A/N: Hi, everyone! Here's the sequel to the sequel to Time of the Season. Hope you enjoy! I'm dedicating this story to all the amazing writers who reviewed, favourited or read Time of the Season and The Honeymoon Period. You guys really gave me the confidence to write this one! PS: I don't own Harry, or Ruth, but if anyone feels like buying them for me, then that would be great...


9th March 2011

It is barely daylight, so the lights are still switched on in the Pearce household. Ruth stands before the hall mirror, staring with a critical eye at the knee length black coat she's wearing buttoned up over her black office dress. Harry descends the stairs unnoticed and stands for a moment in open appreciation of his wife. At last, Ruth turns to him in anxiety and asks, "Is this coat loose enough, do you think?" Harry frowns uncomprehendingly and strides over to stand next to her in the mirror, staring at her frame with unashamed lust.

He wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Loose enough?" he repeats curiously. Then, drawing back, he jokes, "Why? Not stashing your violin up your dress, are you?" Ruth, the musician of their burgeoning family, rolls her eyes, although a faint smile plays around her unusually taut lips. "No! But I'm starting to show, and it seems, well, insensitive to go to a funeral flaunting a baby bump."

Harry shakes his head at his wife's scruples. "I'm sure that no one will notice," he soothes gently. Ruth's shoulders are still tense, though, and after a minute, he reassures her sensibly, "And even if they do, you've got nothing to be ashamed of." She smiles again, only half-convinced, and replies, "N-no... no, I suppose not." Turning at last away from the mirror, she reaches up a hand to straighten Harry's wide black tie. "How do you feel?" she asks sympathetically. Harry sighs, the reason for this weekend excursion returning to his mind. "Christ, I hate funerals," he mutters, and rests his head on Ruth's shoulder. "We've been to far too many." Ruth's small hands raise his head so that she can kiss him on his furrowed brow. "Just be thankful that this one isn't work-related," she points out.

If they weren't there for a funeral, they would probably find the Welsh scenery quite idyllic. As it is, neither Harry nor Ruth can enjoy themselves. Harry is the first to greet their old friend once the service is over. "Malcolm, we're so sorry," he murmurs. Malcolm had lost his mother three weeks ago, exactly a month to the day Harry and Ruth had moved into their house in the country. Needless to say, it had been a shock for him. Malcolm tries to smile and fails miserably. "Thank you, Harry. I'm so glad both of you could come – sorry you had such a journey."

Briskly, Ruth tells him, "Nonsense. How are you, Malcolm?" He shakes his head wearily, and Ruth notices that he looks paler and thinner than ever.

"Still in shock, I think," he sighs at last. "I keep getting out two cups for tea in the morning, and turning on the television for Countdown for her. Strange really – she was a bit of a dragon..." His voice breaks at this last, and Ruth wordlessly hugs him. As they part, Malcolm brushes away a tear. Once again trying to feign his usual cheerfulness, he points out to Ruth, "Anyway – that's the question I should be asking you. You look very well."

Ruth smiles softly, as Harry's arm comes to rest protectively around her shoulders. "I am, morning sickness aside." She's got used to the idea of her pregnancy by now, and can honestly say she's never been happier. Harry, her darling Harry, is taking everything in his stride, and carrying her along with him – making plans for turning one of the spare rooms into a nursery, keeping track of doctors' appointments alongside JIC meetings and generally being the model of an expectant father and loving husband. Just as she has always known he would... Malcolm clucks sympathetically, and rubs her arm. "Poor old thing. I hope Harry's taking good care of you."

Harry smiles ruefully, and gives the answer that best fits the truth. That has always best fitted the truth. "We take care of each other," he states firmly.


As they begin the long drive back to London in the early evening, Ruth sighs deeply. Harry waits in silence for her to voice her thoughts, as she always does now. "Poor Malcolm," she says at last. A lump comes to her throat as she recalls their mournful farewell, at the hotel he's staying at for a few days, for the sole purpose of burying his mother next to his father, the former vicar of a little Welsh parish on the edge of nowhere. "Maybe I should have stayed with him for a few days... He seemed so... lost."

Harry nods, slowing the car down, as a set of traffic lights turns red. He reaches over and squeezes his wife's arm in comfort. "I know..." There is a pause and Harry wonders how to broach the subject his mind has been pondering for a few days. At last, he just blurts it out. "I'm going to ask him to come back." Ruth turns to him, half-shocked, eyes wide in her elfin face. "To the Grid?" she asks, although clarification is hardly needed. Her mouth creases into a line of disapproval. "Harry, I hardly think – " Her husband shrugs his shoulders and absently changes gear. He understands grief. They both do. But the way he sees it, dwelling on it does no good. "I think having something to do would help him right now, Ruth."

She remains still for a moment, thinking. She remembers coming back from Cyprus, and losing George, and how her work gave her something solid to cling on to, a rock of comfort in a sea of desolation. "Perhaps you're right," she admits at last. Harry gives a smile that, on any other man, would have been called smug. Ruth notices this and continues firmly, "But wait a week or two, Harry. Let him grieve first." He sobers instantly.

As they turn onto the motorway, he agrees, "Very well, my darling."

They arrive home to Scarlett's welcoming bark and a stew in the oven, courtesy of Mrs Evans, the lady from the village who Harry hired, in theory, to do the cleaning. In practice, this motherly lady cleans, cooks, gardens and even, on occasion, has been known to walk the dog, and make sure both Scarlett and Fidget are fed. Ruth isn't entirely sure what they'd do without her, and the way things are on the Grid these days, she definitely doesn't want to find out. Life is certainly busy, and as she dishes up the stew and feeds Fidget, while Harry takes Scarlett for a quick walk down to the village and back, Ruth realises she doesn't want it any other way.

A/N: Please throw me a review if you have the time - I'd like to know what you guys think.