Epoque Ch. 2

[JHyde]

Thanks for such a positive response to what I think is a really self indulgent exercise. It's very much an experiment on my part.

I wanted this fic to be drama free, but in order for these guys to get together, I think George has to rear his ugly head again. Not that he's ugly in a literal way, but.....you get my drift.

Please review. There might be happy stuff to come if you do!

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Ruth smoothed her skirt fretfully and then returned her attention to the digital projector, making sure it was plugged in. She flicked through the slides to make sure her presentation was ready one final time and then resisted the urge to finish the cup of coffee she had foolishly brought with her from breakfast. No more, she told herself sternly. This was the most public of these things she had conducted since returning from Cyprus, and she felt like a prize pig on display at the county fair. The secondary objective of such a briefing was a test for the Section; to demonstrate to the DG and other people who mattered that the Service's sterling was being well spent. It would never be admitted, but she and Harry were there not only for briefing purposes, but also for politics. At least they had each other, she comforted herself. And then blushed at the implication.

Her colour was still heightened as Harry followed a waiter into the room. He carried a cup of coffee and a few files, but nothing that belied the importance of what was about to take place. He smiled at her. "It's not a problem, Ruth," he chided her, as the waiter meddled with water jugs and glasses. "This is a stocktake meeting, not a state of the union. They'll be too busy trying to absorb what you're saying to worry about messing with figures and numbers just yet."

Ruth smiled back wanly. "I never got used to these. I'm staying for yours, aren't I?"

Harry nodded, averting his eyes as he said firmly: "Yes. I need your help very much."

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It was not often Harry had the opportunity to just listen to Ruth, without needing to absorb what she was saying. Usually he was forced to concentrate on the content of her speech, either because work dictated he must, or because he was engaged in conversation with her. But now the musical lilt of her voice was sufficient. She hid her nerves more than adequately, but he discerned the tell - the occasional nervous flick of her hands as she explained the benefits of the new face recognition software that was Tariq's first born. Unbeknownst to Harry, Ruth was privately squirming under his gaze - disconcerted by his attentions and trying to focus on the material at hand. But in truth, had he known, it was unlikely he would have changed his behaviour. It was simply too good a prospect to pass over, and Harry settled himself more firmly into the black leather chair as his analyst dimmed the lights. He knew there would be scantily clad girls in various rooms all over the hotel in the the ensuing days. But he would rather have remained in this room, the tame voyeur observing a fully dressed Ruth, than for every lap dance offered in every room. He brazenly watched her with undisguised longing - the first time he had done so since she returned. It was silly and maudlin and unprofessional. But it was enough to watch this woman he loved, whom he had never expected to see again. Yet here she was, and for the next half hour Harry was as close to content as he had been in years. A lapse in time, with no-one depending on him for guidance and direction, no-one in immediate danger. Just Ruth's luminous eyes and her lyrical voice. It was more than enough for now.

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After their meeting had concluded, the party broke up. Ruth gathered her materials and swept from the room, anxious to leave Harry's presence as soon as possible. It was a confused Harry who wandered through the remainder of the day, trying to recall what he could possibly have done for her to avoid him so completely.

Late that night, he strolled the grounds of the hotel. The various delegations would arrive the next morning, and with most of Five and Six's people closeted in their rooms, the gardens were safe to roam. For a few moments, he was able to throw off the shackles of the day. He tried to remember the last time he had visited a hotel, and with a jolt he remembered. Havensworth. There had been safe houses and motels when he was required to be out of town for work purposes, but the last time he had been in an honest-to-goodness hotel had been that fateful conference for Africa. Tragic though it had been, the clearest memory of those few days remained that moment in a darkened hall with Ruth, when for a moment all had seemed possible. He sighed and headed inside, knowing now, at least in part, what might be bothering her.

He approached his door, the silence along the corridor oppressive until a curse was uttered as Ruth stumbled out of her room at the end, just a few feet down. She was flushed and clearly angry, and caught sight of Harry a full few seconds after he spotted her. They both froze, imitating statues, as the memories hit them in a wave. They had been here before.

"Harry." Ruth swallowed. "I was going to see Housekeeping - it's a little stifling in my room."

Harry resisted the urge to point out that such an inquiry could be made by telephone. "Is there something wrong, Ruth?"

Initially, it seemed as though she would not speak, and she made to return to her room. Then something broke within her, and the self imposed taboo evaporated.

"Of course there's something wrong, Harry! There always is. You can't watch me like that anymore and especially not while I'm lecturing the DG on the benefits of various profiling techniques. You're not allowed to look at me like that - see, you're doing it again now...."

Harry walked toward her, his concrete gaze weighing her down, his naked want evident on his face. Her eyes widened as she babbled and he approached, but this time he did not stop. Rather, he caught her arm and escorted her firmly into her room. "Harry....." she feebly protested, but he cut her off.

"Normally I wouldn't invite myself into your room, Ruth, but I think it's best we continue this without the possibility of being overheard."

She shrugged angrily. "There's nothing to say, Harry. It's been said before. Stop watching me. Please leave."

His eyes had already scanned the room. The open bottle of wine, with one glass nearby, marked gently but indelibly with her lipstick. Several open books. A laptop switched on, in use with music playing softly in the background. Stormy Shostakovich. All spoke of a Ruth in turmoil, unable to settle down to any one task.

He took the customary deep breath. "Ruth, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything." He held her gaze, willing her to understand just how much he meant this.

"We've been over this, Harry." She raised her arms in a gesture of frustration. "You said it, remember? I don't want to go over it again. There's nothing else to say. George died. You're sorry. I came back to work." Her normally blue eyes had turned grey, as they so often did when she was distressed. "For that I know you're not sorry."

Harry struggled, but said what he knew needed to be said if they were ever to move forward. He capitulated to the the need to comfort her, rather than to his need to stay safe and silent. "Ruth, I am sorry. For Mani, for my actions that day, for your pain. If it had meant you could have stayed happy in Cyprus, I wish they had shot me dead earlier that day as they pretended to. If it had meant you not seeing me that way and saying what you did, I wish to God they had."

The softly uttered oath to a god he didn't really believe in recalled Ruth to his pain. She knew his words to be true, but her gunpowder eyes threatened to ignite as they flashed in anger and hurt.

"It was Mani, Harry. I understand that. But please leave. Now."

Harry turned at the door. His last stand.

"Ruth." He couldn't look at her while he said it. "I can't say what might have happened had it gone on longer. But.....", he faltered, and then sought her eyes, "when Mani went for you with that knife - I was so frightened. How long a secret might have stayed with me with a knife at your throat I wouldn't like to think."

He couldn't discern her thoughts, but Ruth's face fell. Harry couldn't manage a moment longer; he left the room abruptly, leaving a distressed woman nursing the child that was her pain.

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Honestly, it might get better if you tell how me how you feel. You know I always do......