Ruth leapt from the bus, stumbling straight into a pile of soggy brown leaves. As she struggled up, she felt her ankle give way beneath her, and a searing pain course through her entire leg. Fumbling in her bag, she drew out her umbrella, but the lock was jammed, and the rain had already soaked her through clothes anyway. She limped along the pavement, her hair sticking to her face as she made her way blindly towards the meeting point.

Today really was not her day. Anything that could possibly have gone wrong already had – she was actually surprised she hadn't been kidnapped, or mowed down by a car. Then again, there was still time.

Reaching the bench, she sank down, feeling the rainwater soak up through the rim of her coat and freeze the only part of her body that wasn't already drenched. Tears suddenly pricked at her eyelids; subconscious tears, almost, droplets of salty liquid she couldn't control. She wasn't generally one for self-pity, or indeed any personal emotion; she tended to keep her innermost feelings locked away inside. But sometimes, there came a point where you just couldn't keep pretending.

"You wanted to talk?" a familiar voice asserted from beside her. She felt the bench rock slightly as Harry settled himself down, sensed his gaze locked onto her hidden expression. "Ruth?"

She sensed a brusque nature to his tone. She supposed that was only to be expected, really; she'd broken his heart by rejecting his proposal, and now she was messing him around. Why had she even asked him to come? What did it have to do with him now? "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"For what?" he automatically softened at the sorrow in her apology. He couldn't bear to see her in pain. "What've you got to be sorry for?"

"I don't know. Everything." she mumbled helplessly, "Joining MI5. Leaving. Hurting you. Asking you to come here."

"From my perspective, none of those things are bad. Accidunt omnia propter quoddam propositum, Ruth."

"Do they?"

He shuffled a little closer, peering at her uneasily, "What's happened? What did you want to talk to me about?"

"You know…you know when you asked me if I'd marry you?" she sniffed, struggling to compose herself, "And I said I couldn't, because of everything you'd done – all the choices you'd made?"

"I have to admit it isn't a moment I'm likely to forget."

"That we couldn't be more together than we were right then?"

"Yes," Harry's forehead crinkled as he frowned, clearly bemused, "What's this about, Ruth?"

"I…I…" she trailed off wearily.

For a long beat, they sat in silence, gazing out over the darkening city as raindrops hammered down on them. Cars revved, clocks chimed, people chattered… London never slept. That kind of assurance - that their city would be there whenever they needed it, no matter what the time - was somewhat comforting.

"Shall we walk?" Harry indicated along the road, "I know a cosy little café we could dry off in while you tell me what's happened; you're not going back like this."

Ruth nodded, but as she stood her ankle buckled beneath her, and she leant forward onto Harry for support. He gave a small, wry smile and wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her along towards the flickering lights of the tea-shop.

Maybe he was taking advantage of her weakness. But she didn't struggle; in fact, she appeared to nestle her head into his shoulder as they strolled along. He wasn't going to protest.

Settling themselves down in the dry, Ruth's shivering ceased, and she mopped discreetly at her eyes as Harry ordered two coffees. There was one man sipping tea across the room, and another having fallen asleep on his newspaper, his head lolling slightly. Gentle music played from a speaker in the far corner, the drinks machine whirring distantly at the waitress's demand. It was quiet; serene. Ruth supposed Harry had spent many a night in here - everyone had somewhere they hid when it all got too much.

"It's not a crime to fall in love, is it?" Ruth eventually whispered.

"I should hope not, or I'm damned," Harry replied, "But maybe I already was."

Her lips twitched in a feeble attempt at a smile, "Me too."

"So, Ruth," he spoke tenderly, but his eyes shone with both concern and regret, "As I hardly imagine you've changed your mind, why does my proposal concern you any more? I equally suppose you remember my saying we move on from this?"

"Yes," she agreed, equally soft, "And I'm not saying I should've said yes. But I was wrong, to blame you. It wasn't your fault; everyone makes mistakes. I…I was just confused - Ros's death shook me. I needed someone to accuse, for everything I felt was wrong."

"I'm sorry about George, and Nico. That your happiness in Cyprus was ruined," Harry confessed, his eyes averted from her gaze. Not often did she get such an open apology from him, so sincere. He'd never before used their names, either. She'd presumed he just didn't know them. "And here…I'm sorry for everything, really. Truly sorry."

"Yes. Me too."

"Ruth?" he didn't miss the new tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill out over her pale cheeks. They sat opposite each other, at the table; was that deliberate? He reached an upturned hand out towards her, and she lowered hers from where it lay fiddling with her necklace, so that their fingers just touched.

"Thank you," was all she whispered to the waitress as the drinks were placed down in front of them. She received a puzzled glance as to her emotion, but nothing more. Questions weren't asked here.

"Ruth, please. I can't stand this; seeing you upset." Harry mumbled. Frank talk didn't pass between them, he realised now. They spoke forever in riddles; lying to each other, and to themselves. If she wouldn't tell him like this, he had to revert to their usual measures. "You know; Lucas's tattoos. Dum spiro spero…Gnothi seauton. Beautiful, but…but I sometimes wonder. How can we always hope? How can we always know ourselves?"

"We can't."

"No. We can't." he repeated, "And if we can't, how can we expect it for other people? How can we always know them? Ye shall know the truth…"

"And the truth shall set you free."

"It's lies; all lies. And the CIA aren't the only ones. Our entire world is concocted from lies. You, me. Everyone. How can you know the truth?"

Ruth's hand crept further into Harry's, and he entwined his fingers with hers, squeezing gently. He was there for her. And she knew it. The feeling was mutual.

"Plus ça change." she murmured. Sometimes, when your time stopped still, the rest of the world kept on turning. But now, she wasn't alone; she wasn't lost. Harry was here with her. And his hand around hers gave her the courage she needed, now more than ever. As long as he was there, everything would be okay.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely audible as she gazed into his ceaseless eyes, but deeply pained, "I've got cancer, Harry. I've got cancer."

XxXxX

This was going to be a one-shot, but I might do a second part if anyone thinks I should... How will Harry react to Ruth's revelation? Will he be there for her when she needs him most?

Again, I don't own Harry + Ruth, or Spooks ;)

Thanks for reading – please review xx