SPOILERS: New characters announced by Kudos for series 10 are included in this story. The plot isn't speculative, but it does refer to teaser information in the same press release.

WARNING: The occasional swear word. The Church of England.

SUMMARY: You can kick a spy out into the cold, but that doesn't mean he'll be going all by himself. This is also a farcical description of the reasons why 'Let's get married today!' doesn't happen in Little Britain.

Disclaimers? I've used a few.

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The following morning, Ruth wandered into the kitchen to make herself and Harry a cup of tea before she went to work. As she was wearing nothing but a man's shirt and a sated smirk, discovering Malcolm's mum waiting for the kettle to boil was ever so slightly awkward.

'Who are you?' asked Mrs Wynn-Jones surprisingly calmly.

'I'm Ruth,' said Ruth.

'Oh. You're here for that man Harry, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'He used to work with my Malcolm.'

'I know. So did I.'

'Malcolm's a dear boy.'

Ruth smiled. 'Yes, he's wonderful.'

'Did you stay the night?'

'Um, yes. Yes I did.'

'Are you Harry's wife?'

'No I'm not.'

'Then he better have slept on the sofa,' Mrs Wynn-Jones snapped. 'We're Chapel, and we don't hold with unmarried fornication.'

'No? No. Of course not. Malcolm's father was a rector, wasn't he?'

'That's right. And he believed that some things shouldn't be allowed outside the sanctity of marriage. So do I. So does Malcolm.'

Ruth wasn't going to argue. She wasn't even sure what Malcolm's opinion on the matter was. Instead, she began to ponder all the situations in which intimate relationships could be banned.

'Oh bugger!' she exclaimed a short while later.

'I beg your pardon?' Mrs Wynn-Jones gasped.

Ruth was already dashing for the stairs. 'Sorry! Um, I'm actually late for work. It was nice to meet you!'

Harry woke up instantly, but he didn't look too happy about it. 'If you're going to disturb the best night's kip I've had in a decade, the least you could do is get back in here and do it,' he grumbled, holding a corner of the duvet up.

'I can't. Malcolm's mum doesn't approve of sex before marriage.'

'It's a bit late for that, darling.'

'Yes, but she's not the only one.'

'I'm sorry?'

'If I'm seeing someone outside the service, I have to submit a permission to fraternise request.'

'So?'

'You're getting fired on Friday. What do you think the chances are of me getting permission to fraternise with my disgraced ex-boss from my super-vigilant new boss?'

'Oh bugger,' said Harry.

'That's what I thought! She couldn't object if we were married. There would be all sorts of human rights issues and employment law grounds for suing in that case. But according to our job contracts, she can easily force me to choose between you and MI5 if our relationship has no legal status.'

She sat down on the bed and absentmindedly wriggled back in next to Harry, who perked up considerably. 'Would this be a more appropriate moment to propose?' he asked lightly.

'I've thought of that. But there isn't time. Church banns take three weeks and a civil ceremony requires a notice of intent to marry for at least the same length of time before the registrar will issue a schedule of marriage.'

'Vegas?' Harry suggested weakly.

'Not properly recognised in the UK.'

'Europe?'

'Don't even go there. You need a Certificate of No Impediment and that takes weeks.'

'Didn't people used to flee to Gretna Green?'

'Because the age you could marry without your parents' permission was lower, not because you didn't have to have a marriage licence. In Scotland, there's the same civil process, and for a church wedding you have to be resident in the parish for at least ten days before your application will be accepted.'

'What about all those Regency romances where the hero applies for a special licence and has a midnight wedding in his sitting room? Was any of that true?'

Ruth giggled. 'How do you know about Regency romances?'

'Jane used to read them. I might have had a look once or twice. Load of soppy rubbish.'

'Well you can still apply for a special licence. One of my Oxford friends got one so she could get married in her college. I don't suppose the Archbishop of Canterbury is a friend of yours?'

'Nope. But I bet I can get in to see him anyway.'

Ruth jumped out of bed, whipped off Harry's shirt and began to pull on yesterday's underwear. Despite the various pleasant activities of the last 18 hours, he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Within a few minutes she was dressed in her usual layers, which in an odd sort of way made it even better when she leaned over and kissed him goodbye.

'Come on lazybones! You've got a bishop to beguile. Tariq will be able to tell you where he is today; you'd better pray it's not New Zealand or Brazil.'

What about you?'

'I'm due on the Grid.'

Harry blinked and sat up straight with the air of a man who had realised something important. 'Does this mean you'll marry me?'

'Find a way to do it in the next forty-eight hours, and I'm your Lady Pearce.'

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Conveniently enough, the Archbishop of Canterbury was in meetings all day at the Faculty Office in Westminster. Dressed in his best charcoal suit and favourite gold tie, Sir Harry Pearce strolled through the touristy crowds outside the abbey, paused in Dean's Yard and looked up at the neo-gothic facade of The Sanctuary.

Usually, the Savile Row armour, sense of purpose and Security Services ID card in his pocket left him feeling very difficult to intimidate. Today was different. He wasn't addressing a matter of national security; he was trying to wangle a wedding out of thin air. His heart felt tender, his throat was very dry and he was perilously close to having shaky hands.

'Say as you think and speak it from your soul,' he told himself, took a deep breath and marched on.

The Archbishop was not amused. 'I was given to understand that there is an urgent security issue,' he said, looking down at Harry from a considerable height advantage and exuding an air of dignified exasperation.

Harry stood his ground. 'In my opinion there is, your Grace. The woman I want to marry is the best intelligence analyst I've ever worked with. She speaks seven languages fluently, she's an expert cryptographer and her data mining skills are second to none. If there's a secret, she'll uncover it. If there's a pattern, she'll find it. There are literally thousands of people who owe her their lives.'

'Why can't you marry her in the usual way?'

'I'm about to lose my job. She was kidnapped, and held to ransom, and I gave away a state secret to save her life.'

'Isn't that treason?'

'Technically, yes. But I made sure the secret was harmless before I gave it away.'

'Are they going to charge you with anything?'

'No. They're going to fire me and strip me of my pension.'

'You don't seem too bothered about it.'

'Keeping her safe is worth a lot more to me than money.'

'What about the people you were employed to keep safe? What if this secret you gave away wasn't harmless?'

'I would have lost her,' Harry admitted quietly. 'Both of us know the choice we must make between the life of an individual and lives of many.'

'Have you ever had to make that choice?'

'More than once, your Grace. I live with those decisions. They'll never leave me.'

The Archbishop folded his arms and appeared to deliberate. 'You'd better sit down,' he said eventually, gesturing to a chair. 'Do you want a cup of tea?'

Harry sat down gratefully. 'Yes please.'

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