March 2008:

Adam Carter entered Harry's inner sanctum without knocking.

"We have to do something," he said.

"About what?" Harry didn't even look up from the pile of reports he was reading and signing.

"You know what. She'll kill her. Connie eats other analysts for morning tea, saving section chiefs for a pre-dinner snack."

The tone of intensity and urgency in Adam's voice had Harry slowly putting down his pen, folding his hands in front of him, and lifting his eyes to meet Adam's.

"Spit it out, Adam. What is it you're trying to tell me?"

"It will never work. They can't seem to work together amicably."

"Why are you the one telling me this? If things are so bad between them, why isn't it one of them standing here, telling me?"

"Ruth has her pride, Harry …... and she doesn't want to admit it when she can't handle something. You know what Ruth is like."

Harry does, of course. He knows her rather well, although since she'd returned to the MI5 fold, things had been perceptibly different. He'd barely finished that thought, when Ruth came into view. She rushed across his field of vision, stopping only at her desk to grab her coat, and then she disappeared towards the pods. She hadn't even looked his way, which in itself was not unusual. Since she'd returned to London, things between them had been rather frosty.

"Where's she off to?" Harry said, a frown forming between his eyebrows.

"How should I know?" Adam replied.

Harry gazed up at Adam, as though he'd forgotten the presence of his section chief in his office. The quiet knock on the door had both men turning to see Connie James, a mix of guilt and pleasure on her face.

"I think I may have upset Ruth," she began, as she slowly crossed the office towards both men.


On leaving his office, Harry firstly stopped by Ruth's desk, and noticed two things. One was that her bag was still under her chair, and the other was that she'd left her gloves behind. He grabbed the gloves, and stuffed them into the pocket of his coat, and then headed towards the pods. He checked the roof balcony, and finding it empty, he returned down the stairs, and out through the front door.

"Which way did Ms Evershed go?" he asked the security guard on daytime duty.

"Off towards the river, I think," the man replied.

Harry nodded his thanks, before pulling on his own black leather gloves, and turning up his collar against the cold mid-March air, before heading off in the direction of the river. It was an overcast day, but dry, and the air seemed so still it could be carved into shapes using a sculptor's tools. He strode towards the river, and then crossed Lambeth Bridge, maintaining a steady pace. Once he reached the Thames embankment, he slowed his pace. He noted the benches ahead of him, and yet there was no sign of Ruth. For a moment, he worried about her, hoping she'd remember to keep her hands in her pockets. London in March was a very long way from Cyprus.

As he trudged on, keeping his gaze alert to the shape and size of Ruth, Harry remembered the relief and joy he'd felt when, only ten weeks earlier, he'd received the phone call from Brenton Clegg – one of 6's agents in Cyprus – informing him that he'd seen Ruth in a store in Paphos, and wasn't she meant to be dead? What had followed had been a flurry of activity, and some long hours put in by Malcolm, who'd had to create some new documents for Ruth, using a completely new identity. Harry had wanted to be the one to fly to Cyprus to bring her home, but Adam had talked him out of it, and he was glad that he had. Had he gone to Cyprus, he would have allowed his own confused and unspoken feelings to get in the way, and chances are, Ruth would have flatly refused to budge. Adam, on the other hand, had been forthright, convincing Ruth that it was safe for her to return home.

Harry had been shocked to learn, when Adam had rung him, after having met Ruth in Polis, that she was reluctant to return to her old life.

"She's settled here, Harry. She has a job, and she's safe."

"Then convince her to come home. We need her."

He'd known that Adam had seen through his order. The Grid now had Connie James, and whilst not Ruth, she was a dedicated and effective senior intelligence analyst, and she understood how Harry worked.

Ruth had returned home as Ruth Wright, but on the Grid, everyone still referred to her using old identity. Malcolm was still working towards getting her name cleared. Ruth, on the other hand, had not greeted Harry in the way he'd imagined she might. On her first night back in London, only four days after Christmas, he'd visited her at the safe house which was to be her temporary home.

"Harry," was all she said, as she opened the door to him. "You may as well come in."

"I have a bottle of wine for you. As a welcome home gift."

Ruth had taken the bottle, and read the label. "White burgundy," she'd said flatly. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

Her words had felt like a slap. He was overjoyed she was home, but it was clear to him that she did not share his joy. He'd followed her down the hallway to her cramped kitchen, and she'd invited him to sit at the small round table, while she occupied herself with making a pot of tea.

"Why did you insist I come home, Harry?" she asked, once she'd sat at the table, and waited while Harry poured their tea. "I'd only just found peace …... in Cyprus."

"Were you happy there?"

"Define happy. I know, I can't. I was …... safe there. I can't possibly be safe here."

"Oliver Mace is in prison, Ruth. He was indicted on 15 counts of torture. His non-parole period is eighteen years. By the time he's released, he'll be over seventy."

Ruth had sighed heavily, and looked up at him through tired eyes.

"That day I left …... that terribly cold morning …... I asked you to let me go. You haven't, have you?"

Tired and angry Ruth he could understand, but direct Ruth was something new. Harry had blinked several times, staring across the table into those thunderstorm eyes. All he could do was shake his head.

"Harry, I don't think I was ever the woman you believed me to be. I'm just Ruth -"

"Ruth, I -"

"No, Harry. This time you don't get to call the shots. I've spent over 16 months on my own, in a world that could easily have swallowed me so that I disappeared forever. While away from London, I learned to live on my wits, with no-one whom I could trust ….. no friends, no family, no ….. I missed you so much that I ached, but I soon learned to rise above that ache. Now I'm back here, all I can think is that I have to get up tomorrow and be ready to work another long day on the Grid, after which nothing at all in the world will have changed …..."

It had been at that point that Ruth's voice had cracked, and she'd stopped speaking, while tears had rolled down her face. Harry hadn't known what to say. He'd waited while she'd silently cried, hoping that the next words which came out of his mouth wouldn't alienate her further.

"The truth is, Ruth …... I've missed you terribly …... not only personally, but professionally as well. I've dragged an old colleague – Connie James – out of retirement to fill your shoes, but she only goes part way to doing that." He looked across the table, to see that she was looking at him differently, the coldness, the belligerence no longer there. Were he to have chosen a word, it would have been `interested'. "I don't expect you back at work until you're ready. However long it takes, you can take your time ….."

"But you won't wait forever, will you?"

"No. I won't." He'd then fiddled with the spoon, putting extra sugar in his cup, knowing that two spoonfuls was sweet enough. Then he'd looked up again, into her eyes. "I'm very pleased you're here, Ruth, even if you're not happy about it."

She'd talked little about her 16 months in exile. She'd seemed reluctant to talk to him at all. By the time he left, he got the impression that she'd blamed him for her exile. Her time alone in the world had given her opportunities for thinking differently. As he started his car, he'd wondered whether Ruth had met anyone in the time she'd been away. He'd wanted to know – he still wanted to know – but would never be brave enough to ask the question of her.

Less than a week later, Ruth had returned to the Grid, and it was within her first month back that she had had her first disagreement with Connie. Their disagreements were not a daily event, but happened at least weekly, and the intensity of them was escalating.

Then he saw her, standing against the stone parapet, hands pushed into the pockets of her coat, her eyes gazing down at the grey water of the Thames. Silently he approached her, and he pushed his own hand into the pocket of his coat, retrieving her gloves.

"I thought you might need these," he said, holding the gloves out for her to take from him.

She surprised him by smiling into his eyes, one of only a few smiles she had offered him since her return. Since returning to London, Ruth's mood had been as grey as the weather. She had kept to herself, and Harry had respected her need for solitude.

"Thanks," she said. "I keep forgetting how cold it gets here." She quickly pushed her fingers into her gloves, and then flexed them. "But you didn't come all this way just to bring me my gloves."

Harry gently took her elbow, and led her to a spare bench nearby. "I need you to talk to me," he said, once they'd sat, comfortably apart.

Ruth kept staring out at the river, and for a moment, Harry wondered had she heard him, but then he remembered that their conversations had never been like any conversations he'd shared with others. He had to let her determine the when and the why, and even the if. All the same, there was something he needed to tell her.

"Your new apartment will be ready by the weekend," he said. "It's closer to work, and it's much nicer than the safe house. I took a look at it yesterday. I think you'll like it."

He turned his head to look at her, but she still stared ahead, her eyes on the river and beyond. There was at least another few minutes of silence before Ruth spoke.

"I'm curious as to what you think it is I'd like, Harry."

"I'm not totally insensitive."

"I know you're not."

She surprised him by reaching out with her hand, and laying it on his forearm, where her fingers grasped him tightly through layers of clothing. Harry couldn't help it. He looked down at her hand, and then up at her. She was watching him, a small smile dancing on her lips. When Ruth removed her hand, he reached out, and took that same hand in his, bringing them down to the seat of the bench, where at last their joined hands rested on the wooden slats of the bench. He was overjoyed when, through her hand, he felt Ruth's body relax, and she emitted an audible sigh.

"I know I've been awful to you," she said quietly, "and I've blamed you for everything. I know that my decision to leave London was not your doing."

"I never wanted you to leave, Ruth. The day you left was one of the worst days of my life."

"Coming back to London to again work in Section D is something I've dreamed about for most of my time in exile."

"So why were you so reluctant to return?"

Again, Ruth remained silent. When he turned to look at her, Harry noticed Ruth winding her spare hand around in her lap.

"Would you like your hand back?" he asked.

Ruth shook her head, and to illustrate a point, she turned her captured hand around so that their fingers entwined. Just that small gesture warmed Harry from the inside out.

"I don't really know why I was so disagreeable when Adam turned up. All I could think was, `here come the cavalry to save me – again.' I know that you believe that the defined actions of the security services is comforting to the population at large. We all sleep safely, knowing that MI5 are out there, doing their jobs. Well, I think I got tired of having my fate determined by faceless people, with agendas which were murky at best, and at worst, downright inhumane."

"I had no idea you'd felt that way."

"I did, but only because I knew that whenever I was feeling low, needing to ring my mother, or Jo …... or you ….. I couldn't. Officially, I was dead, and that had been deemed my fate. One sick man with a thirst for torture had determined that I would wander around Europe until it was considered safe for me to return ….. if that day ever came. There were so many times when I wanted to just hop on a plane and come home …... but I resisted the urge, and made myself accept my life …. as it was, with all its limitations. Then when I saw Adam, and he announced that it was time for me to come home, I felt …..."

"What, Ruth?"

"Betrayed."

The word, although spoken softly, still had impact. Harry grasped her hand just that little bit tighter, waiting for what he could only expect would be her judgement of him. What followed was another long silence.

"I'd only been in Cyprus for four months when Adam turned up. It was not until I rented a house in Polis, and got myself a nice job at the hospital, that I could see myself remaining there …... perhaps for the rest of my life. I even got asked out to dinner …... by one of the doctors at the hospital, but I never got to go. So, imagine my …... irritation …... when I saw Adam, all wide smiles and bonhomie, telling me that it's now fine for me to come home ….. like the previous sixteen months hadn't happened."

"Did you ….. want to go out with him?"

"What?" Ruth turned to look at him, confusion in her eyes.

"The doctor. Did he mean something to you?"

"Not really, but he was a nice man. I didn't have the chance to …... pursue that, and I was being shunted back to my old life."

"We hadn't known where you were. Zaf ….."

"Oh, I know that now …... now I'm back here. At the time Adam arrived, I was so angry …... and most of all, I was angry with you."

"Me? Why?" Harry turned slightly in his seat, so that he could better face her.

"I'd always imagined you to be the one who turned up …. to get me. We'd embrace, kiss, and all would be as it was before I left London."

This time it was Harry who took his time to reply.

"Adam talked me out of going to get you. At the time, it had seemed like the sensible option. I didn't want …... to see your face drop with disappointment when you saw me. I …... wanted to greet you when you came back to London."

"I'm sorry with how I …... was ….. when you visited me that first night. I wasn't terribly polite."

"I hadn't expected polite, Ruth. I'd hoped for some kind of …..."

"You hoped I'd be pleased to see you, and I was anything but."

"Yes."

"I've been ….. so hurt by all that had happened that …... I'd forgotten that you had also been hurt."

He found it difficult to accept his own feelings of hurt, so to acknowledge them to Ruth was something he was not quite ready to do.

"Now, about Connie," Ruth said, after a long silence, during which they'd each relaxed into being together once more.

"What about her?" he replied.

"I have a story for you. If you're not ready to hear it, I'll go higher, but you need to know what Connie is up to, Harry."

He turned in the seat, so that he had to let go of her hand. They were no longer two old friends who'd once been close, attempting to find their way back to one another. This was an MI5 section head and his analyst – colleague to colleague – and what Ruth began to tell him, had Harry sitting up straight.

When she'd finished relating her story to Harry, he sat very still. This time, he was the one staring across the river towards the Houses of Parliament, and Ruth was the one watching him, and waiting. Eventually, he took a deep breath, and turned to look into her eyes, his expression unreadable, but serious.

"That is a very serious allegation, Ruth. You're sure about this?"

"Yes. I've kept records."

"Encrypted?"

"Definitely. Everything is recorded …... in detail. I have everything on a mini disk."

"Does anyone else know? Malcolm?"

"No. I wanted to speak to you first."

"And your altercation with her today?"

"That had nothing to do with this. That was just …... our personalities clashing. She treats me as though I know nothing, and yet I find her methods sloppy, and her record-keeping questionable."

"You do realise, Ruth, what you are saying?"

"Yes. I'm accusing Connie James of being a traitor."