The car slowly wound its way through the rain-soaked streets. She was driving with more care than was really warranted for the time of day, but the road and the traffic gave her something to concentrate on other than her passenger. Harry had been discharged from hospital that afternoon, and she was bringing him home.

When she came to collect him, his appearance surprised her a bit. He had shaved, and she was startled to find that she had gotten used to his stubble. He was steadier on his feet, but it was apparent that he was still weaker than he would have liked. His clothes hung loosely on his frame, the result of days of nourishment being delivered via IV. He greeted her with a shy smile, and she was happy to hear that his speech was much less raspy and closer to his usual deep voice.

His discharge instructions were simple enough: rest, take painkillers, and come back if you feel dizzy, have trouble breathing, or start bleeding. The doctor pointedly looked at Ruth when he told Harry to "avoid strenuous exercise". Although bemused, Harry had the good grace to defuse her embarrassment with a joke.

"Do I look like I exercise, doctor?"

Harry was quiet, and it unnerved her. Between her work and a steady stream of visitors and other interruptions at the hospital, they hadn't much opportunity to really talk. Now they were finally alone and in his house. She hastily picked up the post from the mat, and put his bag near the stairs.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked.

"I'll get it if you'd like. You go settle in."

Before he could protest, she darted to the kitchen, and rather than go into the living room, he followed and watched her from the kitchen doorway as she ferreted in his cupboards. It was such a domestic scene, and his heart sang at the sight of it. On the ride home he had sensed her growing unease, but was unsure what to do about it. He had a lot of time to think recently and he concluded a few days ago that he needed to be patient, and let her analyst brain work things out. Then they could talk properly. The problem was he wasn't feeling particularly patient, especially now. Especially when he thought of all the time they had wasted.

She tried to ignore the fact that he was staring at her, but of course, that was impossible. The more she thought about not fidgeting, the more she fidgeted. It was so easy to slip into the old habits of burying feelings, she thought. Except this time when she was tempted to bolt, the indelible image of Harry near death on the pavement brought her up.

He moved close, and ever so slowly, as if not to startle her, kissed her, his hands on either side of her face. After a moment, he pulled away slightly, and she found herself once again forehead to forehead with him. Unconsciously, her arms had wrapped around his waist, and something that Lucas said to her once floated into her mind: Be brave.

So softly, that she felt rather than heard it, Harry whispered,

"Stay."