Previously: After Harry asked her to, Jo has met with Ruth and started the ball rolling about Ruth coming back to the Grid. But we all know Ruth won't make that decision without having some form of conversation with Harry...

She debates turning up on his doorstep. Wonders what his expression would be. Inscrutable, probably. Or maybe that little half smile, that she had seen when she approached him on Millbank. Or would it be slight annoyance, written across his eyes? No matter what Jo has said, she can't totally believe that Harry's emotional response to her return to Britain is in her favour. No matter what he himself has said, she cannot accept that she is wanted back on the Grid - that was just him saying what he could, to placate her anger.

No, she cannot turn up on his doorstep.

Instead, she sends him a text. Asks him to meet her at the Buxton Memorial Fountain, in Victoria Square Park. Asks him to let her know a time that suits.

His reply comes back before she places the phone back in her pocket. Yes. Half an hour. She smiles, a little, secretive smile, and goes to sit on the bench by the embankment. Maybe Jo was right, if he is willing to meet that quickly. She ignores the quiet voice in her head that points out that she was already there before she sent the text, which means she must have suspected Jo was right, all along. She also pretends she doesn't notice that he doesn't ask if she needs more time to get there.

She is standing by the fountain ten minutes early, and she is wise - Harry arrives five minutes before the allotted half an hour. He walks towards her, not speeding up, not slowing down, glancing at her occasionally, but then looking down, pressing his lips together. When he is standing by her side, she meets his eyes, nods.

"Thanks for coming."

"I'll always come to see you, Ruth." His voice is soft, caressing almost, and his eyes crinkle up a little as he says it. She has to look away. This hurts.

She leads the way to the nearest bench in silence, and sits, waiting for him to do likewise.

"Did you send Jo?"

"What makes you ask that?" He turns and looks at her, staring over at Lambeth Palace, determinedly not meeting his eye.

"As I recall, it was you who said I was a born Spook, Harry. I haven't lost that."

"I never thought you would."

"What, then?"

"I wondered...I doubted... If you would ever want that life again. It's not simple, you know that better than anyone."

"Maybe it's not. But what can I do now, Harry? Sit at home and knit? What else can I do?"

"Are you saying...?"

"I'm not saying anything. I'm asking if you sent Jo to talk to me." She has to know.

He is silent, for a while, staring over at the same spot on the palace roof as she is. Then he looks at her again, blinks, sighs, bows his head.

"Yes. And no. I knew she would be seeing you. I just asked her to..."

"to what?"

"to see if you might be open. To coming back." Now he has given himself away, he can only look at her in hope. She can almost hear the second hand of his watch tick in time to her heart. She pauses, carefully, deliberately.

"I won't go back, Harry."

"Ruth..." She is already rising, but the pain in his voice is not lost to her ears, and she cannot meet his eye.

"I said I won't go back, Harry. That doesn't mean I won't go forward."

As she walks away, without a backwards glance, Ruth mentally shakes her head. That did not go as planned. She'd had every intention of saying she would come back, but something of what Jo said has stuck with her - and Harry's reactions also seem to back up what was said, and somehow, she finds herself enjoying the suspense. Enjoying? Not quite. Savouring, perhaps. She has proved, twice now, that she is capable of approaching him. Now to see if he will approach her.

Harry sits for some time after Ruth leaves, head in hands, not thinking of anything, really. Will things never change? He supposes she is right, she can never go back. They can never go back. He was a fool to even entertain the thought that they could. They are not a moment, stuck in time. Not by the barge, not in the warehouse, not even on the rooftop, talking Charlie Chaplin.

'That doesn't mean I won't go forward.' What was that? An invitation? Or a threat? Can he bear the thought of her, working somewhere else? For someone else? Having a different life, after their lives came so close to reconnecting? Can he afford to just leave this to Jo, good as she is? After all, it's not her life. It will not actually cause her to lose sleep that Ruth is not walking in to the Grid of a morning, especially if their friendship is such that they continue to meet up outside of work. But it will cause him to lose sleep. Just like it has for the past three years. He would like to deny it, but every morning, when he wakes a moment before the alarm at five, his first thought has been for her. Wondering where she was. How she was. And frequently, as he watched the dawn break the horizon, he has imagined her looking up at the same stars, in their beauty and simplicity. As Fidget, Tinkle and Scarlet have competed for who gets their breakfast first, he has been inexplicably reminded of her bursting in to his office, demanding his attention, never knocking - and he has wished that he might live that experience, just one more time. Maybe it is time that he moves forward.

He is sitting on her doorstep when she arrives back, laden with groceries. Yes, he could have let himself in - has done it to so many people, so many times... but it doesn't feel right with her. He has a selection of muffins from a nice little bakery round the corner, as bringing a bottle isn't really appropriate. She doesn't seem that surprised, and silently lets him in behind her.

"I brought these. For you." He proffers the bag when she has placed her shopping haphazardly on the kitchen table.

"You shouldn't have." There is just a whisper of smile in her voice, and it reaches her eyes, before she looks away and begins to unpack the shopping. He watches her, momentarily, his eyes tracing the elegance of her wrists, the swift, calculated motion as she moves from table to cupboard, and back. She is ignoring him.

"Ruth." He is quiet, but authoritative. She pauses, a little bent over the table, and, finally, looks at him. His heart almost stops.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Ruth, come in to the Grid. Please. You are the best analyst we have had in years. Your absence has been felt by everyone. We have missed you. We need you." He keeps her gaze, eyes intently locked on hers. "I'm not saying it'll be the same as it was - you know better than anyone, it can't be. But please, come forward with us." She hears the unspoken 'with me', as he intends. She is silent, considering, ruminating. He does not push her. There is no chair in this half of the room, and nothing he can lean on, and so he stands, arms hanging loosely by his side, looking more than a little spent.

A movement from her side of the room startles him, and he realises she has gone back to her shopping. He fights the urge to go to her, to take her by the arms and try and impress upon her how important this is to him.

"Yes."

"What?" The breaking of the silence may have fooled his ears.

"Yes. I will. Rejoin the Grid, that is. But only because I believe Jo is right." She doesn't look at him as he says this, and Harry can't help but wonder if she is trying to put him in his place. Before he can make up his mind, she has turned to face him, asking "when do I start?"

"Whenever suits you. I don't want to put any rush on you."

"To be honest, I'd rather be busy. How about Monday?"

"That would be admirable."

"How does the Home Office feel about having a ghost working as a Spook?" Now she is broadly smiling.

"I took the liberty of having a discussion with the Home Secretary. That has all been cleared."

"A little presumptuous of you."

"Some things don't change, Ruth." He has moved towards her while speaking, and his voice is smooth and low, but before she has time to back away, he has briefly placed his hand on her arm, gripped it gently, and turned away.

She is still standing by the table when she hears the front door click.