Set in 8.1, immediately after Lucas and Ros burst into the warehouse killing Mani.


Mani lies on the floor, no longer a dead man walking.

Lucas slices the blade through the bonds that bind Ruth's hands.

She is still sobbing, her eyes wide and unforgiving. Harry tears his gaze away from the pain of his accuser, towards Ros who is on the phone talking with Malcolm.

She ends the call and squats down before Ruth, taking one of her hands between her own.

"They're safe, Ruth. It's okay."

Ruth stares at her, mouth still open, the sob caught in the back of her throat, shaking her head.

"Nico and George, they're fine," she repeats.

"George?" asks Harry, verbalising what Ruth cannot, "We saw him. He was -"

"It was a tranquiliser, not a bullet. He's groggy, that's all."

The sob, no longer caught, wrenches itself clear and the tears begin again.


Harry walks by the river, in the distance he spots them, Ruth and Malcolm. He has not seen, nor spoken to her since they left the warehouse.

And now here he is, preparing to say goodbye once more.

"Thank you, Malcolm, thank you so much," she hugs him and with some embarrassment he smiles at her, wishing her all the very best and then he turns away, passing Harry with a small nod and a comprehension of the pain shielded in his friend's eyes.

Her smile fades and she looks out, away, over the river.

"You're going," he says.

"This afternoon."

"I'd rather we arranged somewhere new for you, somewhere safe."

"Safe," she snaps at him, "Really, you think so?!"

"A new identity, new -" "

"We're going home."

"You are home, Ruth."

He says it quietly, not looking at her, but at the city.

"You would have let them both die."

He has no answer.

"You would have left me with nothing, but, hey, as long as you think I'm 'home'!"

Her voice drips with sarcasm. Her tongue wants to wound.

"I'm sorry," is all he can manage."

They stand, neither looking at the other.

"All we seem to do is say goodbye," he says finally, "and all I seem to do is hurt you."

"This…" she nods her head towards the city, "..isn't my life anymore, Harry. My life is ..."

"Simple and elegant," he answers for her.

She turns to him, "Yes. Simple and elegant. With my family."

And through the pain, he smiles, possibly with the saddest eyes she has ever seen, though her anger blinds her to the hurt and instead she sees only betrayal.

" I wish you and your family only happiness, Ruth."

And though he means it, the words are hard to say.

It is at this moment and to his great surprise, that the family that is hers, arrive.

She bends to hug Nico, as George looks at the older man before him.

"You're Harry?" he asks.

Harry nods and offers out his hand. The shake is firm and strong, the hand tanned, the body lean and tall, the chin chiselled, the smile warm. And he feels the burn and the inadequacy.

"Thank you for arranging our return home so quickly."

Harry nods, once more, "Safe journey."

George winds a strong, athletic, protective arm around Ruth and she looks up at him smiling. The smile gone as she glances back to Harry.

"Goodbye, Harry," she says, without sentiment.

"Goodbye, Ruth," he says, as she already turns away.

A middle aged man with a tired and weary face, dressed in a saville row suit, stands by the river. He watches three figures walk away. He watches a family walk away. He does not move. She does not look back.

He wonders if this is the most intolerable moment of his life. He ponders loss and hurt and lonliness. And then he turns back to the grid, for where else is there for him to go.


It has not been easy to make George understand all that has happened. He is still somewhat ignorant of the true danger they were all in; of the life that she has led; and all that it might have meant and still could. But he will not be moved, even when she herself tries to persuade him that they may be safer with a life elsewhere. This is his home, this is where they stay.

And like a different world in a different lifetime, the sun and the sea and the heat reassure them that they are safe and all is as it was and should be.

But not for Ruth.

She waits to settle, hopes to refind the contentment she had found there. But it does not come.

It feels like the holiday is over. The fear for their safety remains. The knowledge, the guilt that she was the one who nearly got them killed overwhelm her. Harry's words sound in her head ...

" ...all I seem to do is hurt you."

And for a moment those eyes are all she sees: those sad, hurt eyes. And she knows that he did not drag them back, he did not threaten to hurt anyone, he did nothing but his job, regardless of his own feelings. He did the thing she left him to do, that only he could do.

And she feels regret.


Harry sits at his desk, in his study, in his empty house, with his empty bottle of scotch. He works his way through a pile of security files that he would normally have finished on the grid, but this night he finds it too hard to sit there looking out at her deserted desk. Reminded.

With a sigh he turns to the computer and the email that has just descended upon his inbox.

He does not recognise the sender, but it is his private account, unknown to all but a handful.

Harry, I need to tell you that I'm sorry, truly I am.

It is her. His breathing is deep, his heart surges with a rush of adrenalin normally only reserved for gunfire and bomb threats.

It is her.

I was wrong to blame you. It wasn't your fault.

I am sorry for the things I said, for leaving without making peace with you. I hope you will forgive me?

Please give my thanks to the team for all they did to help us, I was remiss with them too, I fear.

Hopefully work will be quiet and bring you some respite from having to save the country every other day!

I wish you only happiness too, Harry.

I always will.

Yours, R

She sits on the terrace, looking out at the lights of a cruiser out at sea, absentmindedly swatting away a mosquito attracted by the glow of her laptop. She imagines Harry at his desk, working late, reading her words. She pictures his face as clearly as if he were sitting here opposite her.

She does not wait long for the reply.

Thank you, Ruth, your words mean more than you can know. And of course, I would always forgive you, not that there is anything really to forgive.

You were in an intolerable situation, one which you believed you had escaped and left behind.

I will pass on your message to the team, though they of course understood your haste to return home.

Here, there is little respite. The job can only be described as ruthless. As ever. Truth be told, there is a hole on the grid which I cannot fill and I often find myself buried, mired in its emptiness. But still the world needs saving.

I have done too many things to be happy Ruth, but you, you deserve all that and more. A born spook you may be, but sadly, in order to be a long serving spook you need a cold, hard heart and gloriously on that count, you will forever fail. Whereas I ... I will be here, making the call, the cold heartless bastard that I must be.

I wish you always the life of simple elegance you crave.

Yours, always,

H

The cruiser disappears behind the black mountainside. Ruth is lost in thought, as the headlights of George's car swing around the hill towards her.

In south west London Harry slides open the top drawer of his desk and takes out the picture that has been missing for over two years from the top of Ruth Evershed's personnel file. He gazes at it.

For tonight his world feels a little kinder.