Sorry for the gap between updates - what can I say - normal life again. Hopefully this chapter will make up for it as we discover if they will escape or not. Thank you very much for all your wonderful reviews, and I hope you like this one enough to review! xx

"Well well well," Harry said coldly as he regarded the figure in front of them, turning his glare onto Elena again. "Ilya, what a surprise that you're the one behind all this."

Ilya also turned to look at his wife, and for an instant he seemed somewhat disconcerted that she looked slightly vulnerable, however a moment later, Harry was sure he had imagined it because a similar smug expression to his wife's had appeared.

"I am afraid I cannot take all of the credit Harry." Ilya responded in an equally cold, yet falsely friendly voice. "There are… others."

"Oh I can't wait to find out who." Harry replied sarcastically, all the while keeping a tight hold over Ruth, who had tensed at Ilya's appearance.

"Then do not worry," Ilya said, continuing the falsely polite, yet completely pointless conversation. "Because in a short while you will find out."

"I'll look forward to it then." Harry answered, his eyes now fixed on Ilya's, with both women looking between the men. Had they been wolves they might have been circling each other now, estimating when the right time would be to go in for the kill. When the silence in the room went on for some long minutes following this, Harry decided there was no time like the present to move things along.

"So Ilya," he said calmly, despite his fear for the woman he loved and their child. "As your wife is being so unhelpful… what exactly do you want us here for? I'm assuming you didn't take the trouble of abducting us in front of the Government's very noses simply for a teddy bear's picnic?"

"I am amused that you are using your typical British technique." Ilya said smugly, moving to place his arm around his wife. Her expression incidentally had somewhat relaxed since her husband arrived to restore her confidence. "You, like so many in your country, seem to think that a common question and answer session before you die is your right. Yet only in your Agatha Christie's and your Colin Dexter's is this true."

"You intend to kill us then?" Harry asked with apparent curiosity, yet inwardly his heart had clenched. He could not and he would not let anything happen to Ruth or that baby, regardless of Ilya Gavrik's intentions.

"Oh yes." Ilya replied equally calmly. "I see it as fit. You and your Ms Evershed have been a hindrance for too long."

"Then why not just do it?" Harry asked. "Or is the fear and anticipation of being killed supposed to rot us from the inside first?"

"It is a clever plan no?" Ilya replied, smiling.

"No," Harry replied honestly, trying his hardest not to let Ilya know that he was getting to him. "Just in humane. But then again, I suppose a leopard never changes his spots."

"How do you mean?"

"You were a monster all those years ago, and you're a monster now. Only I didn't think terrorism was up your street."

"Terrorism?" Ilya questioned. "Who said anything about terrorism?"

"You have been going against the wishes of the British Government, trying to prevent a partnership that could potentially right the rivalry between Britain and Russia – a rivalry that is still very current even after the Cold War supposedly ended."

Ilya raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Elena had begun to glare at Harry; something he had rarely seen before, and it consequently made her again features appear really rather ugly.

"That Ilya is terrorism. And that act of terrorism, I can only guess is the master plan of a very bent, very underground, and a highly illegal sector of the KGB. Am I right?" For a few moments Harry's eyes bore into Ilya's and there was a connection of mutual dislike between both men.

Eventually, Ilya gave in to Harry's question and he nodded curtly, an odd smile sliding over his face. "You are right Harry Pearce."

"And if your country's Government got wind of what you were up to, you would probably be incarcerated for a very long time, as would your wife. So what could possibly be worth your freedom, possibly even your lives?" Harry tried to read Ilya, who still was not saying a word. "Because I know it's not money – you're far too rich and far too ignorant to want something as simple as that. You can't possibly want fuels or oil, because again, that eventually boils down to money again. So what is to be gained by postponing this partnership?" He analysed Ilya's features for a few seconds longer before a small smile slid across his face. "Ah," he said slowly. "Of course… even in the seventies you were a power freak. Anything that puts you in a place of power." He registered that from Ilya's slightly taken aback face that he was one hundred per cent correct in his assumptions. "Haven't you noticed that eventually people who dig for power usually wind up dead? The name Adolf Hitler springs to mind-"

Ilya cleared his throat and finally spoke, however this time his voice was no longer light and playful, but it came from a man who had had quite enough jibes poked at him. "Adolf Hitler is a very obvious and common name; I would have thought a man of your intellectual ability could have come up with something more original. Anyway," he continued. "You are playing for time."

It was Harry's turn to revert to silence, for this had indeed, in part, been his plan.

"If it would make you happier to know, I will of course oblige." Ilya said coldly. "We have postponed this foolish partnership enough in order to put our plans into action. Yourself and Ms Evershed have been, and shall be useful scapegoats before you die. Your career has already been entirely discredited, and in attacking your precious Ms Evershed, we were rather hoping your involvement with her would finish your future with MI5 off. The fact that she is carrying your child is only a bonus to our wishes."

"You bastard." Harry growled in utter disgust, tightening his grip on Ruth even further. "You would harm her and her child simply because it is convenient. You would kill an innocent child?"

"Of course I would Harry," Ilya shrugged. "We did it all the time back in the day. Do not tell me you have never killed a child because it is convenient."

Harry glared at Ilya, "I have never ordered the killing of a child, and never have I done it personally. I have authorised the deaths of children if it is the only solution to an international crisis, but not because it is convenient."

"It is the same thing." Ilya shrugged contentiously.

"That depends on whether you have an ounce of humanity or not." Harry snapped back.

Ilya smirked before continuing, "In time, as Ms Evershed's emotional condition grew worse, and your reputation poorer, we could mould you into the perfect culprits."

"The perfect culprits for what?" Harry demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"Why the Russian plane that is going to blow up over central London in precisely three days at 12 noon of course." Ilya replied, in a tone as if it was obvious. The smugness there was sickening.

"You can't do that." Harry snapped immediately. "It would kill hundreds of innocent people, not least the ones on the plane."

"How sentimental you are with life loss Harry," Ilya sighed.

"You would kill people from your own country?"

"No," Ilya smiled nastily. "You would. After all, it will be you who blows up the plane."

There was a pause of horror from Harry before he growled. "No… absolutely not."

"I'm afraid you will not have a choice." Ilya replied silkily.

"You have no motive." Harry replied. "What possible motive have I got to kill a plane of innocent Russians?"

"They are not Russian Harry," Ilya replied smoothly. "They are American delegates, and members of the CIA, on their return to conferences and bases in England, from Russia."

"What motive would I have to murder innocent Americans?" Harry demanded, finding this even more lucrative. "The Americans are our allies… there is even less likelihood that I would murder them."

"Because Jim Coaver, a rogue CIA agent, and his accomplice Joseph Willard raped and eventually killed the woman you love. You see, Ms Evershed is so distraught about what has happened that she will take her own life. You, in a fit of rage, and in a crime of passion, shall take rage against the CIA members on that plane. When you escape from custody and hear that your beloved Ms Evershed has taken her own life, you shall have boarded that plane, carrying a suicide bomb that will not only blow up yourself and the other occupants of the plane, but also create destruction in the city below."

Harry and Ruth listened to this plan in utter horror, and Ruth felt herself begin to panic. She clutched her stomach desperately, whilst Harry held her to him, feeling her confidence begin to deteriorate. They could not at any point show that they were afraid.

"You utter bastard." Harry managed to growl out.

Ilya however continued to speak, "With that done, I am so horrified at this act of terrorism on a Russian plane, the hostesses and pilots of course being from my own country, that I refuse to sign the partnership, and declare a degree of… unfriendliness with your country."

"You can't do that." Ruth spoke up suddenly, so that all heads turned to face her. "You can't… hundreds will due… chaos will resume between the two countries… there could be another conflict between Britain and Russia… it could cause untold damage."

"I am afraid Ruth," Ilya replied, bending slightly to talk to her as if she was a young child. "That I can and will do that." Ruth swallowed, but did her best not to show any outward signs of fear. As Ilya drew back up again, he said, "Of course, I know that I could never get either of you to do those things. So, my appointer has arranged for a suicide bomber to board the plane himself – with the amount of explosive we are using, none of the bodies shall ever be found anyway, so its shall be taken for granted that you were on board. You yourself shall be shot and disposed of in a way that you will never be found – I am thinking at the bottom of the Thames. Ms Evershed shall be shot and eventually found but not before my friends here have… had their fun." He gestured towards the two guards who were now smiling, quite demonically, at the thought of the pleasure they would have.

Ruth however, could no longer hold off her fear, and she let the tears begin to dribble down her cheeks. Within a few seconds she had started to whimper, albeit very quietly, but due to the silence in the room, all heard it clearly. Harry could only stand to watch Ilya's smug face for a moment longer before he turned away and pressed Ruth as tightly as was humanly possible to him, glaring lividly at the wall opposite.

"Neither you nor any of your men are even going to touch her Ilya!" He yelled.

"There is nothing you can do to stop it," Ilya responded reasonably.

Harry knew this was perfectly true, but he would not let this show, especially for Ruth's sake. She was now looking positively frantic at suffering in that horrific way again, and he knew that it would not take even a few seconds for them to break her. Regardless of what she had been insisted of late, she was still in the stages of recovery and was mentally and emotionally extremely fragile. "I'll find a way to stop it Ilya, don't you worry."

"My men are all armed, as am I," Ilya said practically. "If you try anything, you will simply be shot, and what use would you be to your precious Ms Evershed then?"

"No!" Ruth suddenly said loudly, wide-eyed and horrified at the prospect of them killing Harry. "No, he won't do anything. He won't. I'll… I'll let them…"

"No!" Harry growled firmly both to her and to Gavrik. "You are not going to-"

"Yes I am." Ruth replied, wiping her tears away, saying it as steadily as she possibly could. She placed a placating hand on his chest "Harry, you can't let yourself be killed for me."

"Yes I can."

"I won't let you."

"This is very touching no?" Ilya said amusedly to Elena, who said nothing but let out a tight-lipped smile. To anyone who hadn't known her better, they might have thought she looked a little disconcerted with the extremes to which Ilya was planning to go. He looked back towards the couple huddled on the floor, looking extremely satisfied with himself, "I suppose I shall allow you two to… say goodbye if it were…"

"For Christ's sake, she's pregnant!" Harry bellowed, looking towards Ruth's very large stomach. "She's almost full term. What sort of sick person are you?"

Ilya smiled a sickening smile; one that caused both fury and fear to boil up in the pit of Harry's stomach. "One that usually gets their own way. And one who usually gets exactly what they want… one way or another."

With that, he turned on his heel, escorting Elena out of the room with his strong arms, whilst the two guards flashed smirks at them before turning out of the door. "Do not worry about getting lonely. We'll be back momentarily." Ilya said in a chillingly calm voice.

A few seconds later, the room had been emptied leaving only Harry and Ruth still clinging to each other for dear life. Thankfully, the light bulb had been left in; the only humane aspect of all they had so far done, and all that they were about to do. As the heavy door echoed shut behind them, and double locked, Ruth buried her head in Harry's shoulder and within seconds had begun to shake. He knew that this was the result of silent sobs that were currently being issued into his cotton shirt, yet he knew he could provide no real comfort for her. The only way he could possibly may everything better, was to find a way out, and that, even with the dim light from the bulb, looked virtually impossible.

"Ruth," he said softly but firmly into her ear. "We'll find a way. They… they aren't going to do that to you again, I promise you that."

"Harry," she sniffed back, her voice muffled into his shirt. "I'm an analyst… and a bloody good one at that. And I can tell from this room and from this situation that the probability of us getting out alive and unharmed are about a million to one."

"I've been in worse situations that this and survived." He told her honestly.

"Yes," she said quietly, moving her face slightly so that she was side-on to his chest. "But you weren't lumbered with a heavily pregnant woman before. I mean it Harry; I'm going to hold you back. But if you can find a way out, get yourself out."

"Never." He replied with such fierceness it made her jump.

"Harry…" she began to plead tearfully.

"I mean it," he said strongly. "We all get through this together, or not at all."

"That's ridiculous!" She cried.

"This whole situation is ridiculous Ruth," Harry said, cursing himself inwardly as his voice cracked with emotion. "Me getting blamed for a terror attack after thirty years of service to this country, you… killing yourself due to depression."

"That's not unbelievable Harry," Ruth said quietly, tears continuing to dribble down her cheeks and onto her protruding stomach. The silence hung in the air as they both recalled the incident on the roof.

"He's a monster." Harry whispered eventually. "He's a bloody monster."

He allowed his hands to drift to her baby bump, and asking permission with his eyes, to which she consented, he stroked the forming child insider her. He fought hard to keep control of his own tears as he thought of the possibility of slaughtering this innocent woman and child. Ruth watched him for a moment before being forced to look away.

"What sort of mother am I Harry?" she asked with such sorrow in her voice that his heart broke. "What sort of a mother would put her child through a hellish life like this? I… I should have aborted it when I first found out… at least then it wouldn't have been able to feel any pain."

Harry gazed at this poor woman, aghast, "Ruth, you don't mean that… I know you don't. You love this baby."

"Is love enough Harry?" she demanded, suddenly hysterical. "Is loving it the decision to keep it… to give it a chance in this God-forsaken world, or is loving it giving it up to rid it of excruciating pain."

"Stop it!" Harry growled harshly at her, shaking her slightly to try and get her to halt these morbid thoughts. He had never heard her feel sorry for herself to this degree, and he had never taken Ruth as a woman who would ever kill another human being out of love. "You've given it the best chance of life Ruth," he said, moving his hands up to her face to force her to look into his eyes. "Look at me!" he said forcefully. It took a few seconds until she eventually complied with this order, and only then did he see the agony in her eyes. She genuinely thought that all of this was her fault. "You are a beautiful mother Ruth. You gave it the best chance, and you have loved it and nurtured it, and you will continue to do so, because I promise you that nobody – not the baby, not you, nor me are going to die."

"I shouldn't have let myself get so attached." She whispered tearfully.

"Yes you should." Harry told her firmly. "Come on Ruth, stop this. You're Ruth Evershed, the strongest, most reliable person on the grid. You don't feel sorry for yourself and you don't let their threats get to you."

"But-"

"You've escaped death from a highly trained French assassin, a mad man with a crossbow, a money-mad kidnapper, and an Indian terrorist." As he uttered these words, he noticed her calm somewhat as she recalled all of these times. "You've survived all of those times, and you'll survive again."

Although her breathing was still extremely heavy and panicky, Harry was relieved to note that she was no longer crying. So they settled into a gentle silence whilst he cuddled her lovingly, and whispered words of occasional comfort. Eventually she broke the silence with something quite unexpected:

"I like Zacharias for a boy."

He stared at her in complete astonishment for a moment before smiling slightly, "Ruth, do you want our child to be bullied senseless at school?"

"What's wrong with Zacharias?" she asked, trying very hard to keep up the banter.

"Zacharias Evershed?" Harry exclaimed aloud. "He'd never live it down."

"Well it wouldn't be Zacharias Evershed, it'd be Zacharias Pearce." She said before she could stop herself. In that moment, he could see that she had given this much more thought than he had ever realised. Yet he must have stared at her for a long while in shock because she hurriedly said, "I mean… no… no… Evershed's wonderful. I just… I…"

Harry quickly took her hands in his, and squeezed it tightly before moving in to kiss her senseless. Despite her fears, she blushed at his forthrightness, and smiled slightly. "I… I would be honoured if our child had my last name." he said honestly. They stared at each other for a moment longer, lost in their trance of love, before Harry broke it spectacularly by saying, "But it's still not going to be Zacharias."

"Zachary?" Ruth probed.

"No."

"Zach?"

"What is it with you and this Zach-ish name?" he asked amusedly.

"It was just one of the ones I had on my list." She shrugged, looking a little happier, despite their situation.

"Oh yes?" he asked quietly, but loving this woman so much more completely with each minute. "What other names did you have on your list?"

Ruth hesitated before answering, "For a boy, I was thinking of Adam or Daniel." Harry's heart almost overflowed with adoration for her as he realised the significance of those two names; the forenames of lost friends and colleagues, both of which had risked all the save them both at some point in their dramatically shortened lives. Brave, cheeky, reckless Adam who had given up his own right to live to save all those people on Remembrance Day, and sweet, young Danny who had at one point been the only one to notice Ruth's absence; an act which in the eventuality had saved her life. They owed them both so much, so he could see why she considered these names appropriate.

"They're both wonderful names." Harry agreed, squeezing her hand gently. "Any more for a boy?"

Ruth smiled slightly as a small ray of hope began to fill her sights again. Just thinking about names for their child, whatever the gender seemed to make the possibility of their survival all the more real. "I… I also had Sam… um… Samuel… and James."

Harry could not help but let his smile widen as Ruth uttered the name of his now deceased brother; they had had some fun times, he and James, before his younger brother died of pneumonia when Harry had gone to university. Yet he also knew that that was the name of Ruth's father, a good man, and a knowledgeable man from what he remembered of the files he read – he was obviously where Ruth got her brains from. He nodded, "I especially like James." He said softly, as they both administered their mutual connection.

As Harry remembered the times of playing spies in the street with his little brother at eight years old, Ruth remembered a similar age at which she had been given her first Dickens novel – David Copperfield. She had loved that book, and it was a book she often found solace in after her father's death, especially when she began to feel a stranger in her own home with Peter and her stepfather moving in.

"How about girl's names?" Harry probed, squeezing her hand once again, keen to stop her mind from drifting off to unpleasant thoughts. Now was the time to relax her; to her strengthen her before whatever was to come.

Ruth closed her eyes briefly as she tried to remember all those that she had considered, "I thought that Sophie was a lovely name… as was Anne… or lengthened at that… Annabelle."

Harry smiled again as she mentioned Annabelle, "Did you know that Annabelle was my Grandmother's name?" he asked conversationally.

She looked quite surprised before shaking her head, and moving to snuggle back into Harry's embrace, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. "I just thought… well… because of its meaning."

"What does it mean?" Harry asked curiously, wondering how this wonderful woman knew so much about everything; even the origins of forenames, which was a topic he was certainly at a dead loss at. It was ironic he thought, that in this life and death crisis, with no current possible way out, they were sitting in a dirty, dark hovel discussing names for their unborn child.

"It means loveable and graceful." Ruth was replying confidently. She was always so very confident and strong when it came to relaying information, for knowledge and using her brain had never been a problem for her. Yet when it came to her emotions, she always seemed to find it either extremely hard to keep them in check, or extremely hard to reveal them.

Harry smiled, "Yes," he nodded, recalling his own exceptionally kind grandmother. In the days where family rallied round each other at every opportunity, and more or less every day, he remembered when she used to bake a different cake each day of the week. Thus, he and his brother James were overjoyed when she knocked on the door at the same time of 2 o'clock each day with a scrumptious smelling carrot, or chocolate or Victoria sponge cake. "Loveable suits the name Annabelle."

Ruth swallowed, "There was one which I thought may be particularly apt to us; especially if we… if we get out of this mess." She said it as bravely as she could but Harry could tell her thoughts were staring to dwell over their fate again, and so he lifted her chin slightly to force her to look into his eyes.

"What's that?"

"Charlotte." She replied after some hesitation. "Not only is it the name of so many wonderful characters in so many beautiful stories, but it… it also means 'free person'."

Harry stared at her and pondered this, "Free person." He smiled, realising how truly perfect it was for a child of an MI5 officer; a child who despite all the unbeatable odds of the world, was going to survive, and live a free, happy life, unhindered by death and destruction. That much he would make sure of. "It's perfect Ruth." He nodded. "If it's a girl, that name would be perfect."

"And… and a boy?"

"Any of the names you have thought of – except Zach… for God's sake, no Zach." He smiled.

"I quite like it." She said, giving a small smile – a smile which filled his heart with adoration. She suddenly looked a little unsure of herself, "Do you mind what… what it is… I mean… if it's a boy or… girl?"

"Not one little bit." He replied honestly and with such certainly, a small blush rose up in her cheeks. "It's our baby… you've had the courage to carry it for these long months... and it's a part of you Ruth… it'll be beautiful whether it's a boy or girl."

Ruth really had to look down and avoid his eyes at that moment; even now, he mused, she found it difficult to take compliments. She opened her mouth to say something but suddenly her eyes widened and she completely froze in Harry's arms. They both knew why, as the distinct sound of footsteps echoed down the stone corridor outside; footsteps which were growing ever closer to the door. Harry could tell by the heavy weight of the steps that they were neither Ilya nor Elena Gavrik, both of whom seemed to simper and slide everywhere as if they were of a much higher status than anybody; therefore he guessed it must be one of the guards. Judging from the slight panting breath of him, Harry was prepared to bet that it would be the burly, yet slightly overweight American – the bastard who had brought him here in the first place. Fear slid its cold fingers over his heart and gripped tightly as he realised what the reason must be for sending only one guard. The Gavriks' would never do anything so disgusting as to watch a women being raped, so they had sent one of their block-headed underlings instead. In a split second, he made a decision. He had felt Ruth tense in fright the moment the footsteps came within earshot, and knowing he would never just let anyone attack her, he got quickly to his feet. However, Ruth did not seem to translate the message from her brain to her legs, and was still staring at the door in wide-eyed fear; the comfort that suggesting baby names had given had apparently long since gone.

"Ruth." He whispered desperately in her ear, knowing that his plan certainly would not work if the guard heard them from outside. His footsteps were growing ever closer, and Harry knew they wouldn't have much time. "Come on, you've got to get up."

Ruth seemed barely able to find her voice before she whispered in a strangled tone, "I… I can't."

Harry was now breathing heavily as he tried to keep a lid over his emotions. He could shout at her to move, but what good would that do. So instead, he slipped his hands under her armpits and pulled her to her feet. She was almost limp from fear in his arms, and so he manoeuvred her with difficulty over to the side of the door, so that she stood directly behind it.

"Harry." She whispered fearfully, as he moved slightly away from her, his arms raised and poised for the attack. "No don't… you can't… you'll get shot… please…"

As the footsteps approached mere inches from them, Harry quickly hurried over to the light bulb and reached up to unscrew it. It was by this time extremely hot to the touch, but Harry was past caring; he did not even notice if he received a burn or not. Seconds later, they were left in darkness and Harry directed himself back over to the door, now quite thankful of Ruth's rather panicky heavy breathing, as it acted as a target in which to bring himself to. Seconds following that, they both heard the metal key in the lock, and Harry repositioned himself. He had been a desk officer for years, but in this dire situation, he was absolutely sure he would be able to knock a man out, if not kill him (which would not be an entirely bad thing at all) with his bare hands. As the door swung open, Harry heard Ruth's breath catch as she fought to remain silent, and he found herself inspired by her ingenuity. It was indeed the burly guard, for Harry recognised his burly figure even in the blackness; the American had stopped dead, uttering only a short expletive before listening intently for any sounds of movement. He was well-trained, Harry could admit to that, but then again, Ilya Gavrik would not exactly hire numskulls would he?

Harry approached the younger man as silently as was humanly possible, and was extremely thankful that he was not heard. He was almost directly behind him when his luck changed. Ruth let out a sudden gasp from behind them both, causing the guard to whirl around in glee, and he careered towards where Ruth stood. Harry, who apparently not been noticed at all, charged after him.

"Come here precious." The guard sniggered nastily, and even in the darkness, Harry knew that the bastard was mere inches away from Ruth. He could not let this happen; he would not. Ruth's cry of terror told him that the guard had finally seized hold of her. Without a pause for thought, Harry seized the burly man by the throat and with all the energy he could muster, pushed him so that he went careering across the room. Unfortunately, this only served to make the man angrier, and Harry knew that a fight in the darkness was not going to be easy.

Both men listened carefully to each other's footsteps and pants, trying to angle when they could go in for the attack. No longer interested in Ruth, the guard picked his moment and flung himself at Harry's blackened outline. Harry however had had enough. He raised his hands in front of himself protectively and as the American approached, he seized this throat and squeezed extremely tightly. Every ounce of energy and feeling went into that squeeze, as he thought of Ruth lying bleeding on her kitchen floor, Ruth almost killing herself on the roof, Tariq lying cold and dead on a mortuary slab. He momentarily felt the guard's clammy hands on his own as he gasped and choked in the struggle to set himself free. It was to no prevail however, and Harry was extremely satisfied when the man went completely limp in his hands, before choking out one last piteous breath and falling heavily to the stone ground.

For a moment there was complete silence. One might have thought the room was empty until Ruth suddenly whimpered, "H… Harry?"

Harry stared at the dark outline of the dead man at his feet, unable to form words for a moment.

"H... Harry… please… please don't be d-" she began to sob.

"I'm alright Ruth." He said softly, returning to his senses. "I'm alright."

He heard her let out an enormous sob of relief, and rummaging in the guard's pocket, he found the heavy metal key before using Ruth's sob to direct himself towards her. She was no longer standing but huddled against the wall, most probably to where she had retreated after the guard had grabbed her. Harry found her form and embraced her tightly. "It's alright… I'm fine and your fine."

"I thought… I thought…" Ruth gulped, unable to articulate herself properly.

"I'm fine." He repeated gently, pulling her up once again. "Come on," he said, tugging her hand to escort her through the now open door. "We've got to get out of here."

"What… what happened to… him?" Ruth asked fearfully.

"He's… he's not going to be coming after us." Harry finished, although they both knew what this implied. Ruth had frozen for a minute, before nodding.

"Okay." She seemed to have accepted that this was now a kill them to live situation.

"Come on." Harry said again, pulling her out of the room. He turned and locked the metal door behind them, just for a precaution, before grabbing her hands and hurrying as fast as they could up the darkened corridor.

I apologise if it got a little horrific at times, but I thought I might include a little of the brutality they seem to have sometimes in Spooks, especially with Harry's ability to kill people who have done him an injustice. Up next is we find out who else is behind this mess, and I think one of them may surprise you! Please review to let me know what you think. xx