A/N: This is the final chapter. Thank you to all who continued to read this story, and especially to reviewers.

10 weeks later - early morning:

Ruth slowly opened her eyes. She experienced a moment of disorientation while she emerged from deep sleep. The window was on the wrong wall, or perhaps during the night the bed had moved. Then she noticed that the window was covered by a blind rather than curtains. She turned her head to see she was in bed alone.

Adam's flat. She couldn't imagine a day some time in the future when she would think of it as her flat. Hers and Harry's. She was living there because Adam had died. Somewhere within her most private of thoughts the flat would remain forever Adam's flat. Adam's and Wes'.

Ruth rolled onto her back and stretched. Through the open doorway she could smell breakfast – bacon, definitely, and eggs, with toast freshly buttered. Bless him. Harry had an early meeting scheduled, but still he made breakfast for them both, as he did most mornings. Ruth closed her eyes and pressed her spine into the mattress. Harry had bought a new bed for the flat. The bed was large and luxurious, and she had never slept better. He had splashed out on new furniture throughout. "This can be a new start for us both," he'd said, and despite her offers to contribute towards the cost of furnishing the flat, he had gone ahead and paid for the lot himself, the gesture having appeared to give him pleasure.

Ruth had been living in the flat for a little over three weeks, and for most of that time Harry had lived there with her. Over time he'd ferried his personal possessions from his house to the flat. It was a gradual process, one which felt quite organic, and Ruth was not about to interfere with something which seemed so right. To the surprise of them both, their life together was simple and calm and altogether pleasant. They `fitted' – his sense of order with her requirement for occasional spontaneity and moments of chaos; his intensity with her heightened sensitivity; his solid strength with her vulnerability.

There had only been one hiccup so far, although it had been not so much a hiccup as a necessary bump in the road. Ruth had only just moved into the flat when Harry had had to fly to Washington DC for five days, Monday to Friday. Although they spoke on the phone each day, usually late in the evening in Washington, by Tuesday morning Ruth had begun to sink into a morass of confused feelings, chiefly those of pain and guilt and shame. She'd worked all of Tuesday, but had hurried home early to ring Harry. Once her call to him had ended, she'd lain on their bed and allowed herself to fall apart. She'd sobbed and cried, even under the shower, and had crawled into bed without eating dinner, her stomach churning with a turmoil of emotions she couldn't name. On Wednesday and Thursday she'd taken two sick days, claiming she had a tummy bug. For two whole days she'd cried – for Adam and Fiona, for Wes and Jo. Then she cried for Nico, and how angry he must still be feeling towards her. She cried for the loss of George, and she cried for Harry, whose decision had effectively sentenced George to death. Last of all, on Thursday evening, she cried for herself. By the time Harry had rung her later that same evening, which was the early hours of Friday in DC, Ruth could do little more than listen to his voice, a balm for her battered emotions.

When he arrived home on the Friday it was well past 10 pm, and Ruth could cry no more. He'd found her stretched out in a bath full of lukewarm water, her face pale and her eyes closed as her head rested against the end of the bath, her face turned towards the wall. Harry had spoken her name sharply, the tone of his voice charged with underlying panic. He'd leaned down and grasped her shoulders in both hands. Ruth had opened her eyes and smiled back. "Jesus, Ruth, I thought you were .."

"I was relaxing," she'd replied, frowning a little. "It's been a difficult week."

"Sorry," Harry had said, letting go of her and standing to grab her towel, handing it to her once she'd stood up, water streaming down her skin in rivulets. Ruth had noticed how his eyes raked over her body, but then he'd turned away, about to leave the bathroom.

"Don't go, Harry," she'd said. "Help me out of the bath."

So he'd stayed, grasping her hand to steady her while she stepped out of the water, and then taking a spare towel, helping to dry her. There had been so much they'd each wanted to say that they'd said very little to one another. His fear for her and her exhaustion had in that moment been uncomfortable companions.

That night they'd lain under the duvet while Ruth told him everything. "Thank you," was all he said once she'd finished talking, before he'd put his arms around her, drawing her against him. "It's time we both slept," he'd added. And so they had. Ruth had had her crisis. At the time it had been harrowing, but with Harry home she felt safe once more in their very own safe house.

She heard a noise from the doorway, so she turned to see Harry standing just inside the room. He was already dressed in trousers, shirt and tie, over which he wore a Harrod's apron emblazoned with the words `God Save The Queen'. Ruth smiled at him.

"I have to leave soon. The Permanent Secretary is unforgiving of tardiness."

"Come here," she said, reaching out to him.

Harry very slowly approached the bed, sitting down next to her. "I came in to tell you your breakfast is ready," but he seemed not to mind all that much when Ruth drew his face close so she could kiss him. "Don't tempt me, Ruth. I hate meetings with the Permanent Secretary. I find her .. intimidating."

Ruth allowed him to sit up. "Petra Woodward is a force of nature, Harry, and she's quite aware that she intimidates you. I'm sure she enjoys it."

"She reminds me of my grandmother," he said sulkily, his lips in full pout.

"Do you remember what today is?" Ruth asked.

Harry nodded. "It's Ros's first day."

"She's due on the Grid at 10 o'clock. Lucas has offered to pick her up and bring her to work. I imagine she'll be nervous."

"Hopefully we can keep her busy."

Ruth moved to get out of bed, so Harry stood. "Now, you need to get out of here, Harry. I'm only human, you know."

He leaned down to kiss her once more, this time grasping her waist with his hands, and then he dropped his hands and turned towards the door. "Pray for me, Ruth," he said, as he turned to catch another glimpse of her before leaving.

"Just imagine Petra naked." The look of horror on Harry's face had Ruth grinning widely. "And don't forget to take off that apron. Petra will think you're referring to her. I hear she's aspirational."

By the time Ruth had stepped from the shower Harry had left, and the flat was quiet once more. He'd only been gone five minutes and already she missed him. As she sat on a stool at the breakfast bar tucking into her breakfast, Ruth decided that it was a really nice flat, and that she was glad that Harry had encouraged her to move in. When he'd first run the idea past her she'd felt little other than guilt – about living in a flat occupied by the ghosts of the dead – along with hope that she and Harry were strong enough together to exorcise these ghosts. What she hadn't expected was that she'd enjoy living in Adam's old flat, and that she savoured the memory of Adam and Wes having lived there. There was ample room for them all – the ghosts as well as the living.

At five minutes to 10 o'clock Harry stepped on to the Grid, seeking out Ruth with his eyes, and then quickly breaking eye contact before he turned towards his office. Ten minutes later Ruth heard a murmuring as once more the glass doors parted to reveal Ros Myers, closely followed by Lucas North. Ros walked unaided, but her walk was careful and uneven. The multiple breaks in her legs had healed, but her muscles still had to adapt to the changes throughout her whole body. Ros still had regular physiotherapy sessions, and still hated every minute of what she referred to as `torture'.

Ros looked around the Grid, and noticing Ruth watching her she nodded slightly in her direction, while Ruth returned her acknowledgement with a smile. In the previous two and a half months they had grown to value and respect one another. Suddenly people came from all directions – Harry from his office, Tariq from the technology suite, and from the kitchen Dimitri wandered, a man-sized cup of coffee in his hand. Three of the admin girls began to approach Ros, but stopped at the last minute.

"It's wonderful to have you back, Ros," Harry said, reaching out to shake her hand, grasping her slim hand in both of his, and holding it for a little longer than necessary.

Seeing Tariq hurrying towards her, Ros took a wary step back. "Go easy," she said. "I'm delicate."

Tariq stopped just short of touching her and began to reach out as if to hug her, but thought better of it. "I've missed you," was all the young techie was able to say.

"And I you, Tariq. My day is now complete." Her accompanying smile appeared heartfelt.

Ros looked behind Tariq to see Dimitri hovering, an embarrassed grin on his face. "I thought you'd never come back. I'm using your mug," he said, lifting his coffee mug so that Ros could see it.

"I bequeath it to you, Dimitri. You always were a better man than me."

With her words Dimitri's face relaxed. "Thanks. That's .. generous of you. I'm glad you're not..." and thinking better of where he'd been going with that thought, he changed tack. "It's so good to have you back, Ros."

"And it's good to be here," Ros replied with a small smile just for Dimitri.

Other than Lucas, whose hand rested on her back, the only person so far to have touched Ros had been Harry. Ruth watched as Harry spoke quietly to Ros, who then turned towards his office. As she passed Harry he tipped his head to Ruth, a gesture which meant, My office .. now. "Show's over," he announced gruffly to the rest of the Grid. "Ros is back, but she's here to work, as you all need to be."

And with Harry's words, everyone dispersed – back to their respective work stations. Ruth rose from her chair to head towards Harry's office. She felt a moment of sadness that Ros's return had been so low key, but then Ros had never been a balloons and streamers kind of girl. What was she thinking? In all probability Ros had never been a girl. She'd been hewn from ice and stone some time in the early 1970's, and then bequeathed to her family for safe keeping. She was sharp and powerful and seemingly indestructible; even falling masonry and metal had not stopped her.

Inside Harry's office Ros sat in one chair while Ruth settled on the chair next to her. Lucas stood to the side, leaning his shoulder against the office wall, while Harry sat behind his desk. "Are you ready to work?" he asked Ros.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she replied. "I dug up all that information on Terry Noakes, and now he and four more of his kind are on remand." She looked up at Lucas apologetically. "Although it was Lucas and Dimitri who did the leg work. What I did was the easy bit."

"Had you not discovered his web of electronic contacts, Ros," Ruth said, "we'd still be viewing him as an annoying presence on the Wandsworth estate."

"The little shite'd be an annoying presence wherever he was. He has contacts from Aberdeen to Plymouth, and Cardiff to Nottingham, and that's not even mentioning his contacts overseas. It appears he'd been spending all day and half the night online, building his own little web of degenerates."

Harry had been sitting back in his chair, observing the exchange. His team was now complete. He took a deep breath and sighed. Ruth heard the sound – one familiar to her ears – and gave him a quick, reassuring smile.

"It was his big mouth which gave him away," added Lucas quietly. "Had he kept his mouth shut, we'd still be none the wiser."

Ros quickly glanced up at Lucas, then across the desk to Harry. "I think I know who is the .. er .. king pin of this little gang of ne'er-do-wells," she said. "His name keeps coming up in Noakes' emails, and Tariq has also isolated this person as someone who appears overly invested in there being a white Anglo majority in this country."

"Isn't it a bit late for that?" Harry asked.

"Not when you're the husband of the Permanent Secretary," Ros replied. "You did know Petra Woodward had a husband, didn't you?"

"I'd heard the rumour, although I've not set eyes on the man," Harry replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach.

"I've heard that Adrian Woodward spends most of the year in various places outside Britain," Ruth added, "chiefly to avoid casting a dark shadow over his wife's career. Despite that, they are very much together."

Harry again sat up, leaning his forearms on his desk. "That looks like being your next project, Ros," he said. "We need to know how and from where this group is funded, but tread carefully. I have an appointment with Ms Woodward later this week, so you might like to join me."

Ruth recognised Harry's suggestion as Ros' first task as his Section Chief. Besides, while Petra Woodward intimidated Harry, Ros would be intimidated by no-one. Ruth smiled to herself. Oh to be a fly on the wall at that meeting.

Ros' first day back flew by, and at 4 pm she quietly left, a taxi waiting at the doors of Thames House to spirit her home. It was just after 6 o'clock when Ruth's mobile phone vibrated on the surface of her desk. She picked it up without checking the caller; she already knew who it was.

"Go home, Ruth. You've done enough for one day." Harry's voice was deep, almost seductive.

"I just have this -"

"Ruth .. please .. if you won't do this for yourself, then do it for me."

"That's a bit low, Harry. It's been a while since you've resorted to emotional blackmail."

"What if I drive you home?"

"Only if you then stay home .. with me. We'll pick up some food on the way home, and we'll eat it together, and then we'll have an early night."

Ruth had been watching Harry. He'd been slouched over his desk, determined to not give her eye contact. At the words, `early night' he sat up straight and looked right at her. She smiled her sweetest smile. "Do you mean that?" he asked, and she knew he didn't believe her.

"Then you get to choose what we do … after dinner." As if she didn't know what he'd choose.

Harry's face changed from disbelief to his broadest smile. "Then what are we waiting for?" he said. He knew he'd been played by Ruth, but he didn't care. "I love playing Scrabble with you." He heard Ruth's throaty laugh over the phone, but even from the distance of his office he could see the flush rise from her neck to her cheeks. Scrabble was their own private code for a much more intimate activity than board games.

"So," she added, "we're celebrating Ros' first day back?"

"While we're .. playing Scrabble I'll be thinking of no-one but you."

"I'll be ready in five minutes," Ruth replied.

And she was ready in less than four.

Fin