A/N: Characters belong to Kudos. Story mine.

Happy 2013 to all. x

"So you're retiring," Malcolm said, his bright eyes seeking some kind of lightness in his friend, and finding none. "I'd say it's about time."

"You and almost everyone else, it seems."

"Almost?"

"I'm still not convinced it's the best thing to be doing. I'm not even fifty-seven, and I'm throwing away my career …... but I know if I don't get out now, I'll end up dead."

"We all end up dead, Harry. That's the only sure thing in this world."

"You know what I mean." Harry's fingers slid up and down the sides of his glass, the amber liquid within holding his attention while he thought about how much to tell his old friend.

"Was it Ros's death that …...?" Malcolm asked.

"Strangely, no. Her death rocked me, but …... no, it wasn't that. Too many young people died on my watch, but it wasn't any of them, really. As you know, my heart hasn't truly been in it since Ruth …... since she left. It's been …..."

"A long time."

"Yes, it's been three years, nine months, and …... eighteen days. I could provide the hours, too, if you wish."

"Not that you're counting."

"Not that I am, no." Harry lifted his head and offered a sad smile. "It was Euan McCabe's funeral that did it for me."

"Wasn't he -?"

"He began working at Six straight out of university. He was two years younger than me. He left a wife, three grown sons, and a granddaughter. He retired a few months back, took his wife to Spain for an extended holiday, to make up for all the time he'd had to spend away from home. At the beginning of their second month away, she got up one morning to find him dead on the bathroom floor. Fifty-four years old, and all he'd done with his life was work for MI-6, and leave his wife to bring up their family alone. Then he had a heart attack and died. He hadn't even had time to enjoy his retirement."

"Now you see why I got out when I did."

"I do, Malcolm. You always were the smart one."

They sat over their drinks in comfortable silence, each gazing around them, but not really seeing the other patrons in the pub.

"What will you do with your retirement?" Malcolm asked at last.

"I'm planning to travel, but it's really just an excuse. I can't keep working – day after day, year after year – without knowing where she is, and if she's …... happy. If she …..."

"Misses you?"

"Yes." Harry stared at Malcolm, suddenly comprehending. "You know something, don't you?"

"I know some of where she's been, yes, but I haven't heard anything for almost a year. She's always been able to contact me, but I have no way of contacting her, not unless she wants me to." Malcolm scratched his upper lip with a finger, contemplating his drink, before he continued speaking. "She asked me to not tell you any of this, and normally I'd respect her wishes, but ….. I've watched you these last three years and all-those-months, and I feel you need to know a few things."

Harry's eyes widened. "You've known all along where she was?"

"No, I haven't. I only heard from her firstly in the very early days, when she was tumbling around Europe, grief-stricken as you were, missing all of us, but mostly missing you, Harry. She missed England and her life, the life she'd left behind. It took her a long time to settle down."

Harry couldn't take his eyes from Malcolm's fingers, which were nervously tapping the table. He rubbed his forehead with his own fingers. "But she settled down?"

"Yes."

"By your reticence, I'm supposing that she settled down with someone."

Malcolm sighed heavily, providing Harry with his answer. "Yes. She settled in Cyprus with a doctor from the hospital in Polis. She seemed happy there. That is why I never told you, Harry."

"I needed to know that, Malcolm. I needed to know she was happy. You've no idea what it was like watching her step on to that tug boat that morning. She looked so small and so vulnerable ….. and so, so sad …... her face was so sad," Harry suddenly covered his face with both his hands, a gesture of pain and frustration and guilt, and then he let his hands slide down until they reached his chin. "And I let her go just like that. I've never regretted anything more."

"I had wondered – at the time, and since – why you didn't go with her. It would have saved you both a lot of heartache."

"I …. I thought about it, but …... we hadn't any time to discuss it, and it would have looked rather suspicious for both she and I to have thrown ourselves in the Thames. Travelling together like that, we would have been a target. I hadn't wanted Ruth to be in danger."

"And you think that having her wandering around the world on her own wasn't dangerous? She was alone in the world, Harry, and you let her go."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His mother would have called it squirming. Malcolm had a knack for honing in on the relevant issues, which was why he had wanted to talk with him. "I know that now," he said. "I'm planning to look for her."

"I thought as much. Do you have a starting point?"

"I thought I might try Polis."

Six weeks later, Harry Pearce, dressed in light-coloured slacks and a short-sleeved, sky blue shirt, entered the Polis hospital, holding a photograph of Ruth.

"Yes, we knew her," the receptionist said, a ready smile on her face.

"Knew? She's not here any more?"

"Ruth? No, she left suddenly, with no warning. It was a few months ago now. Probably a lover's tiff, but – who knows? We thought she'd settle down with one of our doctors, but …... well, you know how these things are. Do you wish to speak with him? With George? He's having a rostered day off, so I suggest you look for him at the house on the hill beyond the school. I'll show you the way."

It had been much easier than he'd expected. The remoteness of the town and the friendliness of the people meant that they were not as suspicious or as wary as people were back home. They welcomed tourists, rather than scoffing at them. Harry knocked on the front door of the house. It was a beautiful house – a villa – and Ruth had lived there. Somehow, just by standing on the verandah of the house in which she'd once lived, he felt closer to her.

"Size yardim edebilir miyim?" The tall, dark-haired man spoke Turkish – Can I help you?

"Yes, I'm English …..."

"Of course," the man said in heavily accented English, his eyebrow raised, and a small smile on his lips. "I can see by your colouring you're not from around here."

"My name's Harry Pearce. I'm ….. here about …... I was told you were …...I need to …..."

"Is this about Ruth?" the man asked bluntly.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"You talk like her. Do all English people stumble over their words in this way? It is your language after all. How can you not speak it with more eloquence? You'd better come in. I can't have you melting on my front doorstep."

So Harry followed him into the cool and dark house, and accepted his offer of a lemonade. They sat at a table under a window overlooking the sea. "This is a beautiful spot," Harry commented. "I can see why Ruth liked it here."

"I'd thought she was happy here, but -" George shrugged his shoulders. After a moment of silence, he continued, "You're him, aren't you?"

Harry looked up to see the other man's dark eyes on him, a look which combined curiosity with contempt. "Him?"

"You're the man who came between she and me. We could have been happy, but for you. I had to wonder why you were not here sooner. I expected you to turn up at any time. I even had a plan for what I would do when you arrived to get her." He smiled to himself. "When I asked her about the times when she'd just drift off in her mind, she told me there was a man back in England, someone she'd left behind, and that I could never replace him in her heart. I've hated you for so long, and now I see you're just a …..." George made sure he had Harry's eye contact before he continued. "I can see you're just a washed up, pathetic old Englishman, with receding hair and an expanding waistline. You must have money, because surely Ruth could not have wanted you for your body. You English," he almost spat the word. "I will never understand you."

"Did you love her?" Harry asked, ignoring the insult, because he knew that everything George had said about him was true – apart from Ruth wanting him for his money. In truth, he had no idea what it was Ruth had seen in him, perhaps loved in him.

"Yes, I loved her, and I looked after her, your woman. If you'd been looking after her properly, then I'd not have had to on your behalf."

Harry gripped his glass with both hands, holding in his rage. This man could still be useful, and the last thing he needed right now was an assault charge against him while he was in a foreign country. "Thank you ….. for looking after her," Harry managed to say, keeping his breathing steady. "I'm here because I'm trying to trace her."

"She didn't go back to England?"

"No. Not as far as I know. I need to know when she left Cyprus, from where, and if possible, her destination. When I have that information, I'll leave you alone, and you'll never hear from me again."

George stood up and opened a laptop at the other end of the table. He tapped a few keys, and then Harry watched as the other man's eyes scanned the screen, the light from the display casting a glow on his otherwise saturnine features. "I have the date she left here, but I don't know how long it was before she flew out. She told me she was heading to Paphos and flying out from there. She left here on October 12th last – it was on one of the afternoon buses - and I have no idea where she was headed. I'd always assumed it would be back to England, and to …... you."

George hadn't hidden his contempt for Harry, so he thanked him and left. While he was here, he thought he might take in some of what the island offered.

"I have some information for you to begin a search, Malcolm. It's not much, but it's a start." Harry had rung Malcolm and given him the same information George had offered.

"What's he like, this George?" Malcolm asked.

"Young-ish, good-looking, very continental, intelligent."

"Everything you're not, then."

"Hang on. I consider myself to be quite intelligent." Harry heard the chuckle from Malcolm down the phone. "You're pulling my leg."

"Quite successfully, too, I'd say. I'll do a search, and then get back to you. It shouldn't take long."

Harry was sitting on the balcony of his hotel room, watching the people still milling around in the square when his phone rang.

"She flew from Paphos to Madrid on October 13th. I've conducted a thorough search for all avenues out of Madrid since, using all the legends I provided for her, but …..."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid. If she wanted to stay under the radar, she could have taken a train and paid in cash. She could be anywhere, Harry. She could even be in London. I'm keeping the tracer program running, just in case. If she uses any of the passports she left with, my program will let me know."

"Thank you so much, Malcolm. I owe you."

"All I want is to see the two of you happy, and preferably together. There's far too much pain in the world."

"Yes, there is."

After he asked after Malcolm's mother, Harry rang off, and slid his phone into his trouser pocket. He stood at the balcony rail, watching the activity of the people below him. He sighed heavily. So near, and yet still so far.