Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC.

Series: 10

Characters: Ruth plus S10

Spoilers: Up to 10.3

Genre: Angst

Rating: T

Fragile

'I'm sick of secrets; they stop you ever knowing people. Everyone ends up feeling alone.'

She finds her way to the river, lured there by its cool familiarity, although this evening she has picked a spot well away from the all-seeing eye of Thames House. Dinner with the Home Secretary had been an interesting experience. She can't quite work out why he's wooing her, and wooing her he most certainly is. Whether his intentions are professional or personal remains to be seen and the uncertainty leaves her feeling off-balance, more so than usual. But once again she has vocalised her feelings for Harry, though not in gushing, romantic terms. She wonders why she seems to have these conversations in the most unlikely of situations. Maybe she should be worried that others can see so clearly that which she and Harry find so difficult to openly acknowledge.

They had been making progress, working things out, getting closer. His awkward invitation to accompany him to the reception had been both endearing and amusing. Then his gentle reassurance that they would fit into the glamorous surroundings had reminded her of his more appealing qualities. She'd enjoyed being on his arm, had relaxed a little, feeling grateful they were settling into a newfound ease in each other's company.

But then he saw Elena.

Dignified, graceful, sophisticated Elena.

The nakedness of Harry's emotions had felt like a punch in the solar plexus and with it had come the realisation that the Russian woman had been more than an asset. So much more. She'd known, even before the words had left Harry's mouth, that Sasha was his son. And now she is party to that secret; drawn deeper into Harry's life but discovering she barely knows him.

He hasn't quite let go of his past; she's not sure he can, not when there is a child as a permanent reminder of what he and Elena had. Something she'd had, briefly. Something she won't have again, not with Harry, not with any man.

With that thought comes the realisation that perhaps she should move on; get away from the oppressiveness of the Grid and the suffocating grief that leaves her breathless and weeping. She wonders what it would be like to work in a place where you have leaving parties for colleagues instead of memorial services. A place where young lives aren't cut short and grieving relatives lied to.

She had meant what she said to Towers; she's sick of secrets. They're hairline fractures in life; apply the right amount of pressure and they crack open, spilling out their contents, revealing the fragility of things that had seemed strong and certain.

And everyone ends up feeling alone.