as though she has indulged in healthy exercise the day before. She is naked, covered only by a sheet – it is the middle of summer and pleasantly warm this early in the morning. She sighs, and stretches luxuriously. Memories of the previous night come back, and she smiles like an idiot, stretching her hand across to the other side of the bed. She is surrounded by the smell of him, lying in his bed, but he is not there.

A moment of panic sets in as she conjures a number of scenarios to explain his absence – foremost the thought that he feels this was a mistake and cannot face her – until she registers the smell of fresh coffee, and his voice, coming from downstairs. She relaxes, and her thoughts wander back over the last few months, and the developments that led to her being here.

* * *

Three months ago

It is many hours after the bomb blast when Harry finally steps onto the Grid again. Even though Ruth has spoken to him on his mobile since the explosion, she is still immeasurably relieved to see him, to have visual proof that he is alive after all. She runs her eye over him discreetly; he is physically unscathed although his suit is no longer in its usual immaculate condition. His tie is loosened, the first button on his somewhat soiled shirt undone, and he is covered in a film of dust. But she is more concerned over what she can read in his face and body language – he is exuding an air of weariness, anger, and grief. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders rigid; his whole posture screaming out the immense effort he is making to hang onto his self-control.

They still do not know the fate of Ros and the Home Secretary, and Ruth knows how hard it must have been for Harry to leave the scene while the search is ongoing. He catches her eye, and for a moment his mask slips, giving her a glimpse of the sea of sadness threatening to overwhelm him. She thinks it is deep enough to drown everyone in Thames House if the dam should break. But before she can react, his mask is back in place, and he calls them all into the conference room.

* * *

Ruth has lost all track of time. The Grid is operating under conditions of controlled chaos since the blast, and she is in Harry’s office, updating him on the latest developments, when his phone rings. He glances at it, stiffens.
“Lucas.”
Lucas has stayed behind at the bomb site to help search for Ros, and Ruth holds her breath. Harry listens for a few seconds, then closes his eyes wearily.
“Thank you.”
He listens again, and obviously interrupts whatever Lucas is saying.
“No, I want you to go home, get some sleep. There is nothing you can do here.” His voice softens, as he continues: “There is nothing more you could have done. Don’t blame yourself. If you feel the need to apportion blame, then blame the bastards who did this.”

He ends the call, and stares blankly at his desk for a few moments before looking at her. He doesn’t need to say anything; she can read the outcome in his face, just like she could when Jo was killed. She feels a wave of grief for her fallen colleague pass over her, before she thinks to ask about the Home Secretary.
“Both of them?” She has to keep her question short to prevent her voice from shaking.
Harry gives the briefest of nods. His haunted expression almost moves Ruth to touch him, to offer comfort in some way, before she remembers how he reacted to her attempt to comfort him on the roof earlier that day. Dear God, she thinks, that feels like weeks ago, now. She respected his unspoken plea to ignore his loss of composure then, and she will respect it now, so she gets up quietly and moves toward the door, intent on giving him some privacy to mourn Ros.

She gets halfway to the door before his voice stops her.
“Ruth?”
She turns and looks at him; his gaze remains focussed on the desk as he searches for the right words.
“… I don’t want to do this alone anymore.”
Ruth doesn’t hesitate. At that moment she finally gives in to the irresistible force that is their attraction to one another, their love for each other. She moves to stand next to him, and reaches out to trail her fingers through his hair above his left ear. Her voice is low, emotional, as she speaks.
“You don’t have to.”
Harry leans forward to rest his forehead against her stomach, and accepts the comfort she is offering him.

* * *

Harry offers her a ride to Ros’ funeral, and she accepts. They don’t speak during the drive, each lost in their own grief, but they find each other’s presence soothing. During the memorial, Harry sits next to her, his thigh pressed against hers. There is nothing sexual in the gesture; she knows he is trying to remind himself that there is still something good left in this world. She knows, because she feels the same. When she starts to cry quietly, he gives her his handkerchief, squeezing her hand gently.

Ros’ father is there, flanked by a prison guard. As they leave the church, he stops in front of Harry.
“Collingwood should have killed you when he had the chance.” His voice is filled with venom and hatred.
Harry says nothing, looks away. Ruth touches his arm, and he looks at her with a sad smile. The hurt in his eyes is almost palpable, and she slips her hand into his and entwines their fingers, not caring who might see. He looks across the road to the small park opposite the church.
“I think I’m going to walk for a while, clear my head. Do you want to join me?”
She nods, and for the next hour they stroll around the park, watching those with normal lives walking their dogs or playing with their kids. Harry never lets go of her hand.

* * *

Life on the Grid is busy after Ros’ death, with Nightingale to wrap up, new recruits to bed in, and growing concern about the Chinese mafia’s role in England. It leaves little time for a budding romance to develop, and both Harry and Ruth are approaching their relationship cautiously, taking things slow. Neither is publicly demonstrative and they rarely touch in view of others, but there is a new tenderness in the way they look at each other, and look out for each other. They take care to spend a few precious moments together each day, even if it is just a quick tea break or shared lunch in Harry’s office or on the roof. During these encounters they never talk about work, as if by unspoken mutual consent. Over time, the topics they talk about become more personal, more intimate.

Ruth now has a standing offer of a lift home, and on those nights when they finish work at more or less the same time, she takes up the offer gladly, grateful to spend a few more precious minutes with the man whom she has come to love so deeply. His security officer’s presence curtails any meaningful interaction, until Harry reaches out to hold her hand on the third night he takes her home. And on the fourth, he gets out and walks her to her door, where he leans down and kisses her cheek before murmuring a soft “Goodnight, Ruth” into her ear. That night she dreams of him.

After that, he always walks her to the door, and their goodnight kiss slowly progress from chaste pecks to longer, deeper, more passionate embraces. During these, Ruth notes absently one evening, the security officer studiously avoids looking at them as he sits behind the wheel. She thinks Harry must have spoken to him, probably frightening the living daylights out of him, because not the slightest murmur reaches the Grid. Ruth knows, though, that it is only a matter of time before everyone on the Grid will figure out they’re seeing each other, and the thought of being talked about as the woman ‘the Boss is shagging’ is abhorrent to her, just like it was three years ago. But this time she is older, wiser, and they have been through so much, that she is unwilling to give up on this second chance they’ve been granted. All she can hope for is that people realise quickly that their relationship is much deeper than just the physical, and leave them be.

* * *

They are in the middle of a tense, difficult operation, and Harry has been in a mood all day, ever since coming back from a fractious JIC meeting. Lucas, who is not yet as skilled as Ros in handling Harry’s moods, puts his foot in it and a testosterone fuelled stand-off ensues. Ruth unwittingly walks into the middle of it when she bursts into his office to share the latest breakthrough her research has brought to light. The interruption causes the final strand of Harry’s patience to snap, and he throws one of his more spectacular temper tantrums, causing even Lucas to back off. Ruth turns around and leaves without a word.

That evening, the choir in which she sings performs Beethoven’s Ode to Joy in a smallish church. Ruth notices Harry slip into a back pew a few minutes after the performance has started. They have only spoken a few words, about work, since he lost his temper, so she is rather surprised that he has come, especially since she never told him exactly where they are performing. His gaze is fixed on her throughout, and even in the dim light she can see the soft expression on his face.

Afterwards, he remains in his seat as the church quickly empties. Ruth sits down next to him. They sit quietly for a few minutes, before Harry ventures to say something.
“That was beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Silence reigns again for a while, until Harry sighs.
“I was having a bad day. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Or on Lucas. I’m sorry.” He reaches for her hand, and kisses her knuckles. It’s an oddly old-fashioned gesture that fills Ruth with warmth.
“Apology accepted.” She glances at him with the slightest of smiles.
“I hope you apologised to Lucas as well.”
“I did. Although in a more… manly way, of course.” He smirks at her, and she can’t help but laugh.
“Look, Ruth,” Harry suddenly continues, “we both know that I will probably do it again, and that we are going to have work-related conflict sometimes. I mean, I know that I’m bound to do things you won’t approve of… Just… when that happens, will you at least give me a chance to explain before you give up on me – on us?”
She looks at him, her expression quite serious, carefully weighing what she’s about to say.
“Harry, all couples fight. Unfortunately, when they work together as well, it creates double the opportunity for disagreements to develop. That means we’ll have to work twice as hard at communicating properly. I cannot do this on my own. You’ll have to try to meet me halfway.”
He nods.
“I’m trying. I’ll keep on trying.”
She watches him for a moment, and can see that he is still a little worried, a little uncertain whether he will be able to overcome his limitations sufficiently to make this work. She touches his arm.
“We’re doing okay so far, don’t you think? I have worked with you for many years, so I know you can be a moody bastard sometimes. I don’t take it personally… and I’m still here.”
He smiles at her, relieved.
“Moody bastard, hey? Quite a pair we make, what with you being a stubborn mule and all…”
Ruth rolls her eyes, stands up.
“The words ‘pot’, ‘kettle’ and ‘black’ springs to mind. Come on, you can buy me a hot chocolate as a peace offering.”
Harry follows her out of the church, his heart feeling much lighter than it has in years.

* * *

Another operation successfully concluded, and Ruth looks around the Grid with a grateful sigh whilst stretching out her back muscles. Beth, the new girl, approaches and Ruth smiles at her. She likes Beth, who reminds her a lot of Zoe with her bubbly personality.
“Fancy a drink, Ruth? It seems today we may actually leave here at a reasonable hour.”
Ruth is about to accept when Harry comes through the doors and catches her eye. Lately, it has become more difficult to hide what she is feeling, and she knows he has the same problem. She has seen, now, on a few occasions, his desire for her flare in his eyes when she is making a passionate argument in a meeting, before it is carefully banked and tamped down. He doesn’t bother to hide it, though, in the moments they are alone, and she knows they are almost ready to consummate their relationship. So she declines Beth’s offer, pretends to work, and waits for Harry’s approach.

She doesn’t have to wait long. As he strides across the Grid, she admires his broad shoulders and slight pout, and notices how he, without seeming to look, registers the position of everyone still there. Once again, she marvels at how formidable he must have been as a field agent, but then he is in front of her, planting his palms on her desk and leaning forward on his arms, locking his gaze with hers, and she forgets about everything but his gentle brown eyes.
“Can I take you to dinner, Ruth?”
He keeps his voice low so that only she will hear, and she thinks she will give him anything he asks for in that velvety tone. Ruth gives him an impish smile, the one he loves so much, that shows off her dimples to best effect and makes him want to pin her to the nearest wall and dip his tongue into them. For a moment he is lost in his daydream, before he realises she is speaking to him.
“Hmm. I’m feeling very patriotic at the moment, though. Can we have a proper English meal?”
She almost laughs at the slightly horrified expression on Harry’s face, she assumes at the thought of being doomed to English cuisine. Her suspicion is confirmed by his caustic response.
“If you think that I am settling for bloody baked beans on toast for our first proper dinner together, you’ll have to think again, Miss Evershed.”
Ruth can’t stifle her laughter this time, and gets up to get her coat.
“Come on, grumpy bear, just trust me.” With that she sweeps out the door, leaving him no option but to follow.

They end up in a small riverside eatery that specialises in traditional fish and chips, served wrapped in newspaper. The place is bustling, and there is not one suit to be seen amongst the patrons. By rights Harry should look out of place, Ruth muses, yet he appears to be totally at ease. He has discarded his suit jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up to just under the elbow, and is tucking into his fish and chips with relish. As he takes a swig from his beer – the only type of alcohol served – he realises that she is observing him.
“What?”
“I’m just trying to figure out how you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Blend in wherever you are. I mean, you’re equally at home in a meeting with the Home Secretary, and here mixing it with the common man.”
Harry shrugs, and there is a twinkle in his eye.
“Well, Ruth, I’m not a total snob. I have great respect for the common among us. Why, I regularly mix with the lower classes at the dog track, and…”
“All right, all right… If I agree to the fact that you’re not a snob, can we change the subject?”
She is beautiful in the soft light, happy and laughing, her eyes sparkling, and Harry can’t tear his gaze from her. He knows for certain, in that moment, that he will never want any other woman with the same fierceness he wants her.
“I will happily dine with pigs if it means spending time with you,” he murmurs seductively.
Ruth laughs, delighted and aroused by his flirting.
“As long as it’s not beans on toast on the menu, you mean?”
Harry laughs too, enchanted by her, by their easy banter.

After dinner they walk along the river arm-in-arm, and Harry insists on buying her an ice cream cone. She suspects the truth is that he really wants one, which is proven to be true when he eats his with the delight of a little boy. He looks adorable, and when he smiles at her with a smudge of ice cream on his lower lip, she is absurdly tempted to lean in and lick it off, and then kiss him senseless. The only thing stopping her is the throngs of people surging around them.

When they get to her house, she invites him in for the first time. Suddenly she is incredibly nervous, but the feeling evaporates when Harry presses her to the wall and kisses her hungrily as soon as the door closes behind them. He tastes like vanilla ice cream, and when his hand gently strokes her breast, all reason disappears and the only thing she is aware of is him, and the sensations he is creating in her. She doesn’t know how long they stand there, kissing passionately and exploring new territory with their hands, before Harry’s phone interrupts, bringing reality crashing back over them. He draws back reluctantly, his eyes, darkened with arousal, never leaving her as he answers. She can tell from his side of the conversation that duty calls, and starts to rebutton his shirt for him. He finishes the call.
“Bad timing…”
She smiles at him.
“Yes, but we both know that this is the life we’ve chosen.” She glances down, meets his gaze again.
“Do you want to take a cold shower before you go?”
He laughs, delighted – and a little shocked – at her cheeky comment, but it gives him the courage to ask what he has been planning for weeks.
“I have tickets for Nabucco - Saturday evening at the Coliseum. I thought we could go, have dinner afterwards…” He hesitates, and she looks at him enquiringly, sensing there is more he wants to say.
“… And maybe come back here, and I can stay over… Or we can go to my house, and you can stay over…” He looks at her a little helplessly, begging her to save him from rambling any further. Her smile could light the whole of London.
“I’d like to go to yours, if that’s okay?”
“That’s great.” He kisses her gently, longingly, and heads for the door.
“Oh, it’s black tie – is that a problem?”
“No, that’s fine.” As the door closes behind him, Ruth hopes she will get time to go shopping before Saturday.

* * *

Present day

She leans against the doorjamb, and the sight before her causes a wide smile to spread across her face. Harry, clad in boxers and white t-shirt, is seated at the kitchen table with the Sunday paper open before him. On the opposite chair, Scarlet is perched bolt upright, her total focus on her master, who is maintaining a running commentary to her on the articles he’s skimming.

Ruth thinks that it is the most adorable sight she has seen in years.

“The debate about the presence of WMDs in Iraq rages on apparently. Well, having personally prevented the Cousins from planting some, I think I can say with some confidence that there wasn’t any… Ah, people are wondering why the Energy Secretary missed the last parliamentary debate on global warming – I bet he’ll make bloody sure there’s a spare set of keys for the handcuffs next time he lets his mistress cuff him to the bedpost…”
A turn of the page.
“Apparently it is newsworthy that Ashley Cole wrote off another sports car – they should force all footballers to take the bus; let them hobnob with the unwashed masses to teach them a little humility… And England is on the verge of defeat at Lords, having dropped three catches yesterday. I mean, how hard is it to catch the bloody ball? They should put you in the team; you’ve never dropped a ball in your life…”
Scarlet pricks her ears and wags her tail at the compliment, and Ruth can’t stifle the snort of laughter rising in her throat.

Two pairs of brown eyes turn to the door simultaneously, as both Scarlet and Harry realise that they have an audience. The expression on Harry’s face as he registers her presence dispels any lingering worry Ruth has that he may regret the previous night. He smiles broadly at her, his face open, those expressive eyes broadcasting his adoration for her for all to see.

Harry’s eyes travel over her form leisurely. She is gorgeous, clad only in his white dress shirt, and his gaze lingers on her exposed legs before he realises that he is openly ogling. His eyes snap back to her face, to find her watching him with what seems like amusement.
“Er, sorry…” he mumbles, embarrassed.
“Harry, I think, after last night, you can feel free to stare as much as you like, as long as it’s not in public.”
As soon as she mentions the previous night, she sees a flash of desire cross his face. His voice drops lower, and it strokes her senses like silk over naked skin.
“That’s good, because I doubt I’ll be able to resist when you look so… alluring.” He brazenly looks her up and down again.
“Please promise me you won’t appear like that in public, or I might break the rule we’ve just established…”
Ruth laughs, and comes into the kitchen to take a seat next to Scarlet.
“I promise.”
“Thank God. I was about to bring you coffee in bed.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder towards the percolator gurgling on the counter behind him.
“Hmm. But then you got sidetracked into reading the paper to Scarlet, I see,” she teases.
She turns to the dog next to her, and ruffles her ears.
“You must be the best-informed dog in all of England, hey Scarlet?”
“Hmph,” Harry scoffs, “more like in the whole world, I’d say. We do this every Sunday.”
He realises the moment he says it, how pathetic it must sound. His gaze drops to the table, and he suddenly looks so vulnerable that it makes Ruth’s heart constrict. She reaches across the table to touch the back of his hand, but before she can withdraw, Harry intertwines their fingers.
“I haven’t looked for company for a long time… But now, there is nothing I want more than your company, as often as possible.”
He looks at her with a slightly anxious expression, hoping that she will understand what he is trying to say.
She does.
Ruth has always known that their relationship would never be defined by bold statements of love, but rather by their actions towards each other. It is just the type of people they are, and she is perfectly fine with that. She knows, therefore, that Harry’s last statement is his way of saying that he loves her, just as he knows that when she says: “I’d like that,” she really means, “I love you, too.”

Ruth rests her chin on her free hand, and goose-pimples spread across her arm when Harry runs his thumb oh so softly across the back of her hand. She is amazed how sensitised she has become to his touch after spending only one night with him. Harry notices her reaction to his caress, and his eyes lock with hers, dark and aroused. She has to clear her throat before she can speak, trying to sound casual.
“So, what can you offer a girl for breakfast?”
His answer comes by way of action, his focus on her absolute as he gets up and rounds the table without letting go of her hand. He pulls her to her feet, wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him. As she looks up into his face he marvels again how well they fit together, before he gets distracted by trying to figure out the exact colour of her eyes.

When he bends his head to hers, her hands come up to frame his face, and he is suddenly reminded of their kiss on the docks when she left three years ago. He remembers wanting to tell her something, but that she wouldn’t let him say it, and that, for three long years, he’s been hoping for a second chance so that he can tell her. He knows she knows it already, but he doesn’t want it to remain unsaid any longer. So he breaks the kiss, and this time it is he who frames her face with his hands.
“I love you, Ruth. More than I can possibly say.”
She has known this to be true from the first moment they had looked at each other in that warehouse, and yet, to finally hear it in so many words almost moves her to tears. Instead, she runs her thumb over his bottom lip, before replacing it with her own lips.

Her answering confession of love is murmured against his mouth, and Harry deepens the kiss until they are both lost in a haze of passion. And without realising, both of them think that as long as they can have moments like these every once in a while, then no matter what else happens, they’ll be all right.

Fin

[Elphie]

This is such a well written piece. It makes the relationship between H/R alomst teenage like when they first find each other.
I hope I get too read more like this!!

Well Done Silktie!!!

[arctic]

Lovely! I think you maintained their characters very well. Nice job.

[lwhite53]

Damn, Silktie, this is extraordinary! Beautifully written, gently nuanced, true to character. I just love this story.

[Tea Lady]

Wow! How do you do it Silktie. This is extremely well written and a jolly good read. Loved having Harry read the paper with Scarlet. His constant companion for so many years, he couldn't break the habit. There is nothing wrong with schmaltzville IMO, so long as you still write in character, and this is what you did here. Well done again. I may be back to read it again tomorrow.

[Mrs Pearce]

I enjoyed that so much, it's well written and you have Ruth and Harry's character spot on

[JHyde]

This was really lovely, Silktie. I like the use of the present tense here - it works well.

The dining with pigs line was especially good, I could hear that one coming from Harry. The simplicity of them saying they don't want to do this alone anymore in Harry's office also works very well - you know that's how I see it happening on the show.

The only thing I might suggest is that I would have liked to read just exactly how Harry stuffed up in his office, taking it out on Ruth and Lucas, with some dialogue. I think that would give us a heart wrenching before the pay off that comes immediately afterwards.

Me likey.

[Nia M]

Absolutely gorgeous, Silktie. Am just going to go back and read it all over again, because I loved it that much

[Beatriz]

That was brilliant, wonderfully written. A lovely way to get them together Loved it. Thank you for this I will read it again for sure.

[Aria]

A beautiful fic, Silktie. Seemed very true to the characters and I loved the Harry and Scarlet bit. My favourite lines amongst the many were:

"He catches her eye, and for a moment his mask slips, giving her a glimpse of the sea of sadness threatening to overwhelm him. She thinks it is deep enough to drown everyone in Thames House if the dam should break".

Hope you visit schmaltzville more if this is the result!!