Thirteen:
End of the World, End of the World, End of the World…

She was crying and she couldn't stop: Tom had shot Harry. He had gone so spectacularly off the rails that he'd shot her husband and attempted to escape. Her anxiety about Harry was off the charts, but Zoe had reassured her that it was just a shoulder wound and Harry would be fine. But… Tom, poor Tom. He'd lost the plot completely and now…

Sam came over with a tissue and wordlessly handed it over. "Harry will be okay," she tried to say reassuringly. "He's a tough old bugger –"

Ruth looked up at her and whispered, "Sam… what if he's not? Okay, I mean. What if he's not okay? What happens then?"

"It's just a shoulder wound, not the bloody Victoria Cross," Sam scoffed. "He'll be back and raising hell in a few days. Till then, we just have to pretend that we have the run of the place, eh? Who's in charge after Harry and Tom?"

Ruth paused and said, "I don't know – oh, god, I don't know. Who IS in charge?"

"Well, you've got the highest clearance on the Grid at the moment," Sam pointed out. "Maybe it should be you."

"Bloody hell," Ruth mumbled.

And less than ten minutes later, she was being shoved out of the way by Special Branch, her desk turned upside down and inside out, a photo of the girls and Gareth gone flying off the desk and shattering. "Get your HANDS off my THINGS!" she shrieked, grabbing at the photo, getting cut on the broken glass in the process. "What right do you have to touch any of this?"

The man sneered at her and moved on, and she grabbed the phone, dialing Zoe. "You and Danny had better get back here," she said with deceptive calm. It meant she was about ready to snap completely. "Special Branch plods are turning the place over."

"What? On whose authority?"

"They say the Joint Intelligence Community has launched an investigation, but can the JIC do that do that so fast?" She was struggling to keep it glued together; everything was falling apart.

"Ruth, tell Harry," Zoe insisted.

She looked up and saw Oliver Mace enter through the pods, and her heart stopped. "Oh no," she moaned. "The chairman of the JIC just walked in. Listen: doghouse. NOW."

Mace plucked the phone out of Ruth's grasp and hung up. "No more phone calls, please," he said rather smugly. She resisted the urge to punch him in the face. And then she resisted the urge to knee him in the balls. And lastly, she resisted the urge to kick him in the shin like a five-year-old. "I'm launching an investigation sanctioned by Downing Street, so you're all suspended." He looked over at Ruth and almost smiled; a shiver ran down her spine at the pure evil in that ghost of a smile. "This is going to be something of a blood bath," he said with an almost amused tone.

She didn't flinch, didn't move, until he left her space. And then she grabbed her coat, purse, and the broken photo frame, ignoring the blood on her hand where the glass had cut her. Mace blocked her exit, and Ruth set her jaw stubbornly. "I suggest you move," she said, "unless you want to explain to your men how a little woman took you down in front of them." Her glare meant business, and he relented, moving out of her way. Sam and Malcolm followed her with their coats and things, knowing that as soon as they were through security, all bets were off.

She had two tail cars all the way home, no matter how hard she tried to shake them. And several officers watching the house. Her first order of business was to get the kids out of the way and somewhere safe, so they wouldn't try to play games on that side. If they were watched, they were safe. She went inside and told Ginny in hushed tones and written words that she'd been suspended and she needed her to pick the girls up and take them to Bath to Gareth's parents. Ginny agreed, looking more than a little worried.

Ruth packed the girls' overnight bags and sent a couple of emails, reminding her in-laws that they'd agreed to take the girls for the weekend. It was true enough, but Ruth and Harry were supposed to drive them down there, not the nanny. "Tell them… tell them I'm sorry I can't come," Ruth said softly. "Tell them that I love them so much –"

Ginny nodded and took the bags, going out to her car. Ruth watched her, watched one of the tail cars follow her, and Ruth felt a fierce sense of exhaustion overcome her.

She walked out the front door and crossed her arms, regarding all of the teams with irritation. She threw her hands up in the air and exclaimed, "Bring it – I bloody dare you!" She lowered her voice to a dangerous whisper. "After the day I've had? I'll fuck you all up."

She packed a small bag with a few things for Harry; a couple changes of trunks, his toothbrush, and her beloved copy of Jane Eyre – in which she'd hidden messages for him in the margins. She had to trust that someone would see sense and let her through to see him. Otherwise… it was going to get very ugly very quickly.

She took the Tube and several taxis to lose her tail, but they had to know where she was going. It was a foregone conclusion that where Harry Pearce was, Ruth Evershed would follow. It had become a derisive joke at work when people wanted to poke fun at her, but she'd finally gotten to a point where she had to take it in stride.

She hurried through the hospital and peered through the doors of Harry's room. She tugged on them: they were locked. Some bloody bastard had locked him in the room! Righteous indignation rose up within her and Ruth felt her blood pressure rising.

Harry's guard said, "Can I help you?", nearly making her jump out of her skin.

"I've come to see Mr. Pearce," she stammered, all that resolve gone in the face of sheer physical intimidation.

"Sorry, no visitors today –"

"Oh, this is bloody well ridiculous!" she said, raising her voice. "I'm Ruth bloody Evershed – I'm his emergency contact – I'm his bloody WIFE!"

The man shooed her away from the door. "Go on, go – and try the wife line again, I'll have you arrested."

She pursed her lips together, glaring. "At least let me speak to the doctor," she said. "I need to know he's all right."

The guard looked down his nose at her. "I think not."

She held up the small bag and said, "I brought him clean underwear and a book. That's it – that's all I want. To deliver those and make sure my HUSBAND is all right."

The guard sneered at her. "Mr. Pearce isn't married."

"How much are you willing to bet on that?" she challenged.

"Don't make me detain you –"

She handed him the bag. "Look through it; there's nothing in there that will do any harm."

He took the bag and glanced through it. "No, I suppose not."

"Then please take it to him," Ruth said quietly. "And tell him I covered the flowers so they're safe. It'll make sense to him – his garden, you see. He loves his bloody roses."

The man relented and nodded. "All right."

She looked through the window at Harry and winced as he thrashed about in pain. "I do need to speak to the doctor – I am his emergency contact and I've not been consulted on any of his procedures –"

"My orders come from Downing Street."

She whirled around and glared at him. "I don't care who you bloody well report to; that man is my husband and I swear to god on high if I don't speak to his doctor in the next two minutes, I will lodge every protest in the book and I will raise every level of hell until I speak to someone who can tell me his condition."

The guard grabbed her arm and all but frog-marched her to the nurse's station. "They'll tell you everything you need to know," he said, then he headed back to Harry's corridor.

Ruth felt a small sense of triumph, but it was short-lived when she suddenly realized that HR hadn't pushed through the updates on her and Harry's paperwork yet. And she was second on his contact list behind Tom Quinn. Tom Quinn, who was likely dead and a traitor. No wonder they hadn't called her.

She got the barest bones of information, enough to know that he would be up and about in a few days. So she left. She took four taxis and two busses in order to reach the Doghouse meet an hour before dusk. By the time she got home, she was exhausted. As such, she flipped off her minders with a sweet smile as she slipped into the house.

The second day saw Ruth and Sam carted down to the cells to be interrogated. Ruth held her tongue, not answering a damn thing until Oliver bloody Mace came into the room.

"I've turned the tapes and the cameras off," he said with that smarmy smile. "I think the nature of our discussion is… delicate… enough for that."

"I have nothing to discuss with you," she said, her voice cold as ice. "If you intend to arrest me, feel free to do it already."

"Oh, Mrs. Evershed… don't think I haven't thought about it," Mace said with all the finesse of a snake. "But you're of far more use to me… unshackled." He smirked at her. "By the by, I hear congratulations are in order."

"Go to hell."

He laughed. "Now, now, Mrs. Evershed – or should I say… Mrs. Pearce?" She started a little at that, and him knowing made her feel very vulnerable. "Play nicely – I'm offering you an out. A way to keep your pretty little nose clean…"

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing.

"Harry and I share a certain… predilection… for a particular type of woman," Mace said. "You aren't his type. What hold do you have over him? Is your cunt made of gold? Do you give the best blow job this side of Singapore?"

Her face flushed bright red and she stood up. "Go to hell," she hissed, crossing her arms protectively over her torso.

"Show me exactly why he has to have you and I will let you walk out of here unscathed by this… unpleasantness," he said. "And I will call off the team watching your daughters and the nanny."

Ruth held her ground. "Go to hell," she repeated. "Fuck you. How dare you insinuate that I've ever used my sexuality to move up the ladder? How DARE you belittle my life with Harry? How fucking dare you."

He smirked. "Oh please, as if your move from GCHQ wasn't pre-meditated… Harry never does anything without a reason. And you're not pretty enough to fuck on your own merits."

She slapped him so hard his head whipped round. And then he was up and grabbing her wrists, pinning her to the wall. "I really wish you hadn't done that," he hissed. "Because now… now, I'm going to enjoy ruining you, dear Ruth." He kissed her, hard, forcing her mouth open and kissing her like he clearly thought he should kiss a woman.

Ruth bit his tongue and kneed him in the balls. "If you ever touch me again," she hissed, looking at his prone figure in disgust as he doubled over in agony, "EVER – I won't be responsible for my actions." She used his groaning to slip out and run back to the Grid. After all, there was to be safety in numbers.

She heard raised voices from Harry's office and her heart leapt nearly out of her chest when she saw Harry standing there. She knew he had to have been self-discharged without doctor's recommendations, the way he was wobbling. But she'd never been happier to see him, and she almost started to cry. After being assaulted by Mace? Seeing Harry was like seeing a unicorn shitting rainbows and glitter.

After Mace and his cronies buggered off, Ruth watched Harry sit down in his office, and she all but flew through the door. "Have you taken your medicine?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine," he said. "Better now for having seen you." He blinked up at her tiredly. "The girls?"

"Bath with Gareth's mum and dad," she said.

He nodded and closed his eyes for a long moment. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Mace," she said with a shrug. "He's quite a piece of work. He knows about us. And he… uh…"

"Ruth?"

"He tried to… god, he assaulted me, Harry. I basically bit his tongue and kneed him in the balls." She looked a little sheepish. "He was blustering about ruining me, but if he tries… I've got leverage."

"Who does he think he is?" Harry hissed. "Touching my wife –"

"He was trying to intimidate me; it didn't work," she said softly. She sat down beside him on the couch and held his hand. "I've survived worse. Don't look at me like that." She reached up and stroked his cheek. "I love you and I'm so glad you're going to be all right."

Harry closed his eyes and leaned in, kissing her gently on the lips, aware that the rest of the team was probably watching them with interest. Even in the midst of the most awful, gut-wrenching uncertainty they'd ever faced, gossip would eventually win the day.

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him back like her life depended on it – and maybe it did. Maybe she needed him so much that she'd forgotten what it was like to be alone. But she didn't care. He was here, and here was safe for the moment.

END PART THIRTEEN