"Harry?" he hears her call softly, so he lifts his eyes from the ground and turns towards the sound of her voice.

"I'm here," he calls and moments later she appears before him, wearing the same, stunning, blue dress that makes his heart skip several beats.

"What are you doing out here?" she asks, taking a few steps closer.

"I'm looking for something," he answers as he lets his gaze sweep over her, unable to resist the temptation. He just can't get enough of her, can't quite believe that she's really here.

"Well," she smiles as she steps closer, "I think you've found her."

He chuckles softly and takes her outstretched hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft, sensual kiss against her knuckles.

"Mmmm," she hums, "Sir Harry, what a gallant gesture. It's a good job I'm not prone to swooning."

He laughs this time and pulls her by the hand until she steps into his arms. He holds her close, enveloping her in his arms, marvelling at the fact that she's letting him do it, and thanking his lucky starts for this chance he's been given.

"So," she says after a few moments, "what are you looking for? Can I help?"

He hesitates, not sure if he wants to reveal how important it is to him, but then realising that he can't very well refuse her help without offering an explanation. "It's a piece of card inside a plastic bag," he murmurs eventually.

"How big is it?" she asks.

"It's the size of a postcard or photo," he replies.

"Oh! That big?" she says in surprise. She pulls back from him and glances around the ground quickly before declaring, "Well, it's obviously not here then. Where did you drop it?"

"If I knew that, Ruth," he grumbles in annoyance, "I'd know where to find it, wouldn't I?"

"All right," she frowns. "There's no need to take that tone with me, Harry. I was simply trying to ask where you were the last time you had it."

He stops to think about that. He was reading it right under this tree this morning and then it had been in his pocket the rest of the day. He'd slipped it into his pocket when he'd got changed before dinner and... wait! He'd been fingering it when Ruth had arrived. He spins round and walks away from her, scanning the ground as he retraces their steps from earlier and then he spots it, lying on the ground by his long forgotten wine glass. He bends over and picks them both up, placing the glass on the garden wall and turning the card over in his hand to make sure it hasn't been damaged before quickly slipping it back into his pocket.

When he turns round, he sees that Ruth's been watching him. "I found it," he murmurs, stating the obvious.

"That's good," she replies. "Care to tell me what it is?"

He sighs and takes a step back, leaning against the wall behind him and looking down at the ground. He doesn't want to tell her what it is, doesn't want to reveal how vulnerable and pathetic he's become... but if he doesn't, she'll think he's hiding something sinister, perhaps something given to him by another woman, and he can't afford to lose her again. So he replies softly, "It's a postcard... from you." He hears her approach and looks up, meeting her warm gaze with his own and taking the hand she stretches out towards him. The love he sees in her eyes gives him the courage he needs to open up to her, to trust that she won't think less of him for his current state of weakness. "The panic attack," he continues softly, "that I had earlier, it was because I couldn't find it. I always carry it in my pocket and it must have fallen out when I pulled out my handkerchief. It seems so... stupid to panic about a postcard..." He tails off, feeling embarrassed and disgusted with himself.

"It's not," she replies firmly. "You're not stupid, or weak, or pathetic, or any other negative adjective you're using to describe yourself inside your head, Harry. You're the same courageous, strong, loyal, honourable, caring man I feel in love with when I was just a naïve, junior analyst. You've just pushed yourself too far, beyond your body's capacity to cope, and now you need to give yourself time to recover. Everyone has a breaking point, remember? You've reached yours and I think that you're rather fortunate that it's happened while you were with friends instead of your enemies." She steps closer to him, between his knees, and raises her hand to cup his cheek, murmuring, "Forget everything, Harry. For two weeks, nothing else matters. It's just you and me... together."

She kisses his lips softly and pulls back, giving him an encouraging smile that he tries to return. Their gazes hold for several moments, and he feels the first sparks of hope ignite and take hold in his battered, old heart. Perhaps she's right, perhaps all he needs is a break, a little rest and a little peace, and someone to love and take care of him, but most importantly of all, perhaps he needs someone to take care of, to give him purpose again, something worth fighting for.

"I almost killed a man, Ruth," he blurts out suddenly, unable to hold back, needing to confess to ease his feelings of guilt and fear. He used to be able to bury these things deep inside him, but now they won't stay down any more and the effort of keeping them there is part of the reason he's falling apart at the seams. And he trusts Ruth more than anyone else, more than he trusts himself right now because her integrity runs so deep that it's part of her very essence, and he knows for a fact that no one could ever turn her and, therefore, she will never betray him.

"I hate to point this out, Harry," she smiles softly as she lowers her hand from his cheek and places it on his hip, "but I think you'll find that you've actually killed quite a few people."

He smiles in spite of himself, knowing that she's not criticising. Killing is an unsavoury but necessary part of what they do. "It was different this time," he sighs. "The bloke in question was a real piece of work and the world would, no doubt, have been better off without him in it, but that's not what's been bothering me... Every time I've had to take a life, Ruth, I've been in control, I knew what I was doing and why. I was usually calm, collected, sometimes angry, but always in control. This time... I was in a blind fury. There was no reason behind it... I just snapped. He said something to provoke and I lost it. I picked up a gun and raised it to shoot him. Dimitri jerked my arm up at the last moment, but it didn't stop me. I just went for him. It took both Dimitri and Calum to subdue me... Next day, Erin told me I needed to take leave, and after what had happened, I didn't wait for her to threaten to report me to the DG." He pauses and looks into her eyes as he adds in a whisper, "I don't know if I can trust myself any more, Ruth." He's done it; he's opened himself up to her completely. Never in his life has he done this before, has he left himself so open, so vulnerable, without any barriers, any defences.

"Oh, Harry," she sighs softly, lifting both her hands to caress his face, gently tracing the worry lines she finds there as he watches her beautiful eyes that are so full of love for him. How could he have let her go all those years ago? He should never have let her go. "I know I can trust you, and I know you can trust yourself, but you need to be patient and let yourself heal, Harry. You need to sleep and rest. You're running on empty, my love. Let me take care of you. I want, I need to take care of you. Two weeks of TLC and you'll be back on your feet, Harry. I promise."

"I don't want just two weeks, Ruth," he whispers and he knows his eyes are begging her to stay with him. "I can't lose you again. I can't live without you any more. It's too hard."

"You won't have to, Harry," she smiles. "I'll have to go back to arrange some things, let Nico finish his school year while you call in some favours and sort out something regarding my status back home, but when all that's done, we'll come to live with you. I don't want to live without you either."

He feels tears spring to his eyes at her words and tries to blink them away, but he can't stop the flow and soon they're streaming down his cheeks faster than she can wipe them away. "Shhhh," she whispers and pulls him into her arms, letting him cry against her chest as her fingers slide through his hair and massage his neck, and her other hand rubs comforting circles across his back. Eventually, the tears stop and he lifts his head, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief and finding it missing.

"I'm afraid I stole that," she smiles.

"So you did," he nods as he wipes at his cheeks with the back of his hand.

"Come," she says and pulls him by the hand, picking up the empty wine glass as she leads him to the house. They enter through the patio door and Ruth takes the glass through to the kitchen while he goes to the bathroom to clean himself up.

When he comes back out, Ruth's put some music on and is slowly swaying on her feet as she gazes out the window. "There's no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too long, any time she goes away," Bill Withers sings as he watches her for several moments before he approaches, placing his arm round her waist and pulling her against his chest, his other hand clasping hers and leading her around the room in a slow dance.

"Nice song," he comments, "and so apt. There is no sunshine when you're gone, Ruth."

"I think that's just London weather, Harry," she smiles.

He chuckles and pulls her closer, kissing her hair softly. She smiles as she rests her head on his shoulder and murmurs, "Do you remember our first dance, Harry?"

"Yes," he replies, his voice deep and sensual, "at the office Christmas party."

"I was terrified," she smiles.

"Terrified?" he asks, tilting his head to look at her. "Of me?"

"Oh, God no," she replies. "Well, not in the way you think. I was terrified I'd make a mistake, make a fool of myself, show you how infatuated with you I was."

"I already knew that, Ruth," he murmurs softly, "and I felt the same way, though I did my best to cure myself of the feeling. I was your boss, not to mention more than a decade older than you, and it was inappropriate, or so I thought at the time. Knowing you fancied me, however, made it so much harder. Perhaps that's why I failed."

"I had no idea you thought of me like that back then," she replies.

"I feel as if I've always thought of you like that, Ruth," he murmurs. They're silent for a few moments and then he asks, "Where's Malcolm?"

"He's gone over to see Jean," she replies.

"Oh?" he murmurs with interest. "I wondered about them."

"I'm glad," she smiles against his chest. "They both deserve some happiness."

"Like us?" he asks.

"Just like us," she replies as she lifts her head and slips her arms round his neck, pressing her lips gently against his.

His eyes slide shut and he sighs with pleasure as he pulls her against him, feeling her body mould to his as they kiss softly and sensually. When they part a few moments later, he whispers huskily, "Come upstairs, Ruth."

"Yes," she replies, her eyes sparkling pools of love. "Yes, Harry."

They make their way upstairs hand in hand, gazing at each other the entire time until they're in his room and the door is closed behind them. He reaches for her then and wraps her in his arms, feeling his heart overflow with love for her as they kiss ardently and make love slowly, and it's gentle and beautiful and all they'd ever hoped it would be.

Afterwards, they hold each other close while they bask in the afterglow, the moonlight streaming in through the window and casting shadows across the floor.

"Harry?" she murmurs quietly against his chest.

"Yes?" he replies huskily, running the fingers of one hand through her hair and the palm of the other across her hip.

"That was worth the wait," she smiles.

"I'm glad you said that," he murmurs turning his head to kiss her forehead.

"You weren't worried, were you?" she teases as she raises herself onto her elbow to look down at him. "The great Harry Pearce, serial womaniser and daring spy?"

He blushes and is grateful that she can't see it in the soft moonlight. Something about the beauty of the evening, the tenderness of their love making, and the way they've opened up to each other tonight, makes him not even hesitate before saying in a deep voice, "No one else has ever meant more to me, Ruth. So, yes, I was a little worried. After all, you've just revealed that you had an exiting lover back in Cyprus, and I have to admit that I'm a little rusty and past my prime."

"I don't know, Harry," she replies lightly, "they say that men are like wine; they become better lovers as they age. They know what to do to get a woman aroused, and they take their time. And you, my adorable, sexy man, have just proved them right." She leans forward and kisses his lips softly before adding, "And besides, just the fact that I'm with you makes the sex much more than just exciting, Harry. More than ten years worth of sexual tension and longing has a rather powerful effect, not to mention the fact that I absolutely adore you."

He watches her intently, marvelling at how beautiful and self-confident she is.

"What?" she asks with a frown.

"You're so different, Ruth," he murmurs softly, "so confident and forward, so comfortable with who you are."

She shakes her head gently and replies, "Not really, Harry. Deep down, I'm still rather insecure and I still grapple with feelings of guilt every day. It's easier for me to express what I feel, but I've had to work hard to get there. After what happened... what I said to you... it was a wake up call. I realised that I needed to learn to grieve openly, to learn to release my emotions and not bottle them up. That's why I let myself cry now when I feel like it. Otherwise the grief, the hurt turns to anger and eventually bitterness. And I needed to pull myself together in order to help Nico. Having him to care for forced me to face many of my fears and work on my weaknesses.

"But if we'd met again under different circumstances, perhaps back in London with you still at work, I'm not sure if I'd have had the courage to be so forthright and forward. So it's not just me. It's you too who's different. You'd probably call it weak or vulnerable, but I tend to think of it as being open. You're open to more than just the job, to sharing more of yourself, to showing me who you really are." He shakes his head and opens his mouth to disagree, but she doesn't let him, saying, "It doesn't matter what the reason behind it is, Harry. The fact is you're open and prepared to meet me half way. After our date, when I broke it off, did you love me as much as you do now?"

"Yes," he murmurs.

"But you did nothing, you let me walk away. You never once tried to change my mind, to reason with me, to tell me that the gossip wasn't worth losing something so special, to reassure me that you were serious about me... You weren't open then, you didn't want to appear vulnerable. And I'm not saying it would have made any difference if you had; it probably wouldn't have. I was very scared back then and you were so confident, powerful, and sexy. You were a Mr. Rochester, and much like Jane Eyre, I didn't feel like I had anything to offer you; I wasn't your equal, just a weakness."

"I never thought of you like that," he murmurs with a frown.

"I know you didn't," she smiles, "but it turned out to be true. I was your weakness, and after I'd left, I kept kicking myself for walking away from you that night at Havensworth, for not enjoying fully the time we'd had together because, what had been the point of denying us if I'd ultimately been used to get to you anyway? To paraphrase Hattie Morahan in the BBC Sense and Sensibility adaptation, 'I had suffered all the punishment of an attachment without enjoying any of the advantages.'"

He frowns, thinking over what she's said and realising that, at some level, she's right. It would have been hard for her to see how much her mere presence by his side everyday calmed him, kept him on an even keel. Even he had failed to realise how important to him she'd really become until she'd left. "Do you feel the same way now?" he asks.

"No," she replies. "Now I know that we need each other to be happy and that together each of us is stronger than we are apart."

They hold each other's gaze for a long time, exchanging unspoken words of love, and then he says, "Marry me, Ruth."

"Yes," she nods, a wide smile spreading across her face as his heart soars and a smile appears on his lips, mirroring hers. "Yes, Harry." Then she adds, "but only after I'm Ruth Evershed again. It wouldn't be right otherwise."

"No," he grins, "nor would it be legally binding."

"I forgot," she murmurs, lowering her lips towards his and stopping just millimetres away to add, "you like to have things on paper."

He chuckles and then feels her lips press against his, and he closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, kissing her passionately.

When they come up for air several minutes later, she shifts her body further onto his, her hand running down his side and her mouth trailing kisses along his jaw and whispering in his ear, "Why hello there! I think someone's ready to play again."

He chuckles softly and then groans loudly as her mouth sucks his ear lobe at the same time as her hand finds him under the covers, and as the passion between them builds, his last coherent thought is that this quasi nervous breakdown and compulsory leave is the best thing that's ever happened to him.


Sadly, this is the end of this fic. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please leave a final review if you have a moment. There is also an M-rated sequel to this fic called "Another Chance" if you're interested. Cheers, S.C.