Ingolstadt, Germany - Wednesday, early morning:

Ruth stands very still. She is having to take a moment to absorb what she is seeing. He hadn't told her he'd be taking the same train. While they'd been gathering her possessions ready to leave, he had said something about getting to Amsterdam before her, and she'd not questioned that. She'd presumed he'd be taking an earlier train, or that he had a driver who would get him there by autobahn. One could make it across the country rather quickly when travelling at 120 km/hour.

He gets to his feet, and slowly takes one step to close the distance between them. He looks down at her, a small smile lifting his cheeks. He reaches down to grasp her free hand, lifting it until his warm lips press against her cool skin. There is a lot she wants to say to him. Mostly, she wants to say his name, then she wants to sink against him, allowing him to prop her up, to be her strength, because she has so little strength left, her own having been shattered by the hair-raising journey in Theodore's car. She wants to ask him to take her to bed, to make room for her to curl up against his warmth while he holds her.

She says nothing, but she hopes he can read her intention in her eyes as she gazes into his. "Who did you expect?" he asks at last.

"I thought .. I'd have the … cabin to myself."

Harry's smile widens at her use of the word, `cabin'. He thinks the correct word might be compartment, but he's not sure. The correct name for the cabin on a German train may well be der Alkoven, or even die Nische. He knew what name to use thirty years ago, but he was young then, and Germany was an exciting and sometimes dangerous place for a young spy. He's sure it doesn't much matter what they call their cabin/niche/compartment. Until they reach the border in around six and a half hours they'll be in this small space together – alone – and that is all that matters.

"If you wish to use the … facilities .. they're further along this corridor," he says, his eyes moving above her head and to his right.

Ruth nods, and then opens her bag, scratching around for a towel and her toothbrush and toothpaste. She knows Harry is watching her every move, but she can't look at him. He's probably smiling at her in that way he always had when he'd found her words or actions to be quaint. She hurries from the cabin, closing the door behind her.

In the bathroom at the end of the carriage she is the only one using the facilities. Given it is some minutes after 1 am this is not surprising. As she brushes her teeth, Ruth watches herself in the mirror. Her hair is awry and her eyes are a little wild. Small wonder Harry had stared at her. She looks like someone who had run the whole way from her town to the train.

She is rinsing her toothbrush when she pulls up a memory she had deliberately pushed away, never to be looked at again. On the night the team had met in Adam's flat, just after the murder of Colin Wells, Ruth had found herself in Harry's car as he drove them to the pub. "I should really go home," she'd said, looking across to where Harry had expertly manoeuvred his car through the night, his face grim. He'd glanced at her but said nothing.

The team had gathered at a pub where Jo and Zaf often drank. The pub was small and quaint and cosy, and as they settled around a round table, they sat in their pairs – Zaf and Jo, Adam and Malcolm, Harry and Ruth. Ros Myers had popped in for a while, but had left early. They drank slowly, but said little, other than Malcolm, who by the end of the night had told every story he knew about Colin, including some stories from his own youth.

Ruth and Harry had sat close to one another, and as the others had drifted away, most heading home, Harry had moved his chair closer to hers, and eventually he'd reached under the table to grasp her hand in his, drawing it across to rest on his knee. It had been the first time they'd touched in a way which had acknowledged the growing intimacy between them. Ruth has no memory of what they'd talked about that night, as they'd sat, just the two of them, enjoying being together. When she'd asked him to drive her home, he had stood, taking her coat from the back of a spare chair, holding it out for her to slip her arms into. Then, from behind her, he'd grasped her arms and very gradually drawn her back so that she leaned against him. She'd felt his lips kiss her cheek, and then she'd turned in his arms and he'd kissed her again, this time on her lips. As he'd kissed her, Ruth had reminded herself that Harry was hurting, grieving the loss of another valuable member of his team. The kiss hadn't meant anything. He'd just needed comfort, and she was a safe and convenient source of comfort.

When they reached Ruth's house he'd seen her to the door, and again he'd leaned in and kissed her. As she looks at her reflection in the mirror she can still remember that kiss, how it felt to have his warm lips against hers, his body pressed against her. When he'd pulled away she'd heard a whimper from her own throat. She'd wanted the kiss to go on. She'd wanted to invite him inside, to stay with her until dawn, when they'd be woken by birdsong outside her bedroom window, but he'd made his excuses and quickly left.

They never again spoke of that night. Next day it was business as usual on the Grid, although the mood had been sombre for the remainder of the week. They had all missed Colin, although Malcolm had missed him more than most. And then, only weeks later, Harry had asked her to have dinner with him, and again Ruth's hopes had risen. It had been a strange evening. Harry had been nervous, and formal, and rather proper towards her. His goodnight kiss had been careful, and compared with the kisses at the time Colin had died, surprisingly chaste.

Ruth had been confused, so that by the time she'd considered his second invitation to dinner, she decided that to pursue anything with Harry would be a very bad idea. He was her boss; he was so much older than her; and he needed her – or something he saw in her, because Ruth had had no idea what it was Harry wanted with her. She'd concluded that she was very good at providing comfort, and Harry had wanted her to comfort him. She had thought she loved him, but she had soon talked herself out of it.

So on that bitterly cold morning when she'd stepped on the tug boat which was to take her away from Harry forever, she knew she'd been lying to herself, and she also knew – too late – how much Harry cared for her. She'd shown her love for him by leaving him, just as he is showing her his love for her by finding her, and then risking his safety by bringing her home.

She finds that she is still staring at her image in the mirror, but the wild eyes have softened, and her hair, while untidy, is not so bad. She hears a gentle knocking on the door. "Ruth?"

"I'm coming," she says, repacking her toiletry bag.

When she joins him in the corridor she is able to see the worry around his mouth. Had he thought she'd again left him? Poor Harry. She has no plans to leave him, but she's not sure how to tell him. She decides that she should stay by his side, and make no sudden moves. She grasps his hand as he leads her back along the corridor. She is sure she can see the slight curve of a smile on his lips.


Back in their compartment, sleeping arrangements have to me made. "You choose whether you want to be on the top or the bottom," he says. "It's my turn to use the facilities," and then he quickly leaves the compartment. For a moment Ruth misunderstands, but she soon realises that he is referring to the top or the bottom bunk. She chooses the bottom. She is sure were she to sleep on the top bed she'd fall off.

When Harry returns she is already in bed, and his mood has changed. He is no longer the gentle, sensitive lover-to-be. He is her rescuer, and he still has a job to do. He slips his toilet bag into the outer pocket of his small backpack, and then stands, looking down at her. "I'll be spending the next hour or so with Theodore," he says quietly, his voice deeper than usual, like he is sharing a secret. "There have been some complications."

Ruth sits up in bed, holding the bedcovers in front her her to cover her chest. She is irritated by her own false modesty, although Harry appears to not have noticed. "Are you returning here to sleep?" she asks.

"Yes." He waits, watching her, assessing her frame of mind. "You're safe here, Ruth," he says. "There is only one entrance to this carriage, and Theodore's compartment is right by that doorway. At least one of us must remain awake, and since he has driven you here, I think that should be me."

Harry leaves quickly, without looking back at her. Ruth is surprised by her own level of disappointment. She had imagined them falling asleep in the same cabin, perhaps exchanging some small intimacies before they fell asleep. Perhaps Harry is taking himself from her to consult with Theodore, or perhaps he is taking himself from a situation which may tempt him in ways he doesn't wish to be tempted, especially when they are still far from being safe. She closes her eyes and begins emptying her mind of her worries about the future.


When Ruth awakes it is still night time, and listening for the sound of another person breathing, she appears to be alone in her compartment. "Harry?" she says aloud, but there is no answer. She climbs out of her bed and checks the top bunk, but it hasn't been slept in. Even though the inside of the compartment is pleasantly warm, she crawls back under the covers and waits. She is close to falling asleep again when the door opens silently, and she sees Harry's bulk moving towards the beds.

"You've been gone a while," she says, not even knowing whether that is true.

"You should be asleep," he says. "Theodore has decided to stay awake, and he suggested I get a couple hours more sleep. We reach the border just after 6," he says, peeling off his clothes, until he appears to be wearing only black trunks and a black t-shirt.

"You can climb in with me," Ruth says, knowing he'll turn down her offer. "We can keep one another warm."

Harry stands so close to the beds that his body is right in her line of sight, and having grown accustomed to the dark, she can see the outline of his genitals inside his trunks. She knows he'd rather sleep with her, and she also knows that he will not take up her offer. "Were I to climb in with you, Ruth, I don't think there'd be much sleeping .. do you?" And he pulls himself up to climb into the top bunk.

"I suppose not," she says, wondering what had possessed her into making that suggestion. What must he think of her?

Ruth is wide awake, and with Harry lying less than a metre away, she is distracted by his proximity. After around five minutes of silence, she can no longer remain silent. Since he arrived at her flat to take her home they have barely spoken, other than to discuss the plans for her escape. They have not spoken about anything personal, and Ruth wonders why. She is frustrated by this, and when she hears Harry clearing his throat, she decides to speak to him about something which has been bothering her for over two years.

"Harry .." she begins.

"Yes?" Given his voice is not sleepy, she knows that, like her, he has been lying in bed wide awake.

"Something has been bothering me," she says. "There's something I need to know. It's about what happened back in London, before I left." When he doesn't say anything she continues. "After Colin died, and we were close for that one evening … do you remember?"

"Of course I remember."

"Why did you never mention it again? It was as though it never happened."

"Why didn't you, Ruth? I was waiting for you to say something, and when you didn't, I thought … I was sure you'd regretted what happened between us. And then everything which happened after that seemed to confirm my fears."

"I was waiting for you," she says quietly, realising then how powerful had been their unspoken thoughts, thoughts and wishes held back and never articulated. She sighs heavily, and then she is sure she can hear Harry sighing.

"There's quite a lot we need to talk about," he says quietly, "but now isn't the time. If all goes according to plan, we'll be staying in Amsterdam for at least two nights before we fly to London. That would be a good time for us to …" Another unfinished sentence. "We need to sleep," he says, "and as much as I'd rather be talking to you for the couple of hours before the border, I don't think we should."

At last Ruth understands. How could she have forgotten? For Harry and Theodore, this is an operation, and an important one. Clearly it has personal significance for Harry. If not, he would have sent someone else to retrieve her, someone like Adam Carter or Zaf Younis. Again, Ruth closes her eyes, and allows her body to relax.


When Ruth again opens her eyes she is being shaken awake by Harry's hand on her shoulder. "Ruth," he is saying, "it's time to wake up," so that by the time they reach the border they are both dressed for the day, and with just a little under an hour before they reach Amsterdam, Ruth is beginning to experience nervous anticipation.

For much of the hour between the border and their destination, Ruth is alone in their compartment, as Harry leaves her so that he can once more check with Theodore. Harry only returns to her compartment once the train reaches the outskirts of the city.

"There might be a bit of a problem when we get there," he says, "but Theodore and a mate of his have organised another hotel for us, and they'll provide a distraction at the train station."

The thought of Theodore having `mates' briefly amuses Ruth, but her main concern is the slight smile on Harry's lips. "This is funny?" she says, mildly outraged.

"I wasn't smiling at our predicament, Ruth, although it is reminiscent of many … adventures Theo and I shared in the past. We were younger then, and we were often stupid along with it. I'm just .. happy you are with me."

Schiphol airport and train station is like a city within a city. Ruth had visited Amsterdam briefly in her university days. She had even met a boy here, but had only known him for a day before she and her friend had moved on. As they leave the train, Harry carries her luggage, leaving her free to look around her. She sees nothing out of place, and grasping Harry's hand, she walks with him towards the gate. They have been travelling on Danish passports as Ruth and Daniel Sorenson.

Suddenly, they hear loud voices from behind them, and needing to know exactly what is happening, Ruth turns to look. In the middle of the platform she sees Theodore and another man arguing loudly in Dutch, occasionally slipping into English, but then cursing one another in Dutch. She turns back to check the line in front of them, but there is no-one there she recognises. She hears Harry saying "come on," his voice conveying his irritation with how slowly the line is moving. Ruth looks up to see the two men who had sat outside her building in Germany descending from an upper floor on the escalator. She quickly looks down, relieved that they appear to not have seen her and Harry, their attention having been captured by the two men who are now shouting and gesticulating, and the couple who appear to be at the centre of the skirmish, but who have not joined in – a couple who closely resemble her and Harry.

Ruth grasps Harry's hand more tightly, and pushes through the line. "You can't do that," he says in her ear.

"I just have."

Very soon they are out of the main station, and Harry is hailing a taxi. "We have to change plans. We can't stay in any of the hotels in Schiphol," he says. "We have to head into the city."


In their hotel Harry is enjoying a much needed shower, while Ruth unpacks her bag. She has very little in the way of possessions, and this has not bothered her until now. When there is a knock at their door, Ruth hesitates, but opens it, because they are expecting Theodore to arrive with Harry's bag, which had been left at the hotel he'd booked for them in Schiphol. Ruth greets the older man with a warm hug. Even though she'd only spent two hours with him, to her he already feels like an old friend.

"All quiet at the train station?" she says, smiling, once she has moved from his embrace.

"I enjoyed myself, and so did Erik. It's good to let one's hair down occasionally. Your stand-ins also made it out of there, and we lost the Russians. The couple who are posing as you – Anneke and John – are remaining in plain sight for a while, at least until you leave Amsterdam."

"Thank you for what you have done," Ruth says shyly.

Harry has finished his shower, and wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, he walks bare foot into the room. Ruth thinks that he looks like any ordinary man, although Harry has never been ordinary. She leaves them to talk, while she showers. By the time she finishes in the bathroom, Theodore has left, and Harry is dressed in slacks and a shirt and jacket. It is already mid morning, and hours since they have eaten.

Harry takes her out for a brunch of pancakes and coffee, and then they wander around the city, ducking out of the way of mopeds and bicycles, until they are standing outside the Van Gogh Museum. Ruth looks up at him, her eyes shining, and he smiles and nods, and then leads her to the main door.


They eat dinner in their room. Ruth is dressed for bed, while Harry is still in his day clothes. Ruth finds that she is too nervous to eat very much. She has little idea what will happen next. She and Harry are sharing a double room, a room with only one bed, although it is a very large bed. "Will we be sleeping together tonight?" she asks, watching him closely.

"Do you want us to?"

"That's not answering my question," she says, disappointed by his evasiveness.

Harry takes so long to reply that Ruth assumes he has said all he has to say on the subject. He is buttering a slice of bread when, very quietly and carefully, he begins to talk. "I hadn't wanted or expected to have this conversation until we are back in London, but .. since you've brought it up .."

"I only asked about us sharing the bed, Harry, nothing more."

He lifts his eyes to meet hers, and to Ruth he appears angry. She knows Harry. She needs to let him speak. "The subtext to your question is clear, Ruth. You're asking whether I'm expecting sex. The answer to that is no, I am not expecting it, but that doesn't mean that I don't want it .. with you. The feelings I had for you at the time you left London have not .. diminished." Ruth nods, watching him, shocked by his openness. She is not sure she could match his level of honesty. How can she possibly say, I ache for you? She'd never get the words out. "So .. I will leave you to .. retire and fall asleep, while I visit Theodore and share a whisky or two, after which I will return to this room and sleep beside you." He has finished buttering two slices of bread, and so he takes a bite from one slice, and keeps his eyes down while he chews. "Besides," he says after a while, "it's been … a while for me." When Ruth doesn't answer, he watches her, but she refuses him eye contact. "To which you're meant ask how long is a while."

She lifts her eyes to him, and he can see the pain of loss in her eyes. "Perhaps I don't want to know the answer to that question. Perhaps I wish to believe that you spent the last two years waiting for me," and then she quickly drops her eyes, "as unrealistic as that is."

"I don't think it matters much who or whether we have been with other people these past two years," he says. "Right now .. at this moment .. any … encounters I may have had while you were away are rendered meaningless."

Ruth looks up and nods. She likes the sound of that. Were she being completely honest with him, she would have to mention Jerome, the man who lives in her building back in Germany, and with whom she'd shared an understanding. When she'd first met him, Jerome's wife had been dead only 15 months, and he missed her terribly. They moved easily into a friendship, perhaps based on their shared love of literature, but they were also drawn to one another by their shared experience of loss. Over time they had become friends with benefits. They had enjoyed their occasional sexual encounters, but it had just been comfort sex and nothing more. Ruth had loved Jerome like a friend, but there had never been a place for him in her heart. How could there when her heart belonged to Harry?

After dinner Harry excuses himself and leaves, while Ruth climbs into bed and reads for a while, before she allows herself to relax. When Harry returns at a few minutes before midnight she is asleep, and when she wakes in the morning he is already in the shower. There are no awkward moments of will they or won't they, and for that she feels sad.

They spend the day out. In the morning they visit Old Amsterdam and the red light district, and after a lunch of pancakes they take a tour on a houseboat, a treat planned and paid for by Theodore. For their final night in the hotel they again eat dinner in their room, but since Theodore is visiting his daughter and son-in-law, Harry is dressed ready for bed. They are both rather quiet, sad to be leaving next day to enter the real world.

"Before we return to London," Harry says quietly, once they have finished eating, and are finishing the last of the wine, "there are some things you need to know."

Harry reaches out to grasp her hand, and she squeezes his hand in return. Then he begins to talk. He tells her about the people she had loved, and who are no longer with them. He tells her of some of the operations which had troubled him, and taxed his patience. He shares with her his concern that Malcolm is about to retire, and he relates the recent death of Connie James, which had motivated him to approach Malcolm, asking him to track down Ruth's whereabouts so that he could find her and bring her home. He shares with her how much he has missed her, and how, had a sniper aimed for his head and not his chest, he would no longer be alive to tell her about it.

Ruth sheds a few tears, but not as many as she would have had she been working on the Grid, swimming in a sea of involvement and concern. It all seems so distant to her, like it has occurred on another planet, and in a different time. Mostly, she is angry with Harry for getting shot.

"I was wearing a Kevlar vest, Ruth."

"But you still got shot. I can remember telling you to not get shot."

Harry remains quiet. He has been reprimanded, but mostly he is pleased that she cares as she does.

They are sitting quite close to one another, when without warning she gets up and walks to the window, gazing out upon Amsterdam by night. She expects him to follow her, but he doesn't. Her head is full of all her unspoken fears … fears about her and Harry, and whether, once they return to London, their growing intimacy will be lost.

"What is it?" he says quietly, his voice resonating through her. Without her knowledge he has crossed the floor, his bare feet making no noise on the carpet; she feels the heat from his body from behind her. Ruth sways slightly, and she feels Harry's arms slide around her waist, drawing her back until she rests against him. Oh, how easy it would be to trust him totally, but she can't. How can she when there is so much she doesn't know about him. "Tell me, Ruth."

How can she tell him everything about her time away from London without hurting him? She can't just fall against him and forget the things they haven't yet said. How can she tell him that she doesn't trust herself to take this step with him, in case she ends up breaking his heart .. or he breaking hers?

"This is so .."

"Right?" he finishes her sentence.

"It's dangerous, Harry. We're a long way from home, and we're in a nice hotel, and .. you know what I mean."

Ruth turns in his arms, pulling away from him a little. She watches him closely, and she can see he is disappointed. As much as she longs for him, she is sure that what he has been implying since they started dinner is a bad idea. "Right," he says, turning back to the table where they ate their dinner, "I'll tidy this, while you use the bathroom."

And that is that. Once the practical matters are dealt with they climb into bed, bid each other goodnight, and then turn away from each other. Ruth quickly falls asleep, while Harry remains awake for some time . He is disappointed with how the evening has turned out, and he is angry with himself. He'd acted too soon, and she is annoyed by his need of her. She has been alone in the world for over two years and she needs to be able to trust him. While he is considering how likely it is that they will live together once they return home, he falls asleep.