A/N: Thank you to readers and reviewers of this fic. It is one of those which I'd forgotten that I'd written.

Ruth regrets her outburst as soon as the words leave her mouth. Harry's smile disappears immediately, and his face becomes dark and troubled.

"I'm sorry, Ruth," he mumbles, dropping his hand.

Ruth steps close to the bed, and grasps his hand in both of hers. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out like that. I've been ... worried." Upset. Annoyed. Petrified.

Harry smiles again, enjoying having Ruth holding his hand. His eyes move to the chair beside the bed, and Ruth gets the message. Still holding Harry's hand, she sinks into the chair, and pulls it closer to the bed.

"I won't ask how you are," she begins. "You look terrible."

Harry's smile widens, and he pulls her hand to his lips, and kisses her knuckles.

"What was that for?"

"For caring enough about me to be angry with me."

"Were we married, Harry, I'd be incensed." Somehow, the situation calls for a greater level of honesty between them. "I asked that your children only be informed if it looked like you wouldn't pull through. They have no need to see you like this."

They fall into a comfortable silence, which is one thing they do rather well. Ruth knows that she is angry with him because she cares for him, and Harry recognises that Ruth's anger over him risking his life demonstrates how much she cares for him. In the broader history of their relationship, that constitutes progress.

Harry can see that Ruth is thinking. Her eyebrows knit a little as she thinks. He knows better than to disturb her thoughts. Besides, he is happy enough to have her here beside him, holding his hand.

"I need you to promise me something," Ruth says at last.

Harry lifts his eyebrows in a question.

"I need you to promise me that you won't do anything like that again. I can't …... I can't stand it, Harry. I couldn't stand it were something to happen to you."

There. It's said. Sort of.

In the history of their relationship, that now stands forever as a declaration of love.

Harry turns his head to watch her. He could spend all day every day just watching her. In the past few weeks – since Ros' funeral – he has forbidden himself to indulge in the practice of watching Ruth. She'd said no rather emphatically, and so she is no longer his to watch.

He takes his hand from hers, and lifts his finger to turn her face towards him. He sees the shine of tears in her eyes. It is clear to him that she feels as deeply for him as he does for her.

"Then explain something for me, Ruth."

She looks into his eyes, and he sees her, despite the distance she has kept from him. He sees the hurt, and he sees her pain. All because of him.

"Explain, if you can, why you said no to me."

"After Ros' funeral?"

"Yes. After the funeral, you said no, and nothing has been right since. You know it hasn't."

Ruth sighs heavily, and very slowly retrieves her hand, drawing it back on to her lap. She looks down at her hands, and wonders how to reply to that question. Should she repeat what she told him that day, or should she give him an answer which is at least partly truthful?

She lifts her eyes to his, and sees fear. Harry is afraid that, despite her behaviour since she'd entered the room, she doesn't care for him …... and she does.

"I need you to explain something to me before I explain my answer to your proposal."

"Alright. What is it?"

"Why, Harry? Why did you go out to meet Kazakov? You could have sent Lucas. He knows Kazakov. He has more of a history with him than you do."

"But Kazakov wanted to meet me. He had a score to settle with me. A personal score."

"Don't tell me you had an affair with his wife." Ruth is smiling at her own suggestion. Surely Harry hasn't had affairs with as many women as people say he has. Surely the stories about Harry and women are little more than urban myth.

"Not his wife, no. His sister."

Ruth's immediate reaction is a shocked silence. When did this happen? Recently? Since they'd known one another? She has to know. If they are to ever make it together, she must know.

"What? When?"

"His sister is a woman named Elena Gavrik. Her husband is Ilya Gavrik, and he's now a politician, but thirty years ago he was a spy, along with his wife."

"Thirty years ago? This happened thirty years ago?"

"Yes."

"And Anatoly?"

"He was just a small time criminal, still in his teens, but he adored his big sister ….. worshipped her. I barely knew him, but it seems he held a grudge all these years because I tried to turn Elena to spy for Britain. In the end, I was sure I had turned her, but Kazakov assures me otherwise. Our affair lasted on and off for a number of years. I asked her to meet me at a park in Berlin, and I'd bring her to London, but I failed to turn up to get her. I was still married to Jane. How would I have handled a wife and a mistress …. a Russian one, at that? There was a child involved, too. She had a son whom she said was mine. He could have been mine, I suppose, but …... I already had two children whom I rarely saw. I couldn't bring another child to Britain, only to ignore him also."

Harry stops speaking, noticing the shock on Ruth's face.

"I'm sorry. That's a lot for you to be taking in."

"Yes. It is." Quite unconsciously, Ruth's hands are wringing - twisting and turning around one another - in her lap.

"You asked why I had to meet Kazakov myself, and on my own, and that's why. He's been wanting to meet me for years, and I kept evading him, hoping he'd move beyond the need for revenge. After Ros died, and then with what happened after her funeral, I thought …... why not?"

"Harry, don't tell me you were prepared to die. That's not fair."

"I didn't want to die, Ruth, which is why I jumped from his van. Let's say I was dicing with death …... but I've done that before."

They remain in silence for some time. Ruth examines her hands in her lap, while Harry watches her, feeling tired enough to be sleeping, but not wanting to leave their conversation on this note.

Suddenly, Ruth stands, and steps away from the bed.

"I …. I have to think about this, Harry. It shines a different light on everything."

Harry reaches out his hand, and after looking at it for a few moments, Ruth steps closer, and takes his hand in one of hers. He smiles at her, hoping to convey some of his deep feeling for her through the smile.

"Don't think about it too much, Ruth. It all happened such a long time ago."

"Harry," Ruth says quietly, rubbing her thumb across the backs of his fingers, "you cheated on your wife with the same woman for years. That has implications for us."

"No, Ruth, it doesn't. The man I was then was young and …... had too much testosterone, and …..."

"You can't blame your behaviour on hormones, Harry. That's a cop out."

"I know. I'm sorry. We all lived so dangerously. The man I was then no longer exists."

There was little being said, and so much being left unsaid, but they both seemed to understand.

"How can I know that?"

"Because since you came back from Cyprus – twenty months ago – I haven't been anywhere near another woman. I haven't wanted to. I've been waiting …..." And Harry leaves the sentence unfinished. He is tired – exhausted - and he needs to sleep. He is glad Ruth came to see him, but he hopes that telling her the truth has not destroyed any chance they have of being together. Despite everything, he has still not given up on her. He simply can't.

Ruth smiles slightly at his revelation. "Me too," she says. "Since …... since George, I haven't been near another man, but that's mainly out of guilt."

"Guilt? Why?"

"Because had it not been for my …... association with …..."

"With me."

"Yes, with you. Had it not been for that …... for our trip to Baghdad, George may still be alive."

"Ruth …... can you perhaps not …... punish yourself, and punish us? It serves no purpose."

"I'll see, Harry."

"Is guilt the reason you said no?"

"It's one of them, yes."

"That's not a valid reason, Ruth."

"I know."

They look at one another for a long moment. Their hands are still linked, and they each rub the fingers of the other with their thumbs. That is enough for now.

"I'm tired," Harry says at last. "I need to sleep."

"I'll be back to see you, Harry. Maybe tomorrow. It will depend …..."

"I know."

And Ruth quickly lets go of Harry's hand, and without looking back, she leaves his hospital room.