A/N: This is the final chapter of this fic, and I hope you've enjoyed it. I have enjoyed reading your lovely reviews. I still have yet another post-Cotterdam story waiting in the wings to put up, and then I'll (thankfully) turn my obsession to some other time in the Spooks storyline.
"Mik Maudsley's former psychiatrist rang. He's prepared to give us access to his notes on his sessions with Maudsley, and what's even better, Maudsley's wife has given him written permission to do so." Malcolm smiled across at Harry, knowing how important this breakthrough will be for him. "Carlyon – that's the psychiatrist, Robert Carlyon – is prepared to lose his license over this."
"He won't lose his license. The JIC won't want too much attention to be brought their way. Mace wasn't in this alone. He had backing from the other members of the committee. Bastards." Harry uttered the last word quietly, but with barely concealed venom. He couldn't help but think of the year and a half during which Ruth had had to hide. He became instantly angry every time he dwelt on it. "Do you have any details, Malcolm?"
"About what Maudsley said in the weeks leading up to his death? Yes, a lot. Dr Carlyon was quite voluble. We met in St James Park. I recorded our conversation, just in case. I'll leave you with the disk. I trust you'll know what to do next."
Harry did, but first he had to listen to the disk. He put aside the threat assessment summaries he'd been reading, and slipped the mini disk into a player, and put on his headphones. The most relevant part of Malcolm's meeting with Carlyon was when he began to talk about Maudsley's state of mind in the days prior to his suicide. Carlyon was well-spoken and his voice was mellow and easy to listen to. Oxford-educated, his native Salford accent was detectable only when he became angry or verbally animated.
Carlyon: The trouble is, I knew Maudsley was going to do it.
Malcolm: Did he tell you?
Carlyon: Yes, he told me, several times.
Malcolm: Directly, or implied?
Carlyon: Both. For the record, because I know you'll be recording this conversation, and so other ears will be listening, either now or later, Jennifer Maudsley knows I'm meeting you, and she's sanctioned my sharing her husband's personal file …... even though she hasn't accessed it herself. My reasons for doing this are because an innocent woman was framed for his murder, and that was wrong. I know he suicided. He'd been talking about it for over a week.
Malcolm: So …... why didn't you treat him for depression?
Carlyon: Because in my professional opinion he wasn't depressed. He was angry, and quite energised by his anger. He felt unable to go on as he was, but he wasn't depressed. His life suddenly had a focus and purpose – as he saw it. He wanted to make a statement before they hung him out to dry…... to sacrifice his life for some greater good. The trouble is his sacrifice went in vain because it was covered up, so in meeting you, Malcolm, I'm trying to right that wrong.
The conversation continued for another fifteen minutes, and during that, Carlyon stated clearly that in his professional opinion Maudsley had been in sound mind, despite having decided to take his life. By the time Harry had finished listening to the recording, he knew that it would probably be enough, and Carlyon may not have to testify to an enquiry. Carlyon's medical career, however, may be under a cloud, but in Harry's opinion, that would soon blow over.
Harry handed the disk back to Malcolm for him to make several copies, all of which he saved on USB drives, and then Harry took the original disk and locked it in his safe in his office. He then rang the Home Secretary and made an appointment for 4 pm that day. The wheels were already in motion. He could feel it.
By Friday afternoon of that week, Whitehall issued a statement which they faxed through to the Grid. In essence, the statement said that all charges against Ruth Evershed had been dropped, and that her name had been cleared. It was Adam who read the fax, and brought it into Harry's office.
"I think you'll want to read this, Harry," he said, and then promptly left Harry's office, giving him a moment alone to read the best news he'd read in a long time.
When Adam reached his desk, he turned to see Harry on his feet, the fax in his hand, and on his face the widest smile he'd ever seen from him. "Drinks at the George tonight?" Adam suggested when Harry stepped on to the Grid to make the announcement.
"That sounds like a good idea, but you can count me out. I'm going home to ring Ruth. She needs to know about this, and as soon as possible. I'll join you for drinks at the George when I have her with me, and hopefully that will be soon."
On the following Sunday evening, Harry was at Heathrow, waiting for the flight from Pisa, Italy. It was running twenty minutes late, a fact that added to the increasing tension in his shoulders. When the plane eventually landed, and the passengers disembarked, he stood back behind other people who were waiting, just so that he could watch her unseen.
At last he saw her, struggling with her take-on luggage. The strap seemed to keep slipping off her shoulder. Despite that, her eyes were moving quickly over the sea of faces, all waiting for loved ones. She's looking for me, he thought, and that thought warmed him, knowing how much she loved him, and was looking forward to seeing him. He pushed forward towards her, and as she left the walkway he grabbed her and pulled her close, and carry-on luggage forgotten, Ruth held on to him just as hard.
"Christ, I've missed you," Harry said against her cheek.
"Me too, but the waiting is over now."
They pulled apart slightly to enable them to kiss. Harry had been unable to get away during the last three and a half months. Each time he'd booked a flight, he'd had to cancel it due to yet another crisis. In the end, to avoid further disappointment, they'd decided to wait until Ruth's name was cleared, and she could come home for good.
Back home – Harry's home, now their home – Scarlet greeted Ruth by dancing around backwards in circles. Ruth laughed at the little dog, and Harry sighed heavily, his heart full with love and thanks – to whatever unseen forces had conspired to allow this extraordinary woman to love him, and to those same forces which had arranged for her name to be cleared so that she could return to him safely.
"I've never seen her do that, Harry."
"She's obviously pleased to see you …... as am I."
"And I haven't the words to express how happy I am to see you, Harry."
He gazed at her, bedazzled by the colour and intensity of her eyes. She had only just arrived home, and already he is lost in her eyes. "Do you want to come upstairs?" he said huskily.
"You're eager."
"I don't mean for ….. that …. although …..I wouldn't say no. The bedroom looks quite different now, and I thought you might like to see the bed."
They climbed the stairs together, Harry carrying her two bags, while Ruth carried the same bag she'd struggled with at the airport. Harry elbowed open the door to the bedroom, and after he'd put down Ruth's luggage, and relieved her of her shoulder bag, he turned on the bedside light. "What do you think?" he said, sweeping one arm in the direction of the bed.
Ruth's mouth formed an `O' as she saw their new bed for the first time. "Oh, Harry, that's beautiful. Are you sure it's big enough?" she said, laughing lightly. It was large – king size – a carved wooden sleigh bed with a duvet cover in a Japanese design in black and gold. Ruth had chosen the bedding herself, so in seeing how well it matched the bed and the rest of the room, how plush and welcoming it looked, she was happy with her choice.
"Unless you're planning on inviting friends over to join us, I think you'll find there's ample room for the two of us." He looked at her shyly. "I was thinking ahead. What if we have a child? You never know. Kids like to get into bed with their parents. They'll probably lie between us and keep us apart. That way they ensure we'll have no more children to provide competition for our affections."
"I hadn't known children could be that devious."
"I think it's embedded into their DNA to compete with siblings not yet conceived."
"Harry, we haven't even discussed children."
"I'm just throwing it out there, Ruth, in case …... well, in case."
"No pressure then?"
"No. It's just a suggestion."
"Harry, I was sure you wouldn't want any more children. I hadn't even considered the possibility you might want children with me."
"Why not? I could warm to the idea of us producing a smaller version of you, or – if we're not quite as lucky – of me."
"I'm not sure the world is ready for another you, Harry, but I'd be happy to have a part in creating that." Ruth's eyes held his. "You've given me something else to think about."
"I'm not going to pressure you if you don't want to, Ruth. We have plenty of time."
Suddenly, Ruth pulled off her boots, stepped up to the bed and crawled across it to lay on her back on her side, the side closest to the window. She wriggled her shoulders until she felt comfortable, and then put her arms above her head in a pose of abandonment. Harry's breath caught in his throat. He was certain she had little idea how erotic were the movements of her body as she lay on top of the duvet.
Harry climbed on to the bed and lay on his side of the bed on his back. To distract himself from Ruth's actions, he bumped his backside up and down on the bed. "See? Solid as a rock. We can hump as enthusiastically as we like, and there'll be no bedhead bashing against the wall, scaring the animals."
"Hump? You sound like a porn star."
"If the shoe fits, Ruth."
"You've tried it out then?"
"No. I need you to be here for that. What do you think?"
"I love it, it feels …... it feels," she closed her eyes, burrowing her body into the bedclothes in such a sensual, provocative manner, that Harry felt his body stirring in response. "This bed feels like your arms are wrapped around me." Ruth opened her eyes and looked across at him to see in his eyes the open fire of passion. "But I'm not keen on this," Ruth replied, her hand indicating the space between them.
"That's easily fixed," he replied. "You do this," and he wriggled across the bed until their shoulders touched.
Ruth turned on her side to face him, and very slowly reached across to rest her hand under his jaw, gently stroking his bottom lip with her thumb. Harry turned to face her – his lover, his partner – and reached across to kiss her. Ruth returned his kiss, opening her mouth beneath his, and then his hands pulled off her jacket, and opened the buttons on her blouse. With the fingers of one hand he freed her breast from the cup of her bra so that he could caress her nipple with his thumb. From deep in her throat he heard a moan as her breathing quickened.
"Well, Harry, this is a fine seduction," she said against his mouth. "You bring me up here to look at the bed, and now here we are. I should have known you had an ulterior motive."
Harry smiled against her mouth, and then kissed her in a succession of quick kisses. He pulled down the zip of her skirt, and slid it off – still kissing her. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and then slid it down his arms, then threw it on the floor, and opening the buttons on his shirt, she placed her lips on the dark pink mark in the middle of his chest, the only physical reminder of Davie King's bullet. They shucked off the rest of their clothes, caring little where they threw them, needing to feel skin on skin. He didn't speak again until they were both naked, and he was poised above her, about to enter her.
"It's good to have you home, Ruth."
She look up at him, her blue eyes locked on his. "It's good to be home."
A/N: Random ending, I know. I have difficulty with endings.
