AN: Again I have to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews. Your thoughts, feedback, and generally positive acceptance of this story prompted me to finish chapter 3 today instead of waiting. Our favorite spy makes an appearance in this chapter. =0)

Thank you to Sigma Creations for reading through this quickly, pointing out my typos, and offering your insight. :)

It's still a few hours before the sun is set to rise when Ruth steps quietly from her bedroom. Inside, Matthew sleeps in a clothes basket that's been padded with folded sheets; not the best sleeping arrangement, she knows, but it's the only option she could think of the night before. Sometime today she's going to have to venture out to the store with three children, and no pushcart, to purchase everything that they could possibly need.

Not something she is looking forward to.

But now, at half past five in the morning, when the house is silent, she is able to think. And to plan.

The night before, after she had settled the older two children in the lone bed in her box room, she had sat at the kitchen table and called her mother. Their conversation had been brief, her mother informing her Angela and she had spoken and both had agreed it was time for Ruth to make a sacrifice for the family. Peter was gone; he could not get over the loss of his previous charge, PD, and had abandoned his family over the summer; Angela had tried, but even with their help, handling three children had been impossible for her.

When Ruth had attempted to argue that she was a single woman with no experience handling children, her mother had told her she was a smart and resourceful woman, more so than Angela, who had job responsibilities, and there was no reason she could not take on the three children. Any argument would not be heard, her mother had informed her the official guardianship papers would be in the post, and she'd call on Christmas morning to wish the children well.

That Ruth and Peter were such disappointments to David and her.

And then she had hung up.

Ruth had been left starring at the receiver, unable to fathom just what was wrong with her mother, step-father, and sister-in-law that they would think in any circumstances it was acceptable to leave three children on the stoop of a house in London. She knows she should call someone, child protective services perhaps, but at the same time, she knows what it feels like to not be wanted by ones parents, to be alone in the world, and she can't wish that on her nephews and niece.

That she had decided the night before.

Which means she has a lot to do and figure out in the short amount of time all three are asleep, but first, she needs to call off work.

Which means she has to call Harry.

Sitting on the top step, she looks at her mobile for a few minutes, fingers sliding over the numbers as she thinks about what she's going to say. How does one tell the man they are in love with that they're now responsible for three small children? And what does that say about her relationship with him that that is the first thought to pop in her mind, and not how does she tell her boss? Sucking in a deep breath, she presses and holds the number 1, waiting as the phone connects.

"What?" The voice on the other end is groggy and full of sleep, deeper than normal, and twists her stomach in knots. "Hello?"

"Harry, it's Ruth," she says, shaking her head to clear her thoughts as she hears the anger behind the sleep.

"Oh. Is there a red flash?" His voice is softer, less angry, but no less distant than it has been the past few months.

"What? Oh – no. It's..uh," she's hesitant at first, wondering how to say this, "it's personal."

"I wasn't aware there was a personal for us," he says, an edge forming in his voice.

"Harry, please, can we not do this now? You know there's a personal for us; a complicated personal; but a personal none-the-less. I just…now's not a good time. Not for me." She's nervous now and feeling a large amount of guilt for her part in the strain of their relationship, and she knows she has to be the one to bridge this gap between them. How, she doesn't know, but she will. For now though, "I won't be able to come in today."

"What's wrong?" he asks, and she can hear the change in his voice, more than a touch of concern, as well as the rustle of what she can only guess are sheets.

Which puts images in her mind that are better off not there right now. Images of Harry, in bed, just the tw…

"Ruth?"

"Sorry," she says, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. "There's been a…" She's cut off by a loud thud and a scream followed by crying in the room next to her. Startled, she stands, hand reaching out to grip the banister as she turns and steps back into the hall. "I have to go, Harry."

Without another thought, she hangs up the phone and hurries into the room, unsure what she's going to find.

45 minutes later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen, baby in one arm, two older children quietly sitting at the table, as she attempts to poach eggs one handed. It's only a bit after 6, but she knows none of them will be getting any more sleep, not after Margo had fallen from the bed, landing loudly on the hard floor. She'd been apologetic and almost fearful that Ruth was going to be angry and yell for something that was beyond the little girl's control.

She'd been anything but.

Fear had gripped her at first as thoughts of every injury the girl could possibly have given herself ran through her mind, but it soon became apparent that aside from a bumped arm and leg, the girl was more scared than anything. A cuddle and some reassurance had soon had the cries turning to hiccups and a watery kiss on the cheek, and Ruth had felt immense relief that she had seemingly come through her first minor hurdle as a caregiver.

But now, breakfast, was turning into a challenge. Cooking a poached egg and soldiers is easy, cooking a poached egg and soldiers with a 6-month old in arms is difficult. She's just dropped her second attempt into the water when the doorbell rings. Looking from the children to the door, she frowns, before stepping away.

Reaching the door, she sees a familiar shape on the other side and groans.

Harry.

She had hung up on him without rhyme or reason. Hurrying, she unlocks the door one handed and pulls it open. There, on her front stoop, is the one man who can render her dumb and mute in a single glance, dressed in tan trousers and a red jumper, his hair mused as he looks from her to the baby in her arms.

AN: I know to some, Ruth's mother's actions are unrealistic, please know I based her actions on real circumstances. There are people out there like her.

If you've the time, please take a moment and leave a review, there's only 7 days until Christmas after all. ;)