Chapter Text
Ruth hadn’t expected to wake up in a cheerfully decorated bedroom. She hadn’t expected to wake up at all, considering the pain and the taste of blood in her mouth, but if she had she would have thought a white sterile space would be more likely. Instead, she was under a worn quilt that looked like it had been made by someone’s great-grandparent, in a room painted pale sage green with a rocking chair in one corner and a cat on the end of the bed.
“Hello there, puss. What’s your name?” She held out a hand for the orange-striped cat who only blinked before settling back down onto the blanket.
“That’s D’Artagnan. He was the runt of a litter of four, of course.” The woman who came into the room was a stranger, an older woman with perfectly white hair dressed in plaid cotton and jeans. She looked like someone’s nan, ready to head off to the market. Ruth was confused but not scared of her. She tried to sit up but the motion sent a jolt of pain through her that made her nauseous. “You don’t want to do that, dear. You’re still healing.”
“How long?” She’d been stabbed, she remembered that much, but not who did it and why. Harry had been there, hadn’t he?
“You’ve been here for almost a week, but yesterday seemed to be the first time you were coherent enough to know where you were. You were only awake for a few minutes. You seem more alert today, that must be a good sign. There’s a nurse that comes three times a day to check on you.” When the woman sat on the edge of the bed D’Artagnan was quick to move, coming over to purr and settle next to her. Ruth generally found that only good people were greeted by cats so easily. it seemed to reinforce her feeling that the woman wasn't a threat, not that she could do anything in her current situation if she was in danger. She didn't even seem to have a phone.
“This isn’t a hospital.” There was an IV stand next to the bed; for the first time Ruth realized that there was a needle in the back of her hand. There were very few signs other than that of medical equipment. Embarrassingly she realized she was probably wearing a catheter.
“There were some concerns about your safety. Harry says it’s all sorted now but for a few days, it was best if the number of people who knew where you were was kept to a minimum. He’s been worried about you, poor boy.” The woman patted her hand gently, her fingers cool but soft to the touch. Ruth almost laughed to hear anyone call Harry a ‘boy’ but then she understood.
“You’re Harry’s mum.” Ruth frowned. Wasn’t Harry’s mum dead? Had he ever mentioned her or had she made an assumption?
“I am. And it’s alright, I know he doesn’t talk about me. His way of trying to protect me and keep me away from his work.”
Ruth wanted to respond but her eyelids were feeling heavy. It seemed she’d barely been awake but it was hard to resist sleep.
II
The cat’s name was D’Artagnan. It was the first thing she remembered when she woke up, the light in the room faded a bit. She hoped it was the same day. The second thing she remembered was that she was that the house belonged to Harry’s mum. The third thing was the stabbing. Carefully she moved her hand under the blankets, probing her chest until she found the padding under the nightgown that told her there was a bandage. Her lung, she assumed. No wonder she remembered choking on blood.
“You’re awake again. That’s good, it’s only been a few hours.” Harry’s mum was sitting in the rocking chair, a book in hand. “I’ll be back in just a moment with something for you to drink.”
To Ruth’s surprise, it wasn’t water but something that tasted like chocolate. She coughed a little after the first sip but managed to drink a little more.
“It’s something the nurse left for you. You need the calories until you’re able to eat.” She set the glass on the table. “We’ll have some more in a little bit.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pearce.” It was a little odd tasting but better than the dry mouth she’d had before.
“It’s Evelyn, dear. We don’t stand on formality in my house, even if my son did go and get himself knighted.” Her laugh was warm, like a fire on a cozy evening. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you Ruth.”
“I’d prefer it.” Especially after three years of not being able to use her name, she didn’t want to be called anything else. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry to be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother, Ruth, and I’m glad to have you here. Besides it’s come with the nice bonus of seeing my Harry more often than usual. He’s been here three times this week. And that friend of his, the polite one, he’s visited twice and fixed my e-mail for me and he set up a camera in the back garden so when any deer or ponies wander by I get to see them.”
“Harry’s friend?” It felt like almost a foreign combination of words. Did Harry have friends outside of work? Ones that he knew well enough to let them into the home of the mother he protected well enough that he didn’t talk about her?
“For some reason, I always want to call him Murray but that’s not right. It’s a good Scottish name. He’s a nice lad, sends me a card every Christmas.”
“Malcolm?” She hadn’t seen him in over a year, had he really been to see her?
“That’s the one. Malcolm Wynn-Jones sounds a bit pretentious but he’s not at all. A bit quiet at times, but good people.” Evelyn picked up the cup again, offering her another sip. Ruth managed two.
“He’s one of the kindest people I know.” She hoped that he’d found something in retirement that he hadn’t had while working. Colin’s death had changed him, and made him more reserved. She liked thinking he really was on a beach somewhere, reading a book and perhaps sharing a drink with someone. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling a bit tired again.”
“Sleep is healing. Your nurse will be here in an hour or so for your evening visit. And then tomorrow you’ll feel a bit better and we can visit some more.”