A/N Thank you for the kind reviews and to those who continue to read. There are a few more chapters on the burner; things that I thought were never resolved with the team, and especially with Harry.

Chapter 4

The air in the garden held a rarified quality as if time were suspended, one last gentle gasp of summer before the chill of autumn. Ruth wandered down the path, listening to the trill of birds rise over the distant hum of traffic. She stopped when she found herself in front of a large olive tree. She knew the history of this garden, protected by buildings, snug in a pocket of the Thames, home to species not typically British, but the olive tree came as a shock. A strange feeling of homesickness washed over her, made even stranger still by the fact that she knew she was home. One day, she thought, when she had time, she would return to this little paradise and enjoy the fragrant plants in the little glass houses.

The silver thread of a spider web glimmered in the sunlight. It spanned from a branch of the tree down to the ground and she marvelled at the feat of arachnid engineering. For some perverse reason, she ran her hand through it, severing the connection. Would the spider be horrified at having its work so ruthlessly undone, she wondered. No, it would carry on, compelled by instinct to build another web equally as magnificent, just as she was compelled to analyse information and solve a mystery.

Guiltily she acknowledged to herself that she should have returned to Thames House once she realised her contact was not coming, but she was delaying her descent back into the Underground. Practically speaking, she knew she could not function in the city without using public transport and that afternoon she had walked into the station feeling a sense of pride that she had overcome her apprehension. She had stood back from the edge of the platform, pressed against the cool tiles of the wall, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

She had waited on the platform, labouring under the suspicion that she was being watched, which she knew she was, she knew the placement of the cameras, she was one of the watchers after all, but this feeling was different. The lights had flickered ominously, the train wheels had screeched along the rails as the train came to a stop, all of it reminding her of that fateful day when she had met Mik Maudsley. It had taken all her self-control to walk onto the carriage. As the journey progressed, she could feel a wave of panic build up inside her, so that by the time she reached her stop, she found herself pushing her way through the crowd, running up the escalator to the mouth of the station, where she stood gasping for air. She held her phone in her shaking hands, wanting, as she done on that day, to call Harry and ask him to come and get her but she knew she couldn't. She had given in her request for transfer and all but told him he could not expect anything from her. After a number of deep breaths, she had collected herself, carried on to her meet, and now stood in the garden, waiting.

A tour of schoolchildren walked past, laughing and talking, relishing the freedom from the classroom. Her eyes followed them and she thought of Nico. Was he doing his homework, brushing his teeth, did he ever think about her? She sighed and looked down at the ground, toeing a pebble with her foot. The sound of footsteps, crunching on gravel brought her back to the present. She lifted her head and smiled in greeting.

"Hello, Malcolm."

"I'm so glad to see you." A smile beamed across his face. "Now, what's this all about?"

Ruth wanted to hug him but restrained herself. Their friendship had never been about overt displays, it had been built on understatement and trust. She noticed that he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him; perhaps it was the jumper, for she not recall him ever being out of a suit. She motioned towards a nearby bench and they sat down.

"It's Nick Canning." She hoped Malcolm would not see through her, that her call to him was not just about the mysterious disappearance of an asset, but born out of a desperate need to see a familiar face.

"I suspected as much. This was our drop spot. Secluded, quiet, oddly lacking in CCTV coverage."

"He's missed the drop."

"That's odd. He never missed one the entire eleven or so years I knew him."

"I went round to his house and he's not there. The landlord let me in and I found this card. Dr. E.N. Constable." Ruth produced the card for Malcolm to see. "Do you have any idea what it means?"

"No, I'm afraid not. This is not at all like him. He never leaves his house, bit of recluse. Took some convincing to get him to meet me here and this is only a block away from his flat. I think you should tell Harry."

"I'm not sure if a missing computer geek will be high on his list of priorities."

Malcolm gave Ruth a reproachful look. "He's not just any geek, Ruth. He's found holes in our servers on more than one occasion."

"Yes, I know," Ruth looked down at the card in her hand. "There's um...a situation. I'm not sure Harry would put much store in what I said."

"By situation I gather you don't mean the usual threats," Malcolm said, with great delicacy.

"There's always that, isn't there?" Her gaze wandered over the garden and she squinted into the weak sunlight, weighing whether to reveal her decision. She drew in a deep breath. "I've put in a request for transfer. Back to GCHQ."

The silence beside her was unnerving. She turned to look at Malcolm and found him staring at her with one raised eyebrow.

"What?" she asked, defensively.

"I didn't say anything."

"You have that look on your face. The one you give out when someone does something completely idiotic but you're too polite to tell them".

"For the record, I have never thought of you as doing anything idiotic." He gave her a crooked smile, which she could not help but return.

They sat for a moment in silence, Ruth feeling grateful that he was not going to give her a lecture on returning to GCHQ.

"I'm sorry, Ruth."

"For what?"

"It was my fault that Mani's men found you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her brows furrowed, a note of trepidation in her voice.

"I moved them to a safe house that was in the system, that's how they knew where you were."

Ruth processed this information. "Ronny was in the Service. He had access to everything. You weren't to know." She took in a deep breath. "Besides, you saved Nico."

"It wasn't out of some great courage. I needed to make things right. He was an innocent."

"Yes, he was."

"I'm terribly sorry."

"Unfortunately, Malcolm, I don't have any blame left for you. I've used it all up between myself and Harry."

"Harry's not to blame."

Ruth gave Malcolm an incredulous look. "He sat there and watched while they ..." Her voice trembled and she couldn't complete the sentence. "He would have let Nico die. For uranium, Malcolm."

"It was an impossible choice."

"I don't want to hear about choices." The words came out far more curtly than she had intended.

"We can't change the past, Ruth. We must move on."

"Is that why you left?" she asked, her tone softer. "I would hate to think it was because of me."

"I'd done all I could." Malcolm shifted on the bench, his voice becoming very quiet. "I...I thought Harry was dead." He wondered if he should be saying any of this, but it was Ruth. If anyone could ferret out information, it was this woman.

Ruth looked at Malcolm as if he was spinning a fanciful tale. "What do you mean ...dead?"

"There was a video. It looked like he had been shot in the head. The Russians had passed him on."

"The Russians?" She had not heard of this. In fact, she had not given much thought on how Harry had ended up in that room with her, only that he was there and thus the cause of everything. She would have to get back into her old habit of reading past operational notes. There had been moments in Cyprus where she had been overwhelmed by a feeling of dread, certain that something had happened to Harry, but just as quickly, she would dismiss it. In her mind, Harry would somehow always be the last man standing.

"I've seen too much, Ruth. Lost too many good people."

"I thought you would be there when I returned." she said, plaintively, like a lost child, "and now Jo..."

Malcolm looked at Ruth, the meaning of her unfinished sentence slowly dawning on him. He sat back heavily against the bench, letting the full weight of Jo's death sink in. "She was so very young."

"There's just you and me."

"And Harry. Does he know that we're meeting?"

Ruth pursed her lips and looked away. "He said if he doesn't know about it, doesn't happen."

"Ah, yes, plausible deniability."

With her face turned away, Malcolm took a moment to mark the changes that had come over her. He remembered her as having a ready smile, a quick laugh, a spark that shone, as quicksilver as her intellect. He had always enjoyed her company. Perhaps if he had been a braver man he would have asked out, but he was not. He had seen the hunger in Harry's eyes as he followed her about the grid, how her eyes had brightened whenever she looked at him. His heart ached to see her spirit doused. He decided it was best to change the subject. "How is the new techie working out?"

"Fine. He's fine. He's very young, he practically breathes technology." She could sense Malcolm stiffening beside her. "Of course there is something to be said for intellectual capital. He has nowhere near the experience you have." She was glad to see this elicited a lopsided grin from her companion.

"I take it you've acquired all my old assets then?"

"Yes. I hope that's all right?"

"As long as you're not running me." He paused as a thought struck him. "Or are you?"

"Only in the nicest possible way," she looked sideways at him, the barest glimpse of her old self, peaking through. "I have to get back. I've been gone too long as it is." She rose and placed her hand on his arm. "Thank you, Malcolm.'

"Anytime, call me, anytime." He placed his hand on top of hers and looked into her eyes. "Ruth, don't do anything in haste." She smiled and nodded, then turned to walk away.

He watched her leave, thinking she appeared much smaller than he remembered and sighed at how the Service reduced everyone in the end.

The sun followed Ruth as she walked up the street, teasing her with moments of brightness only to run skittishly behind a bank of clouds. She stopped at a traffic light and a prickle of apprehension moved slowly up her spine. She turned abruptly and walked a few paces before pausing in front of a shop window. She used the reflection of the glass to see if there was anyone behind her. Seeing no one, she glanced down and she realised she had stopped before a jeweller. Amongst the ornate rings and fanciful jewellery on display, she saw a necklace, so similar to the charmed one she had lost, that she took in a sharp breath. Without a thought, she found her feet taking her through the door and into the shop.

The bell tinkled as she entered and as if by some Pavlovian response, a young shop assistant appeared. "Is there something I can help you find?" she asked.

Ruth crossed the floor and looked down into the display cabinet. "I notice this necklace in the window. I used to have one just like it, but I lost it."

"That's a shame," the girl said, "It's lucky that you passed by here."

With a polite finesse, the assistant stepped in front of Ruth and opened up the cabinet, took out the necklace and offered it up. Ruth felt a strange reverence as she took the piece, as if she was looking at an artefact from her own life. She traced one of the ornaments with her fingertips, remembering there had also been a favourite wine coloured blouse that she worn, believing that it showed off her neck. She had worn it with a russet skirt, sewn on the bias, which swayed when she walked. She remembered a small silver case of plum eyeshadow and a little glass jar of raspberry lip gloss. It all seemed rather frivolous now as she looked down at her black skirt and navy top, hidden under her grey trench.

"I don't wear much jewellery these days," she said, wondering if it was due to some puritanical notion that one could not adorn oneself during mourning.

"Oh," the shop assistant responded rather listlessly, giving Ruth a look as if to ask why she was in the shop.

Ruth handed the necklace back. "It's not really my style anymore."

The assistant carried on, polite as ever. "Well, tastes evolve, as I'm sure we do."

Evolve. Ruth had never thought of that. Was that what was happening? Some sort of survival of the fittest with each test making her stronger. She promised herself that she would take that idea out and ruminate over it at three in the morning, instead of her usual fears.

Her eyes wandered past the shop assistant and alighted on a silver necklace. "That one is nice."

The comment roused the assistant like a fish to bait. "Yes, it is. Very simple. Quite elegant." Not wanting to let the possibility of a sale slip by, she extracted the necklace and held it up to Ruth. 'Would you like to try it on?" She quickly unclasped the lock and deftly positioned the piece around Ruth's neck. "Oh, it looks lovely on you."

Ruth touched the small silver charm that hung on the chain. She tightened her fingers around it, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over her. Without her bidding, tears started to well in her eyes and she swallowed hard in an effort to contain them. She lowered her head, overwhelmed that such a simple piece could evoke this strange cocktail of emotion in her.

The assistant stood patiently waiting. Ruth had glimpsed at the price tag and noted that it was a little too dear for her pocketbook. She bit her bottom lip. What else was she to spend her money on?

"I'll take it," she said, surprising the assistant. She reached into her pocket to pull out her wallet, noting to herself that at some point she would have to invest in a decent purse.

"Will you be wearing it then," the girl asked in a far more cheery tone.

"Could you put it in a box? I think I would like to save it, for when the occasion is right." She would wear it one day when she felt stronger, surer of herself, and if that day took too long in coming, she would put it on as a reminder of her own endurance.

With the small silver box tucked snuggly in her pocket, she stepped back out onto the street, the doorbell faintly jingling behind her. Sod the tube, she thought and crossed to the kerb to hail a taxi. As she turned to look down the far side of the street, she saw a figure in a dark overcoat.

"Harry?" she quietly murmured. A large lorry trundled past obscuring her view and she found that when it had receded there was no one on the other side of the street. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, she thought, it would be quite ridiculous for Harry to follow her about London. He was the head of Counter-terrorism for God's sake. He had better things to do. It was only because she had been talking to Malcolm that the idea of Harry was now flitting below her consciousness - that's why she had imagined him. When she was in exile, she would see a dark overcoat or a head of thinning blond hair, or a black glove and she would catch her breath, thinking that it was Harry. It never was; he had never come for her.

As she stood with her thoughts, a taxi pulled up, the driver enquiring if she needed a ride. She scrambled into the back and after telling him her destination, turned around to see if she was being followed. For the first time in three years, she was disappointed to see that she was not.