A/N – This is the first in my soon-to-be series based on the album 'In A Perfect World' by Kodaline. The album gives me so many Harry and Ruth feels I can't function when I listen to it. Each song will get a one-shot. The stories will be dotted all over their timeline and be dotted with different POVs.

One day it's there and then it's gone,

How are you still holding on?

The sun shone on the day of her funeral. It didn't seem right somehow.

Calum was awake to watch the sunrise, the light creeping lazily along the London street and into his bedroom, a promise for a day that might in any other circumstance be called beautiful.

He wolfed down some toast, nerves making him ravenous, and laid off the coffee, because his hands were already close to shaking. He showered and dressed like clockwork. Black tie. He'd worn it to Tariq's memorial service. He hated that black tie so much.

They were driving together, the three of them. Dimitri pulled into the road at exactly ten o'clock, Erin pale in the front seat beside him. They arrived early. They'd planned to, to get there before Harry and be ready, just in case he needed them. There was a bench outside the church and Erin steered them towards it.

"Here's Towers," Calum muttered, for lack of anything else to say. The Home Secretary looked genuinely upset, genuinely regretful. Perhaps they had all judged him too harshly. Perhaps he was just good at pretending.

A handful of Ruth's extended family, some cousins and an elderly aunt, arrived next. They looked a little lost, more so than the elderly neighbours who Calum and Dimitri vacated the bench for.

"How did you know Ruth?" the old lady asked Erin kindly, reaching out and taking her hand, "We're neighbours. We looked after the cat when she was away with work."

"I – I worked with her," Erin said, "We all did, the three of us."

"A shocking thing, a mugging," the old man chimed in, shaking his head, "A shocking, pointless thing."

Calum turned away.

A few other people, people he vaguely recognised from work, arrived and then, just before eleven, Harry's car pulled up. Calum's feet made his decision for him when his mind refused to, and were already carrying him over there when Dimitri held him back.

"Give him some space, Cal," he said softly. "Let him come to us."

As it turned out, Harry wasn't alone. There was another man with him, another older man with short, grey and thinning hair. He wore a long dark coat over his suit and although he wasn't that much bigger than Harry, at that moment he seemed to tower over him. Harry pulled on a pair of leather gloves and looked around him, assessing the small crowd, assessing the church grounds, sharing a quiet word with his companion who was busy doing the exact same thing.

One of us, Calum thought vaguely, he acts like one of us.

Harry's eyes fell on Calum then and he nodded imperceptibly. Calum nodded back. If this was how Harry was going to cope today, by falling back onto the only thing he really knew – being the spy, being the one in charge – then Calum would humour him. The two men came over then, the stranger sticking close to Harry's side, his face set in an expression Calum could not read.

"Hello Harry," Calum said, and then his voice stuck in his throat. He didn't know what else to say.

"Calum, this is Malcolm Wynn-Jones, a very dear friend of mine. Malcolm, this is Calum. That's Dimitri and Erin coming over."

"Pleased to meet you," Malcolm offered Calum his hand, and then turned to do the same for the other two, "I only wish the circumstances could be better."

Malcolm had already clearly been informed that the three of them were Harry's current workmates, that they had also worked with Ruth. There was no need to inform them that Malcolm had once been in Section D. Calum knew that there were few people Harry would bring to something like this. There were few people he would trust to see him on a day like today, and he clearly trusted this Malcolm.

When Ruth arrived, carried on the shoulders of nameless pallbearers, Harry looked away and Malcolm took a step closer to him. When everyone else had gone into the church, Malcolm placed a gentle hand under Harry's elbow and supported him as the five of them made their way inside. Calum was pleased Harry had someone he could lean on like that, because neither he, Dimitri or Erin could have helped him. It was already too much that they had seen his breakdown. It was already too much that they knew what he thinking.

Malcolm did a reading, a poem that he had chosen just for Ruth. His voice shook a little when he read it but his eyes stayed dry. Harry's did not but, just for a minute, he allowed Erin to hold his hand and squeeze it tightly.

…To think a soul so near divine,

Within a form so angel fair,

United to a heart like thine,

Has gladdened once our humble sphere

Malcolm took his place once more besides Harry and only then did Calum see a tear streak down his cheek.

And then, somehow, Harry just carried on. He took a few more days off work and then he was back, back in his suit and back at his desk and back on the phone and Calum just didn't know how he did it.

It wasn't even that Harry acted as though nothing had happened; on the contrary, the spectre of Ruth, the spectre of Harry's self-perceived failure, hung over the Grid like a starless night. Harry was unsure of himself, relying more on their advice than ever before. He could barely look at the new analyst, an analyst Erin had been tasked with choosing. She had chosen a young man named Joshua, someone she had confided was not the very best choice but who was as far from being Ruth as any of the others she had considered, and still Harry took weeks to be able to talk to him.

Calum wanted to say something but he didn't know what. He didn't know how.

In the end, he did a light hack into the personnel files. He phoned a number. He got an invite for a cup of tea. He went, without telling Erin or Dimitri. They wouldn't understand.

Malcolm lived in a lovely house, filled floor to ceiling with books and the oddest collection of gadgets and computers that Calum had ever seen. Malcolm was welcoming, but wary. He didn't protest when Calum followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table, rather than going to the sitting room as he was offered. Malcolm made tea methodically, old-fashioned style with a teapot and a strainer, and laid out two mugs in very different states – for Calum, there was a newish looking polka dot number; for Malcolm there was a battered old Doctor Who mug, with a nearly faded Dalek.

"You want to talk about Harry," Malcolm said, when he had poured out the first cup. It wasn't a question. He watched Calum over the rim of his mug. The Dalek was watching him too.

"Yes. You know him better than anyone, am I right?"

"You are," Malcolm said simply, "But I don't claim to have an inexhaustible knowledge of how his mind works. He still surprised me sometimes."

"Do you know why he came back to work?" Calum said bluntly, "He's barely there, mentally I mean. He hasn't said ten words to the new analyst. The poor kid doesn't know what he's done."

Malcolm smiled, a small tentative thing.

"Kid? And how old are you exactly?"

"That's not important," Calum felt his face flush, "The point is-"

"I think you'll find that it is important," Malcolm said gently, putting down his mug and opening the pack of ginger nuts he had put on the tea tray, "How old are you, Calum?"

"Thirty-two."

"And have you ever lost anyone like Harry lost Ruth?"

"I've never loved anyone like Harry loved Ruth."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows and bit into a biscuit thoughtfully. For want of something else to do, Calum reached for one as well.

"You're honest," Malcolm said approvingly, "And you're too blunt. That's why you can't understand."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that to you, the job that you do is still just that – a job. A spade is a spade. A job is a job. It's not your fault, you're still young. But to people like Harry, it is more than a job. It's a way of life, one that he can't escape from."

"But he and Ruth were going to leave-"

"Ruth was his way out," Malcolm said patiently, "She offered him something better than what he had. Now she is gone, he is left with what he had all along."

"But the job is the reason that she is gone!"

"I know that and so does Harry, but there is nothing else for him. He will get back to himself soon enough. You just need to be patient and give him time."

Calum caught something like a wistful tone in Malcolm's voice and noticed that his hand tightened around the well-worn mug.

"Who did you lose, Malcolm?"

"Oh, you're very good," Malcolm sighed, "I can see why Harry likes you."

Ignoring the obvious attempt to distract him with a compliment, Calum leaned forwards and picked up his own mug again.

"Who was it? You're talking like you know."

"It wasn't like you're thinking," Malcolm said, "Not like Harry and Ruth. I had a friend, a very dear friend. Colin, his name was. He was a techie like me and he was the best friend I ever had. He died five years ago."

"What happened?"

"He went out on an op," Malcolm stared deeply into his mug as he talked, "He wasn't supposed to, not really, but we were under-manned and he was so eager to be in the field. He was braver than me. He was murdered, just so someone could prove a point. They hung him, made it look like a suicide. He died all alone and not a day goes by when I don't think of him and wish it had been me instead. I was older than him, you see. He had so much to offer. I would have taken his place in an instant."

Calum sat, speechless. Malcolm let the silence stretch on for a little while and then shrugged his shoulders.

"That's how I know. I've done it. For a moment, when Colin died, I was ready to walk away, but the job was all I knew. I stayed."

"Just tell me one more thing," Calum said, his head spinning, "Is Harry talking to you? Just so we know he is talking to someone."

"He is. He helped me when Colin died. He did the reading at his memorial, because I couldn't. That's why I did Ruth's, returned the favour. We have seen each other at our very worst, Harry and I. He doesn't try and hide anything from me anymore, just as I don't from him."

Calum exhaled and nodded, knowing a subtle dismissal when he heard one. He downed the last of his tea and crammed another biscuit in his mouth. He'd missed lunch for this meeting, although it had very much been worth it. Malcolm stood with him and accompanied him to the front door, taking his hand firmly and shaking it. Calum said his goodbye and turned to leave, stopping at the bottom step and looking over his shoulder.

"Did Colin give you that mug?"

Malcolm looked down at the battered old thing in his hand and smiled.

"He did. You really are very good, Calum."

The door closed and Calum walked slowly away. Malcolm had made a lot of sense and he had little reason to doubt that the man knew what he was talking about. The only thing he could hope for now was that Harry would slowly come back to himself and that, when the time came, he had his very own Doctor Who mug.

A/N – Malcolm's reading for Ruth comes from 'A Reminisce' by Anne Bronte.