Thanks for the encouragement for the very short first part. This will be a three part story. I hope no one minds that I've changed George's character completely and Nico doesn't exist for the purposes of this fic.

After long minutes Ruth felt like she should be the first to break the silence. "Elena," she said quietly. He looked at her and their eyes caught, but she didn't look away from the intensity in his eyes as she usually did. "I fear, that you really cared for her," Ruth admitted. "That you loved her and it hurt you when she died." Harry was about to speak when he realised she hadn't finished. "I also… I have the feeling that when you mention her to me, you are only telling me what you think I want to hear."

For a moment both of them were brought back to the bunker when they all had to watch Ilya strangle his wife. As soon as she'd died things happened very quickly. Both Russian and American vehicles had appeared as if by magic, taking Sasha, Ilya and Harry away for questioning. The fact that the Russian party had been bundled onto a plane within twenty four hours spoke volumes about their guilt and Harry had managed with relative ease to blame Jim Coavers death on the Russians. It helped that it was what the CIA wanted to believe it as it meant the UK and Russian partnership had fallen apart with speed. Harry had spent less than two days in American custody before he was released a month ago. Neither had spoken of the Gavrik's since in anything more than general terms. It had been the elephant in the room so to speak, but Ruth knew she had to mention it.

"Elena is a very complicated subject," Harry started. "I don't like thinking of her or talking about her because it reminds me of my worst mistakes. I did care for her, and I did love her. Once, a long time ago. I'm sorry if this hurts you."

"I'd prefer the truth," she said honestly, taking a sip of wine.

Harry nodded. "I haven't felt that way for her for a long time. Decades. I was young and foolish. As for her death… I just feel it was completely unnecessary. I don't have sadness or grief for her. I don't even think I ever knew her. Just the parts of her character she chose to show me. She was a liar. An expert liar. Traitor and spy. How could I love her now I know what she is?"

"You might," she countered. Before she continued she reached for a blanket and wrapped it around her against the chill air. "After all you did once."

"What I found attractive at twenty five no longer interests me," Harry said honestly. "It did then. Not now. Now I'm only interested in you." He hadn't meant to say it true as it was, but he had. He looked at her, wondering if it would make her run. All she did was shift slightly and take another sip of wine.

"Don't say that if you don't mean it," she said.

"I don't lie to you," he said firmly. "Of course I mean it."

"Good," she said, a tiny smile on her face.

"Now I'm going to risk ruining the semi level ground we have," Harry said after the silence spread out between them, interrupted only be the crowds noise drifting up to them.

"Go on."

"George," Harry said simply. "We need to talk about him because we never have."

"No we haven't," she agreed. "It wasn't what you were thinking."

"You don't know what I thought," Harry said quietly.

"Yes I do, it was written all over your face," she said. "I never slept with him." There was a deep silence as Harry tried to take in that sentence. He found he couldn't comprehend it. After believing for so long that she'd moved on with another man this was difficult to take in.

"But…"

"I had no interest in another man," she said. "I… well… I only wanted you."

"What happened?" Harry asked, finding himself quite literally on the edge of his seat, wondering what she was going to tell him.

She sighed. "I went to Istanbul after a time drifting across Europe. If I hadn't been so frightened it would have been enjoyable, travelling across the continent. Anyway, I found work at a hospital in Istanbul. They needed someone who spoke English and I got lucky. So I settled down. It wasn't home but it was safe enough. I met George, and I can honestly say he was one of the best friends I've ever had in my life. We grew close." She smiled sadly, looking at her hands rather than Harry. "It didn't take me long to realise he was gay. It didn't matter to me, but he didn't want others to find out. Inevitably it started leaking out and he put in for a transfer to a small hospital in Cyprus. He didn't want his reputation damaged and Turkey is a Muslim country… so he wanted to leave the situation before it got out of hand."

"He owned a large house in Cyprus. He used it for the summer, but he wanted to move there permanently. He asked me to go with him. I'm not a fool, I knew it was for cover so that no one would suspect but I didn't care. And for one of the only times in my life I was impulsive and said yes. I have never regretted that. Cyprus was hot and calm and a million miles away from the hectic life I used to have in London. And now I'm living again," she added quietly. "I had a good eighteen months of a simple and calm life. Reading books in the hot sunshine by the pool. Going to the market. Simple pleasures. It was so easy. And when George died… I felt so guilty and… hurt from his loss. I couldn't talk about it because it hurt so much to lose my friend, but I knew from your face that you'd made your assumptions. I was a coward and I didn't correct you. I'm sorry. I should have."

"Yes you should have," he agreed quietly. "It would have saved me many sleepless nights, imagining you in the arms of another man."

"Did you picture it?" Ruth asked before she could stop herself. Then she blushed profusely, glad it was dark so her embarrassment couldn't be seen.

"Of course I did," he said swiftly. "Those first two or three months after you returned I could barely think of anything else." She was glad he was being honest but it heightened her feeling of cowardice. She should have told him that there never was anything physical or sexual between George and herself. "You're not just saying this are you?" he asked quietly interrupting her thoughts.

"No," she said. "The way you look at me at times… its more passionate than anything I've ever known. I didn't want an imitation, I wanted you." She kept looking at her hands and she didn't hear Harry move. So she jumped when his hand went to her shoulder.

"Sorry," he said, feeling sad that she didn't welcome his touch. "Ruth, why do you run from me? You say you want me… but you always seem slightly afraid of me. Why?"

Ruth sighed and Harry instinctively knew that he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear.