A/N: I'm relieved to be writing again as my muse disappeared off the face of the earth for a while once I'd finished writing 'The Affair'. I'm glad she hasn't deserted me altogether and hope that this offering in up to scratch. Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading, S.C.


Rome – 5th September 2013

The heat is too much for him, zapping his energy, and he can feel the sweat trickling down his neck and into his shirt collar. He pauses to take out his handkerchief again and wipe his brow, his face and neck. He'd really hoped it wouldn't get this hot in September.

"Harry?" his companion questions, stopping to look at him.

"You go on without me," he replies, making a sudden decision. "I'll find some place to sit in the shade for a bit."

"But you don't want to miss-" she protests, but he cuts her off impatiently.

"I do. Sightseeing isn't really my thing, Meg, and besides, I'm only slowing you down." He turns to address the rest of his companions – two women they'd met at their hotel a couple of days ago with whom they'd arranged to see the sights. "Forgive me, ladies," he says graciously, "but this heat and my leg." He taps the side of his left leg with his cane and gives them an apologetic look. "You'll take care of Meg for me, won't you?"

"But of course, Harry," Judy replies.

"Don't worry about a thing," Sandra reassures him, patting his arm. "You just rest. Find a café and have a nice, cool drink."

"Thank you," he smiles, turning to Meg again, who steps closer and reaches up to kiss his cheek.

"I'll ring you when we're done," she says.

"Okay." He lifts his gaze and his eyes alight on a small, quaint, little bookshop tucked away on the corner of an alley, something about it speaking to his heart, drawing him in. Maybe it's the name – Amores. "I think I might actually try that little bookshop. Look for me there when you're done."

"Alright." She squeezes his arm, and sets off with her companions as he carefully crosses the street, grateful of the freedom he's won for himself for a little while and the peace. He doesn't particularly enjoy the inane chatter of the two women they'd picked up at their hotel, but Meg seems to like them, and if she's happy, he's happy too, especially if it takes the pressure off him to entertain her. She wants to do absolutely everything together, which had never been a problem at home. They've never had to spend entire days and nights in each other's company before, however, and he finds himself tiring of it fast.

Well, it would have to be someone whose conversation you enjoyed, yet who understood the need sometimes for quiet... He sighs and rubs his forehead. Will he never get over her, all that she was, all that she meant to him?

He shakes his head to clear it and puts a hand on the door, pushing it open. A bell tinkles as it opens and he steps inside, closing it carefully behind him, the coolness of the room almost making him sigh in relief. He turns and takes a few steps forward, leaning more heavily on his cane after the exertion of their walk, his eyes taking in the shelves of books, the gentle, inviting atmosphere of the shop that seems to transport one back in time to a less hurried, more relaxed era. He smiles appreciatively, thinking that he's quite possibly stumbled upon the loveliest bit of Rome, but as he approaches the counter, he falters. The person behind it is crouching down, out of sight except for the top of their head, humming along to the song on the radio and moving about, probably unpacking a box of books judging by the sound of the tearing tape. His heart-rate has increased at the sight of the chocolate brown strands of hair on the top of that head, the shade reminding him of someone incredibly dear to him, his heart leaping at the thought that it might be her – the woman he's been searching for all his life it seems.

She lifts her head above the counter, a flash of blues eyes that stops his heart as she glances his way and says, "Solo un attimo, per favore," before turning back to her task, the tape ripping once more until, suddenly, all is still, the only sound coming from the small radio in the corner that's playing a French love-song. She freezes and slowly rises to her feet, his heart pounding at the familiarness of her figure, the dawning realisation that this is too much of a coincidence for it to be anyone else. He holds his breath as she turns to face him, blue eyes meeting hazel again after all this time.

It's her. Good God, but it's her! He feels tears spring to his eyes as he stares at her, taking her in, half-convinced he's hallucinating, the other half of him not caring one jot if he is. She seems just as shocked, just as moved by their encounter, staring at him for long moments, tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

"Harry?" she whispers.

"Ruth," he replies gruffly, taking a step towards her.

Her eyes drop to his cane, her face filling with concern as she quickly wipes her cheeks, turns, and walks round the counter to join him, covering the distance between them on quick, agile feet, and making him suddenly feel old and broken by comparison.

"What happened to you, Harry?" she asks, worriedly. "I thought I told you not to get shot."

"I didn't," he replies, his heart warming at her words, hope flooding through him. "It was a bomb," he supplies at her probing look. "Hip fracture, some internal damage, but I'm fine now."

Her face crumbles, tears glistening in her eyes again as she reaches for him, gently grasping his right elbow, then moving closer, stepping into his space, briefly wrapping her arms around him and pressing her lips against his cheek once before pulling back. "I'm glad you're alright," she says, squeezing his arm again before dropping her hand to her side. "It's so good to see you, Harry."

"And you, Ruth," he answers gruffly, yearning to pull her into his arms again and kiss her properly, the feel of her, the scent of her stirring up a maelstrom of emotions inside him.

They're silent for a moment again, just staring at each other as he marvels at the fact that he's found her. Finally. After all this time.

"Does it hurt?" she asks eventually, nodding at his leg.

"From time to time," he confesses. "Sightseeing isn't the best thing for it."

"Let me get you a chair," she says immediately and turns away only to turn back again and suggest, "or there's an armchair in the reading nook at the back if you'd prefer?"

"That sounds rather good, actually."

So he follows her down an aisle of books to the back of the shop where two armchairs are angled towards each other with a coffee table between them and a few books stacked on either side. It's a lovely, little nook with a studied disorder about it designed to make one feel at home and he's sure he can detect Ruth's hand in creating it. She smiles and watches him as he hobbles over to the armchair on their right and carefully eases himself into it, extending his left leg as he lowers himself and closing his eyes with relief for a moment before opening them again to find her watching him.

"Cup of coffee?" she offers.

"Do you treat all your customers this well?" he can't help teasing.

"Only the very special ones," she replies, making his heart skip several beats again.

"Coffee would be lovely, thank you."

"Milk and two sugars?"

"Just one." He grimaces. "Doctor's orders."

"They spoil all the fun, don't they?"

He grins. He can't help it. "Ruth-" he begins, but the tinkle of the bell interrupts him.

"Zia Alice?" a girl's voice calls.

"Sono qui, Beatrice," Ruth replies, turning towards the sound and walking away from him.

His eyes follow her, transfixed by her graceful movement, the way her summer dress clings to her hips and swirls around her legs, the soft, swell of her bottom swaying seductively before him, and the tanned skin of her shoulders, neck, calves and arms begging to be kisses, touched, savoured. He blinks, a little ashamed of himself and where his thoughts have wandered, and watches as a girl of maybe ten or eleven skips towards Ruth, wrapping her arms around her as Ruth embraces her and says more things in Italian. He catches the word Papa a few times and something about lunch as he tries and fails to stop the disappointment and the pain from flooding his heart. Of course she has a life here – a lover, maybe even a husband, a family. He has a life too at home – he has Meg and a grandson and Catherine's pregnant again, and no matter how much he wishes things to be different, he can't go back and change the past. Seeing her again, re-establishing contact is going to have to be enough for now at least, though maybe one day...

He'd never abandoned hope that they will meet again, that they'll be given another chance at love with each other, but the stark contrast between her – her youth, her beauty and grace, her full life here – and his own age, broken body and spirit, is making him see how futile his hopes have been. Seventeen years – that's the age difference between them. Who's he kidding? Why would Ruth want an old, broken man like him when she could have anyone? Why would she love him still, after all this time, with so many better men to choose from? He sighs and picks up a book, needing a distraction from the overwhelming, conflicting emotions inside him. He's overjoyed to see her, yet he feels even further from his dream than ever before.

He sets the book aside when Ruth returns, carrying a tray with two coffee cups, and he can't help feeling thrilled that she's decided to join him – he'll take whatever she willingly gives him of her time and attention. She sets it down on the table between them and sits in the other chair, smiling at him.

"Thank you," he murmurs, lifting his cup and taking a sip. He thinks it might be the best coffee he's ever tasted.

"My pleasure." She takes a sip of her own drink.

"You never used to drink coffee," he comments, watching her.

"I know, but when in Rome..." She gives him an impish smile, dimples flashing, and he chuckles.

"Have you been here long?"

"A few years now. I moved around for about a year and then figured it was safe to find a nice place to settle down. I thought about choosing somewhere out of the way, but I couldn't resist the pull of Rome. I got a job as a tour-guide initially – put my degree to good use – but it was tiring work and after I met the owner of this place, I decided this was a much more elegant and simple way to live. So here I am."

He smiles. "This place suits you. The moment I saw it, I was inexplicably drawn to it. Now I know why."

She gazes at him across her coffee cup, her gaze bolder than it used to be, more confident and direct. She seems so different, yet the same – still gorgeous in his eyes, brilliant like a jewel in amongst so much coloured glass. "And what about you, Harry?"

"There's nothing much to tell," he replies, taking another sip of his coffee. "I stayed on the Grid and did my best to do the right thing, keep people safe. We've not had an easy time of it. Then a couple of years ago, I was stabbed by a ghost from the past and suffered a collapsed lung and extensive blood-loss for my sins. I recovered from that and went back to the Grid, but almost a year later to the day was the bomb, so... I've been decommissioned, given early retirement."

"You've left the Service?" she asks in surprise.

"Been kicked out, more like, but yes, the result is the same." He makes a face. Part of him knows his job was far too demanding for him to continue in it now, but he also hates having nothing to do, endless days stretched out in front of him with nothing meaningful, nothing worthwhile except perhaps spending time with his children and grandchildren. "Catherine's pregnant again and her son, Arthur, is two now, so I spend time with him when I can."

"You're a grandpa? That's wonderful! Congratulations, Harry," she smiles.

"Thank you."

A silence settles between them and he suspects she's wondering exactly what he's wondering about too, or perhaps that's just wishful thinking on his part. What does she care if he's with someone or not?

"We cleared your name," he says after a beat.

"What?!"

"Malcolm and I," he explains. "We cleared your name. The PM has pardoned you and your record has been expunged. The death registry has been amended and you're free to return home at any time."

Her eyes have filled with tears, her hand covering her mouth, and she seems at a loss for words. Then abruptly, she gets up and moves close, cupping his cheek and reaching down to softly kiss his lips. "Thank you, Harry," she murmurs as she pulls back, eyes luminous as they gaze into his, taking his breath away. Before he can recover from his surprise, however, and his heart can stutter back to life, the shop bell announces the arrival of another customer and Ruth pulls back, giving him one more look before she whisks their empty coffee cups away and he's left staring after her retreating figure again.

He's only just managed to recover enough to stand and follow her, when Meg accosts him.

"There you are," she says, smiling as she stops and turns to walk down the aisle towards him.

"Meg," he murmurs in resignation, glancing over her shoulder to see Ruth turn to look at him at the sound of Meg's voice and then turn quickly away again. "That was quick," he comments as he drops his eyes back to Meg's, wondering if perhaps he's been here with Ruth for hours without realising it.

"We went to the Spanish steps and saw the church, Fontana della Barcaccia, on the square there and then Judy and Sandra wanted to go to Trevi Fountain, but I said I'd come back and check on you, and if you're feeling up to it, that we'd join them there," she replies. She reaches her hand to rest it on his chest and adds softly, "I didn't want to see the fountain of love without you."

His lips move automatically when Meg kisses him, but his thoughts are still with Ruth – who's disappeared in the back – his mind still full of her soft kiss, the stormy depths of her eyes, the yearning for her that's been with him for years, squashed down and buried inside him, but which has risen to the surface now and ignited, the flames rising higher with each passing moment, scorching and impossible to douse. If only he'd had more time, just a few moments more to talk to Ruth, find out what her kiss had meant, discover if her feelings are unchanged too, if she wants him still after all this time and despite his injuries and the fact that he's just a couple months shy of sixty. But, as ever, there isn't any time for the pair of them.

He sighs, then seeing the frown that creases Meg's brow, he pulls himself hastily together. "I think I can manage that," he murmurs, watching the frown dissolve and the smile spread across her lips. She's so easily pleased, is Meg, and he's thought that a good thing up until now. Certainly while he was working it had been good, when he could easily make it up to her when he had to postpone plans they'd made at the last moment. Now though, he finds it irritates him – quite a few things do, in fact, and not just as a result of running into Ruth again. This trip has highlighted for him how incompatible they really are and he's convinced now that living with Meg would drive him slowly insane.

"That's great," she beams and turns. "Shall we go?"

"Yes," he agrees, moving towards the counter where Ruth has just reappeared. "Just give me a moment, Meg. I'll meet you outside."

Meg looks up at him and then at Ruth, perhaps sensing the undercurrent of emotion in the room because she doesn't do as he asks, but stands her ground instead. "Do you know this woman?" she questions.

It's on the tip of his tongue to say no, when Ruth moves round the counter and extends her hand towards her. "We used to work together, a long time ago. I'm Alice. Alice Steele."

"Meg Winter," Meg replies, shaking Ruth's hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you," Ruth smiles. "How are you liking Rome?"

"Oh it's lovely," Meg beams. "We've been here three days already, but we're leaving first thing in the morning."

"That's a shame," Ruth replies, glancing at him. "I have plans tonight or I'd invite you round for dinner."

"That's very kind," Meg smiles. "I didn't realise Harry knew anyone here."

"Oh, he didn't either," Ruth reassures her. "We've not kept in touch. It was pure coincidence that Harry stepped into my bookshop."

"It's lovely," Meg observes, looking around as their conversation continues for some minutes, Harry looking on in silence as the emotions ebb and flow inside him, feeling pride in Ruth one minute – sure that this is all an act, just a brilliant demonstration of what a good spook she is – and despair the next when he realises that perhaps she's being genuine and the thought that he's moved on leaves her indifferent or just plain happy for him.

She's certainly very different now to the Ruth he'd known before – more happy, more confident, more at peace, more like the eager, new recruit she'd been when she'd first joined his team – yet her spark, her brilliance hasn't diminished either, despite the simple and elegant nature of her life and work now. She could run circles around Meg, and he can't for the life of him understand how he could have even contemplated a life with her instead. She's pretty, charming, and entertaining certainly, and she'd stuck with him despite his injuries and the time it's taken for him to recover enough to walk, let alone go on holiday together. But seeing them here together, side by side, Ruth is so much more than Meg could ever be, despite the fact that most men would probably say she's not as beautiful. Meg is taller, slimmer, blonder, and her eyes are bluer than Ruth's, but she lacks the depth, the strength of character, the brilliance of Ruth's mind, the storminess of her eyes, and the quickness of her wit, the sexiness of her lips and dimples, the softness of her body, and the history between them. Ruth knows him in a way that no one else ever will. She sees him, all of him, and loves him anyway... or she used to at any rate – he's not so sure that's true any more.

"Harry?" Ruth's voice brings him back to his surroundings with a jolt.

"Sorry?"

"I just asked you if you're ready to go." Meg laughs. "He's always like this," she confides. "Never listens to a word anyone's saying."

Ruth just smiles and catches his eye, boosting his spirits considerably. Maybe it's all an act after all. Ruth knows him well enough to know that statement is simply not true. Ruth knows him better than Meg ever could or he'd ever want her to.

"Well," Ruth says, "I'll not keep you. Enjoy the rest of your trip." She shakes Meg's hand and then turns to look at him, eyes fathomless and so blue that he feels himself drowning in them. "Take care, Harry," she says, extending her hand.

He takes it, the feel of her hand nestled in his overwhelming him with emotion. There haven't been that many times over the years when he's had occasion to feel her skin against his own, the warmth of it, its softness, the sparks her touch ignites in him that spread through his body like wildfire, and for a moment, he's speechless, utterly captivated by her and his yearning for her, his desperate need to be with her and never let her go, until somehow he manages to find the strength to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "And you. Keep in touch, won't you?"

"I guess that's allowed, now that you've retired," she smiles, gently pulling her hand from his and leaving him bereft. "You'd better give me your number."

"Of course," he agrees, his heart skipping a few beats again. "Give me a moment," he says to Meg, who nods and turns to peruse the travel guides on the bookshelf beside them as he follows Ruth to the counter. She slips behind it again and reaches under it for her phone, but it appears to be missing.

"That's funny," she says, leaning over to root around for it and giving him a tantalising view of her cleavage that almost stops his heart. "I'm sure I had it here. I always try to-" She cuts herself off with a sigh and straightens up again just in time to stop him from doing anything stupid. "I was using it this morning. I think I left it at home. Here. Just take a card from the bookshop and write your number down for me here. I'll text you later so you have my mobile too, but you can usually find me here during the week." She hands him a business card and a notepad and pen, so he pockets the former and scribbles down his phone number on the pad and hands it back to her.

He hates this. He doesn't want to leave her. Not again. Not ever. But Meg is standing somewhere behind him and he's still not sure what Ruth wants from him. The feeling that she only wants to be friends is overwhelmingly strong and he doesn't want to jeopardise that by asking for more. At least, not now. Not like this. There's nothing to be gained by a confession of his love and deep yearning for her now, with Meg as an audience and putting Ruth on the spot. If anything, he's sure it will backfire quite spectacularly. He's about to say something reassuring instead when her eyes change, looking suddenly distant and wistful before she drops her gaze from his face, a small, sad smile appearing on her lips.

"What?" he asks, fascinated by the sudden shift in her mood.

She shakes her head and lifts her eyes to his again, gaze fathomless once more. "It's nothing."

He frowns and waits, giving her his best Grid Harry, interrogation look, and watching as a slow smile spreads across her lips.

"I'm immune to that look, Harry," she says impishly, making him smile in spite of himself.

"Is that so? But what about this one?" he asks, softening his gaze and pursing his lips, silently beseeching her.

She bites her lower lip and shakes her head at him, dropping her gaze demurely, so clearly affected by him that hope surges inside him. "That's not fair," she protests, glancing back up at him and then over his shoulder.

"I'm a spook, Ruth," he murmurs softly, keeping his voice down so they're not overheard. "We never play fair."

"Was," she corrects, lifting her eyes to his again.

"Once a spook, always a spook." He watches her smile and nod in silent acknowledgement of their shared past before dropping her gaze again and lifting her hand to slide a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. "Okay," she murmurs, lifting her eyes to his. "It's that song. It always makes me think of you, that's all." He listens, the tune foreign, the words in Italian and indecipherable to him. Then she reaches across the counter and gently squeezes his hand, drawing his full attention to the feel of it resting against his skin. "See you around, Harry, and remember not to get shot, won't you?"

"I will," he replies, giving her a crooked smile as he turns his hand under hers, his heart racing at the feel of their palms clasped together and, at the same time, aching with the pain of having to let her go again. "Or blown up, or stabbed, hopefully. Take care, Ruth."

"Bye, Harry," she says and pulls her hand away, saying a little louder, "Goodbye, Meg."

"Bye, Alice," Meg replies and he takes this as his cue to leave Ruth – and his heart – behind once more.


Translation of Italian:

"Solo un attimo, per favore." - "Just a moment, please."

"Zia Alice?" - "Aunt Alice?"

"Sono qui, Beatrice." - "I'm here, Beatrice."