A/N: First of all, a massive thanks to all of y'all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate every single one of you so much. Secondly, I know we're all feeling a bit impatient. I promise, Ruth will tell Harry about the peanut soon, just maybe not in the way she'd planned. Things are getting a bit plotty here, but I promise, we're getting there.

Ruth sat alone on the bus back to Thames House, staring at the picture of the peanut and trying desperately not to cry. For the rest of her life, she would remember this day, would remember the moment she first heard his little heartbeat, the moment she first saw him, the moment she first accepted his undeniable presence in her world. And for the rest of her life, she would regret not having Harry by her side.

He should have been there, would have loved to have been there, belonged there, by her side, holding her hand, facing this little miracle together. Instead, her pride, her doubt, her fear had kept him away, had denied him the opportunity to sit and stare in wonder at their child. It hadn't occurred to her, before she saw the grainy scan, just how important a milestone this really was, not just for her, but for him, for them both, for their family. Because that was what they were now, she realized, a family. It didn't matter if she and Harry weren't together, it didn't matter if they never were; they were going to have a baby, yet another unbreakable chord binding them together, forever. They shared so many secrets, so many little joys and so much titanic grief, and now they shared this, too, this little person they would hold in their arms, in six months' time.

Six months.

Not so very long, in the grand scheme of things. Six months was how long Ruth had travelled, after Cotterdam, before settling down in Cyprus. Six months was how long it had taken her to work up the courage to ask Harry for a drink, after her return. Six months ago, Ros was alive. She had six months, to sort out her maternity leave and set up a nursery and read every book on child-rearing she could get her hands on. Six months, and then the peanut would be here, and there would be no going back.

So lost was she in contemplation of everything that would happen in the next six months that she very nearly missed her stop; she went scrambling down out of the bus, tucking the little photo of the peanut safely away in the pocket of her coat.

Back inside Thames House, she emerged through the doors and into the controlled chaos of the Grid, and forced herself to set aside thoughts of the peanut and the impending disaster that would be her confession to Harry. She'd decided to leave that conversation for tomorrow, and as she settled herself down at her station and got back to work, she realized that had been a good decision. She felt too raw, just now, too exposed, too many emotions coursing through her veins; if she tried to tell him now, she'd never get through it, she'd just break down weeping or worse, end up saying something horrible to him. Something as horrible as we couldn't be more together. That wasn't how she wanted this conversation to go. She needed just a little more time, a little time to pull herself together, to come up with a plan, to find the kindest combination of words to shatter his world.

"Oh good, you're back," Tariq said, jogging over to her station and breaking the bubble of quiet contemplation she'd drawn around herself.

"What did I miss?" Ruth asked him, half listening as she dug through the truly shocking number of emails she'd received in the brief time she'd been gone.

"Beth's got herself a new job," he said with a little lopsided grin. Tariq was such a nice young man; eager and enthusiastic and somewhat awkward, he reminded her a little bit of Colin. He had none of Malcolm's prim reserve, but was blessed instead with a more jocular nature, always ready with a witty one-liner, always game for a drink at the George after work. Poor Colin, she thought, thrown by a sudden wave of melancholia. Colin never should have been in that van that day, never should have been alone; like her, he was a desk spook, valued for intellect, not physicality, and his death still hurt. It had been buried, perhaps, submerged beneath the weight of all their other losses, but still the grief was there. Did the same fate await Tariq? She wondered. Would the Service come calling one day, and demand that he give all that he had? She desperately hoped not, desperately wished that they could all remain safely ensconced within the brick and mortar of Thames House, but she knew better. They served the realm, to whatever end, whatever the cost.

"When does she start?"

"Tomorrow. She's on her way back now."

Ruth nodded. That was good. A bit quick, but hopefully Hannah McCallister wouldn't be too suspicious. The woman didn't look like much of a threat, but either she'd had the presence of mind to order a Seva Gola or she worked for someone who did, and either way that meant that she was dangerous. Beth would need to tread very, very lightly.

"I've been going over her bank statements, and I think I've figured out what we're dealing with."

That got Ruth's attention. "I've been gone barely three hours and you've solved our little mystery already?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tariq beamed at her. "It took me a while to piece it together, but yeah, I think I've got it."

He shuffled through the papers he'd been carrying, and laid them out on her desk. "Over the last six months, Hannah McCallister has made a dozen donations to a non-profit called A Better Choice."

There was something about a spook with a good lead, Ruth thought wryly; they were always eager to share what they'd learned, to bask in the glow of their achievement, but they never just came right out with the information. They always made you work for it. Tariq paused, no doubt waiting for her to betray her anticipation of his next works and ask about this development, but Ruth simply stared at him, a rather unimpressed expression on her face, and he blushed slightly, no doubt realizing exactly what she was thinking. With a start, she realized it was exactly the same thing Harry would have done; they really had spent entirely too much time together, over the last few years. They were starting to rub off on one another.

"I looked into it. They're a small, radical anti-abortion group. They've been involved with a few low-level protests in the past but around the same time Hannah McCallister made her first donation, they started assaulting doctors. One of their members threw a molotov cocktail through a window at a private clinic last month."

"Wonderful," Ruth said with a little sigh. It certainly fit; McCallister was a nurse in a maternity ward, well educated but perhaps a bit over-emotional, and her involvement with this group was the closest thing they had to a lead so far. "I'll reach out to some of my contacts, see if this group is on anyone's radar. In the past, have they focused on any one clinic in particular, or are they more equal-opportunity in their approach?"

Tariq gave a little smile. "They're based here in London, and so far they haven't strayed outside the city. If they're planning to bomb a clinic, chances are it will be here."

Ruth nodded. "Good work, Tariq. Get your report ready; we'll have another meeting, as soon as Beth gets back."

"You'll need to give her a code name," Ruth said quietly to Beth as they stood alone together in the kitchenette, Beth drinking her tea and Ruth sipping on the hot chai Beth had picked up on her way back to Thames House. Chai wasn't something they stocked on the Grid, ordinarily, and Ruth had been hesitant to bring it in with her, lest the sudden change in her habits raise suspicions. Beth was more than happy to bring it to her, in a perfectly nondescript cup, and Ruth had been duly grateful.

"What do I call her?" Beth asked, running through the possibilities in her mind. Miserable witch was at the top of the list, at the moment; Beth had only spent about three quarters of an hour in Hannah McCallister's company, so far, and as far she was concerned that was too long. McCallister had been curt and not particularly welcoming; if that had been a real job interview, Beth would have run screaming from the hospital, and never looked back. As it was, she just smiled and nodded and feigned enthusiasm until her jaw ached from the pressure of holding her façade in place.

Ruth's eyes grew far away for a moment, as she considered the answer, no doubt lost in the endless vault of her own mind, digging through all the information she stored there as Beth might dig through a filing cabinet, until she landed on the piece she wanted.

"Medea," Ruth suggested finally. "Call her Medea."

Trust Ruth, Beth thought wryly, to come up with something so very tragic, and so very Greek.

"Murdered her own children, just to get revenge on her husband," Ruth continued, as if Beth didn't know the story. Of course she knew the story; Beth had read her Euripides, thank you very much.

"You think that's what McCallister is doing?"

"If she's planning to bomb a clinic with patients inside, she's planning to commit exactly the sort of act she's trying to protest. She's cutting off her nose to spite her face," Ruth explained.

Beth just nodded, and took another sip of tea.

"How did things go with Brewer?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light and nonchalant. They were alone in the kitchenette, at the moment, but they were also standing in a building full of spies; privacy was never a given, inside Thames House. Beth very much wanted to know how Ruth's appointment had gone, but they were still telling everyone she'd been off meeting with an asset, and Beth didn't want to be the one to blow her cover.

Beside her, Ruth sipped her drink in silence, no doubt trying to come up with an appropriately subtle way to answer the question. Riddles and lies, the life of a spook, Beth thought to herself.

"As much as I enjoyed his company today, I don't see any reason for us to continue this charade with him," Ruth said finally.

Beth pondered this for a moment, trying to work out exactly what her friend meant, and then it hit her; the scan had gone well, and Ruth was ready to tell Harry. She very nearly did a little jig on the spot, she was so pleased.

"I think that's a good decision," she said rather lamely, and Ruth rewarded her with a wan little smile.

"I hope it's not one I'll come to regret," she said softly.

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity, as they hunted down everything they could on A Better Choice, and Beth scurried over to Medea's home with a team of techies in tow, to plant a few well-placed bugs and set up a surveillance rotation. This was only one of several bomb threats they were investigating, at the moment, and resources were pushed to a breaking point. Tempers were high, breaks were nonexistent, and still the work piled up.

To maintain her legend as a young nurse Beth was installed in a safe house, a tiny flat in a tower block not far from the hospital, and Ruth returned that night to an empty flat for the first time since Beth had been foisted off on her two months before.

Her home was eerily quiet, without the girl there to blast the telly and ask about her day and tease her gently about her choice of supper (beans on toast, with a few slices of avocado and a bowl of ice cream, on the side). Ruth had almost forgotten how oppressive it could be, the quiet, but tonight it weighed down on her, and though she tried to distract herself, alternately playing with her cat and perusing the first of several parenting books she'd purchased, she could not seem to escape it. When Harry called, the sound of her mobile ringing startled her so badly she nearly leapt out of her chair, and so was breathless and disoriented when she answered.

"Hello?" she gasped.

"Ruth? Are you all right?" Harry sounded concerned.

"Fine, fine, you just caught me off guard, that's all," she explained, and on the other end of the line Harry chuckled.

"Which book did you have your nose buried in this time?" he asked gently.

These phone calls had become something of a ritual for them; for the last few weeks, Harry had called her every night. Sometimes he rang from his office on the Grid, trapped beneath a mountain of paperwork. Sometimes he rang from the back of his car, as his driver wound through the streets of London, carrying him home. Sometimes he called her from his kitchen table, his words muffled as he tried to eat and speak at the same time. Wherever he was, he called her.

In the beginning, they'd spoken only about work. Harry had established that rule for them early on, no doubt as a means to protect himself from her and her tendency to say careless, cutting words when they drew to near the personal. Over time, however, they had rather naturally ventured away from the professional, and Ruth was terrified and pleased by this in equal measure.

His question had been meant as a bit of tease, she was sure, but she could not answer him truthfully, and she was sick to death of lying to him.

"Medea," she answered quickly, saying the first word that popped into her mind. "Since that's what Beth has decided to call our suspect, I thought I'd brush up on the story."

"I should have guessed," he said, and her heart started to beat a little harder in her chest. For the life of her, she could not think of a single thing to say to that.

Would you like to come over, Harry?

The words were right on the tip of her tongue, just on the very edge of spilling out. He could come round to hers tonight, she could make him a cup of tea (or perhaps pour him a glass of whiskey; he would need the fortification) and she could reach into the pocket of her coat and pull out the copy of the scan and….

And what? Watch as he turned away from her in horror and disgust? Sit and listen as he shouted at her? Shatter into a million pieces as he spewed anger and hate at her until she could take no more?

"I hadn't realized I was so predictable, Harry," she said finally, only realizing after the words were spoken just how flirtatious they sounded.

"Only to me," he answered quietly.

Three days passed, and Beth grew no closer to finding out Medea's plan. The woman did not trust her, hardly spared her the time of day, and Beth was finding her duties as a nurse both incredibly distasteful and incredibly distracting. She hated being around sick people, always had done, and while most of her patients were pregnant, not ill, there was still enough…unpleasantness to keep her busy, and too far away from her mark to her liking. They had to cut back on the surveillance, because they simply didn't have the manpower, and Harry was growing grumpier by the minute. It was not a good time to be Beth Bailey.

Beth loathed her little flat; as nice as it was to come home to peace and quiet, after being surrounded by screaming women and various bodily fluids for hours, she was finding it difficult to be on her own again. Over the last two months, she'd grown rather used to Ruth's calm, steady presence in her life, and had looked forward to talking to her friend after work, to having someone she could unburden herself to, someone she could laugh with. And she fretted about Ruth, who had no doubt eaten beans on toast for supper each of the last three nights. She wanted to be there, with Ruth, wanted to be home.

The surveillance on Medea had provided some information, but not nearly enough. She was definitely planning something, and whatever that something was, it was definitely violent, but she'd been careful not to speak too openly to any of her compatriots from A Better Choice. They were always rather smug in their conversations, convinced that no one would be able to stop them, but Medea had grown quite paranoid, and insisted on speaking in code. It wasn't a very complex code, but it was vexing, nonetheless. Yes, she had a bomb, and yes she was planning to use it, but God only knew when and God only knew where.

A break in the case came on the fourth day, when Beth turned up for work, and Medea was nowhere in sight. She called in to the Grid, speaking to Ruth and calling her "mum", just in case anyone was listening. As discretely as she could she relayed the information about their missing suspect, and Ruth promised to get on it, right away.

"It's today, it's going to be today," Tariq said breathlessly as he stormed into Harry's office waving a stack of papers.

Ruth fought the urge to take him by the shoulders and give him a good shake. That young man had a tendency to burst into Harry's office at exactly the wrong moments, always interrupting them when they were right on the verge of finally saying something that needed to be said. Ruth had just arrived on the Grid; immediately upon entering, she'd received a call from Beth, and had got straight to work, not bothering to take off her coat. She told Dimitri to follow up with the surveillance team and reached into her coat pocket to retrieve her mobile, and her fingers had come into contact with the scan she'd tucked away in her pocket just a few days earlier.

Do it now, she'd told herself, do it now, before you have a chance to think it through.

She'd gone straight to Harry's office, her coat still on and her hand clutching the picture tight, deep inside her pocket.

And then came Tariq, to blow all her well-laid plans to hell.

"What's this?" Harry demanded.

"The surveillance team swears Medea never left her house, but we've just checked, and no one's home. She snuck out, sometime in the night. She didn't come into work, and we picked up some chatter from one of her associates, from the charity. They're going to detonate the bomb, today, while the clinic is full of people."

"Which clinic?" Ruth asked, her heart stuttering in her chest as she was gripped by fear. Lucas and Dimitri came rushing into the office together, their faces drawn and worried.

"We don't know," Tariq said slowly.

"Christ," Harry said, rubbing his temples.

"Tariq, run a facial recognition search, see if Medea's popped up on any of our cameras," Lucas barked, and Tariq all but flew out of the office in a flurry of papers.

"We don't have the manpower to search every private clinic in London and the surrounding area for this woman," Harry growled.

"No, but we've got a few likely places, a few spots some of her fellow conspirators have mentioned in passing," Lucas said.

"How many is a few?" Ruth asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Five."

Shit.

"Dimitri and I can go. We'll take some agents from CO-19, break into two teams, and start checking the possible sites, starting with the ones closet to Medea's home and working our way out from there."

Harry nodded. "Go."

Dimitri and Lucas all but ran from the room.

"What are the chances, do you think?" Ruth asked, her heart sitting heavy as a stone in her chest.

Harry simply gave her a look, a look which said all too plainly not bloody good.

"Ruth, Ruth, Beth's found something," Tariq caught her just as she was coming out of the ladies'. The nausea had mostly subsided, now that she was through the first trimester, but it still reared its ugly head from time to time, most often when she forgot to eat, as she had that morning. Her stomach still roiled and she desperately needed something to take the taste of sick out of her mouth, but there was no time for that when Tariq was all but hopping up and down with anxiety.

"What is it?"

"The clinic, it's not any of the ones on our list," he said grimly.

"Harry's office," Ruth said shortly, and they all but ran down the corridor, both their face drawn and pale.

"Medea's on to us, she figured out we were on to her the day Beth walked into the hospital," Tariq explained as they gathered in Harry's office. Beyond them the Grid was all but deserted, as every agent they had was currently in the field, either hunting Medea or chasing down one of the dozen different threats they were investigating that day. "I've got Beth on the line, Harry can you put her on speaker?"

Harry looked like he was on the verge of saying something particularly nasty, so Ruth simply leaned around him and did it herself.

"Beth?"

"I'm just leaving Medea's house now. We've found something," Beth's voice came through the speakers, tinny and scared and small.

"What is it?" Ruth asked, exasperated. Bloody spooks, she thought.

"A map. It's a map, with three clinics circled. None of them were on our list."

Shit. Things just kept getting worse and worse. It couldn't be one clinic, no, it had to be three, when their personnel were spread out all over the city and CO-19 were insisting they had no more bodies to spare and bomb disposal was already working on another threat.

"Can you send us the list?" Harry asked.

"Already done," Tariq interrupted, pushing his tablet under Harry's nose so he could see the photo of the map Beth had emailed over.

"I'm on my way to the clinic on Burrell Street," Beth answered breathlessly. "Dimitri's team is closer to Earls Court, so they're heading over there now. Which leaves-"

"Whitfield Street," Ruth answered quietly. The clinic closest to Thames House. Harry's head jerked up as if he knew what she was about to suggest, and he was about to point out what a bloody stupid idea it was. Surprisingly, Beth got there first.

"Ruth, I don't think-"

"Beth," she interrupted sharply, "I can be there in under fifteen minutes. I'll take a look around, and if she's there, I'll call in for backup. We don't have anyone else available right now, and we need to make sure it's secure."

There was a long moment of silence, as Ruth held her breath and Harry stared at her and Tariq stared at the floor and Beth's mobile connection crackled in the background.

"We can wait; Lucas's team can be there in thirty minutes," Beth said finally.

"And she could set off the bomb in twenty. Send Lucas over there, right now if you like, and he can meet me."

"I don't like this," Harry said quietly. There was something in his gaze; was it pain, she wondered? Did it hurt him, to think she might put herself in danger? Oh Harry, you don't know the half of it, she thought sadly.

"Regnum defende, Harry," she said aloud. For that moment, it was as if nothing else existed, outside the two of them. Harry looked at her, his eyes begging her to stay, and she looked at him, her eyes begging him to let her go. "Someone has to go."

Finally, he nodded.