A/N: I was never sure whether I even wanted to continue the original Christmas one-shot. Once I began writing this it went in an altogether unexpected direction, and so I thought it worth continuing. Thanks so much for the kind reviews for Chapter 1.


Tuesday 5th January - late afternoon:

For around the twentieth time Ruth checked her phone. Perhaps four minutes had passed since the last time she'd checked, and no, there had been no messages or calls in that time. She then hurried into the kitchen to check that she had wine, single malt whiskey – which she'd bought especially for the occasion – and that the tea and coffee was ready to make should that be Harry's preference. An unopened packet of hobnobs – the ones with the chocolate chips – sat on the kitchen counter, just in case he was hungry.

Their Christmas together had been lovely. Much better than lovely, it had been warm and relaxed, and even surprising. They had been careful, even wary around one another, neither wanting to let their true feelings be known to the other. After an early dinner of roast lamb and vegetables Harry had lifted his finger and said, "I have something for you," and promptly headed outside to his car. Left at the table alone, Ruth had internally kicked herself. How had she overlooked buying Harry a Christmas gift?

He'd returned carrying a cardboard box, held closed by several long strips of duct tape. "This is for you," he said, smiling. "It's yours."

"But I haven't anything for you."

"Nonsense. You provided a wonderful meal, Ruth, and a place for us both to celebrate this holiday. Had I been at home alone I would have been eating baked beans and eggs, washed down with several whiskies. Then I would have fallen into bed." At the mention of the word `bed' they had each glanced up at the other, awkwardness hovering in the air around them like an uninvited relative. "Here," Harry had said, placing the box on the table in front of Ruth. "I want to see your face when you open it."

Ruth had stood up and begun tearing the tape from the box. "So long as it's not an animal," she said. "There's barely room for me in this flat. I could never -" She'd stopped talking in mid sentence. Inside the box were books – the books she'd had to leave behind when she'd left London after Cotterdam. She'd reached in to grab Homer's Odyssey from the top of the small pile, drawing it close to her face so that she could smell it. "These are my books. Harry, how did you -?"

"The day after you .. left London .. I went to your house and took some of what I thought you would want to keep. I never expected you'd return home, and by the time you did I'd forgotten I had these. I only remembered them yesterday, when I was trying to decide what to give you."

Ruth had been overwhelmed, tears spilling unchecked from her eyes to slide down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy. She'd put down her books and stepped into Harry's embrace. They'd stood next to the dining table for long minutes, her nose pressed against his chest, his arms encircling her. Privately, they each declared it to be their best Christmas ever.

Harry had left well before midnight, claiming a need for a decent sleep before he began packing for his time away. Ruth knew that what he meant was that he was tempted to stay, but wished to wait until he had returned from leave, until he had recharged his batteries.

Having worked every day since Boxing Day, Ruth had taken the day off. When the doorbell sounded she jumped. She knew it would be Harry, so she again checked the cups, biscuits, wine, wine glasses, whiskey, whiskey glasses – a large one for Harry, and a small one for herself – before she hurried to the door. When she reached the door she hesitated, suddenly unsure about whether she and Harry attempting to advance their relationship – after years of having been in a state of stalemate – was even a good idea. Another long and impatient ringing of her doorbell convinced her that they could do this, and even if they couldn't, they should at least try.

She opened the door to a revived Harry. As he stepped through the doorway to pull her against him in a warm hug, she noticed how clear were his eyes. His skin, when she lifted her face to his, was a little sun-kissed. She pulled out of his embrace to closely examine his face. "It must have been warm in … where was it you went? Nice? Menton?"

Harry distracted her with a kiss. It was a careful and gentle kiss. There was no passion in it, only relief that they were once again together. "I brought you something, but first … how have you been? How is the Grid?"

Ruth stepped right back, so that his arms fell away from her. "You want to know how the Grid is? Look around you. Is London still intact?"

"It appears to be."

"Then the Grid is fine. We are all fine."

"And you didn't even miss me."

"I didn't say that." Ruth reached behind him to close and lock her front door. "Let's go into the living room. I have the fire on."

They sat together on Ruth's sofa, sitting a little apart. Harry had opted for the red wine, and so they each held a glass of red while they stared at the gas fire across the room, taking occasional glances at each other. "When are you coming back to work?" Ruth asked, glancing quickly at his face. She knew her question to be mundane and impersonal, but the days apart had led to a distancing between them, a measurable drifting apart. It had been her idea that they not communicate during his brief time away. It had been he who had objected, but she had been adamant. Now she suspected it had not been one of her better ideas.

"Do you really need to know that?" he asked quietly.

"I suppose not. I imagine you'll be back at work tomorrow or the next day, so ..."

What followed was a long period of silence. Ruth could feel Harry's discomfort through the small distance between their bodies. He was not the same man who had so tenderly kissed her goodbye at her door before he left on Christmas night. "I have something I need to tell you," he said at last, his voice low.

Ruth felt a chill course through her body. He had met someone else. He had rethought them, and had decided that `they' were not a good idea after all. "What is it?" she asked at last, turning slightly to watch him. It seemed to her that he was afraid of saying whatever it was he needed to say. "Would you like a biscuit?" she said nervously. "I have hobnobs .. with chocolate chips."

Harry turned to face her, a gentle smile softening his features. His eyes took in her face, neck, chest, and then he searched for her clasped hands, reaching out to grasp them with his own hand. "I'm expecting you to not like what I have to say, Ruth, so I'm rather .. nervous."

"My father always used to say that if you have something you're afraid to say, but which still needs to be said, then just come out and say it."

"Wise words," he said, squeezing her clasped hands.

"Did you meet someone .. while you were away?" Ruth kept her eyes on their hands. He was not letting go. If anything, his grasp was tighter.

"In a way, yes, but not in the way you mean." Ruth's eyes darted up to meet his. Her heart was pounding inside her chest, and she felt a roiling of nausea in her stomach. She swallowed hard in an attempt to keep it down. "It wasn't another woman, Ruth."

"You're gay?"

Harry threw back his head and laughed. He stopped suddenly, realising that Ruth might be offended by his laughter, and he still hadn't answered her question. "You can't seriously believe me to be gay. We've kissed. On Christmas Day we stretched out on this sofa and enjoyed the very best session of snogging I've ever engaged in." When he saw the curve of a smile on her lips, he soldiered on. "I didn't go to Italy or France. Ruth .. I spent my leave in Cyprus."

Ruth tore her hands from his grasp with a strength even she didn't know she had. Then she quickly got to her feet, knocking the corner of the coffee table with her leg, so that her glass of wine rocked from side to side until Harry quickly rescued it. She had crossed the room to the kitchen doorway before she turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

By this time Harry was also on his feet, having placed both glasses of wine in the centre of the coffee table, hopefully out of harm's way. He took a step towards her, but her face told him he should not venture any closer. "How would you have reacted to that had I told you? Even I wasn't sure until I got to Nice and it all looked so .. terribly nice that I had no wish to stay there. So .. I checked online for places to stay in Paphos and Polis, and I booked my flight." Harry waited for a response, but she was watching him, her expression unchanged. "I arrived in Paphos on the 30th." He waited, and watched. "I hired a car and drove to Polis on the afternoon of the 30th." Harry watched Ruth for a few long seconds, but she was still standing, watching him, her eyes conveying her hurt. "The next morning – the 31st – I rang Christina Kyriakou -"

"You rang her? How did you know her name .. her contact details?"

Harry waited, taking a small step towards Ruth, and then stopping. "When I was notified about the sale of the house you and George had owned, she and her husband were listed as Nico's guardians."

He sighed heavily, having seen the quick flash of pain in Ruth's eyes at his mention of Nico. "Christina is George's sister-in-law. They're a close-knit family. Christina will protect Nico with her life .. which is something I failed to do."

"Ruth .. you did your best for him. And I did what I did .. for you."

"What gives you the right to make a decision like that on my behalf?"

Harry stood two metres from Ruth, his arms by his side, his fingers moving compulsively and nervously. "I wanted to surprise you," he said quietly.

"You certainly did that." Ruth seemed to have calmed, but she was not moving from where she stood.

Harry half turned, and gestured towards the sofa. "Come and sit down. What's done is done, and can't be changed." With his words, all the fight left Ruth's body, and she followed him back to the sofa. Again they sat beside one another, and Harry handed Ruth her wine glass, which she took and held in her lap, turning the glass around and around while she watched the red liquid swirl up and down the inside of the glass. "What would you have done had I told you what I was planning?" Harry asked at last, his voice gentle and kind.

She looked up at him then with sad eyes. She shook her head. "I don't know. I suppose I would have shouted at you and told you to stop interfering in that which didn't concern you."

"But it does concern me, Ruth. What has affected you so profoundly also concerns me." Ruth nodded and then looked down at her glass. She took a small sip of wine. "I brought something back from Cyprus .. for you." Harry reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and lifted out a bulky envelope. "This is from Christina and Nico .. for you." Ruth put down her glass and took the envelope from Harry, turning it over and over, as if she didn't know how to open it. "Do you want me to leave you alone while you see what's inside?"

Ruth's eyes, when she lifted them to his, were wide and a little panicked. "No. Please. Stay with me." Ruth reached out with one hand and grabbed Harry's hand, grasping it tightly in her own. "I need you."

Harry very carefully extricated his hand from her grasp. "You'll need both hands to read what is in that envelope."

"Do you know what's in here?"

"Not exactly. Christina told me that she had written a letter to you, and that Nico had written to you also. I suggested that if he wants further communication with you that he should add his email address."

"Does he have one?"

Harry smiled into her eyes. "Not yet. I suggested that perhaps he should have one .. even if he only uses it for writing to you."

Harry sat beside her while she opened the envelope. There were two letters – one from Christina, written in Greek, and a page from Nico, written in English. Ruth read the letters in silence, and then she picked up the photographs and went through them one by one, describing each one for Harry before passing them across to him. "This is the most recent one of Nico," she said. "He's just turned eleven. And this is Nico with Christina and her husband, Theo. And this is another one of Nico .. with his cousins, Alex and Dimitri. Alex must be twelve or thirteen by now, and Dimitri is the same age as Nico. Only three months separate them." Ruth hesitated, holding the last photograph between her fingers.

"Ruth?" Harry said gently. "What is it?"

She silently handed him the last photo. It was an image of a grave, set against a sparsely grassed hillside. The inscription on the headstone was in Greek. He could make out the dates – 1967 – 2009. "This is George's grave," he said quietly. He looked at Ruth and she nodded. She was dry-eyed, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing. He handed the photographs back to her. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

Ruth's eyes widened and she shook her head. "I need you here." She carefully folded the letters, placing them, along with the photographs, back in the envelope. "I'll read them again later," she said, laying the envelope on the coffee table. "Maybe tomorrow .. or the next day." As she sat back, Harry shuffled across to sit close to her, and slid one arm around her shoulders. He was relieved when she allowed her body to sink against him. He turned towards her so that he could wrap both arms around her, pulling her against his side.


A/N: Third and last chapter up in a couple of days.