"Harry, you're a bit of a tosser."

Both Harry and Ruth gasped at that remark coming from Penny's child mouth. "Where did you learn to say that?" Harry asked in shock.

"Ros," Penny replied with a shrug.

Harry wasn't surprised at all by that answer. But regardless of what Ros may have said about him in the child's presence, it was less the insult that took him aback so much as being called 'Harry.' He certainly did not like hearing Penny call him by his first name.

Ruth took over then. "You shouldn't call him 'Harry,'" she explained, reading his mind as always. "And even if he was being a tosser, it's rude to say so. And I know you know better than to be rude."

Penny averted her gaze and giggled slightly. "Sorry."

Harry just grumbled a bit to himself. She'd never called him 'Harry,' as far as he could recall. Even Catherine always had the decency to call him 'Dad.'

"It's just a phase, love," Ruth told him reassuringly. "Didn't you go through that as a child, wanting to be more grown up by calling adults by their first name?"

"No, I always called people Mister or Missus."

"Perhaps she could call you 'Sir Harry,' then," Ruth suggested, mirth dancing in her eyes.

"I don't find that funny, Ruth."

"I didn't find if funny when you proposed to me twice in one week after I hadn't seen or heard from you in seven months," she snapped. The memories of that time, of the confusion and stress of it all, still hit her a bit too hard sometimes.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," he told her quietly. After all, he was still a bit hurt by her rejection. The sting of it had lessened, of course, but it hadn't truly gone away.

Ruth gave him a sad little smile. "Yes, I know," she replied softly.

Penny, still not enjoying being ignored, tugged at Ruth's arm. "But why didn't you want to marry him if you loved him?"

It suddenly occurred to Ruth that this story—particularly this part of the story—was far too complex for a small child. Not just in skating over the sex and violence of it all, but in the intricate nuance of the emotions. Sometimes Ruth had worried that she and Harry were built of intricate nuance, that their relationship was as fragile as a house of cards, ready to fall apart from the slightest ripple of discontent. And Harry's ill-timed proposals nearly did just that. She explained, "I loved him more than anything. But I was so scared of that. I wasn't scared anymore what other people thought, because everyone knew by then. But what scared me was that Harry was such a force of nature, such a strong personality, that I'd get swallowed up in the process. I always felt weak and afraid, and even though Harry made me feel loved and safe, and even though I had no doubts about his love for me, I had doubts in myself. That I wouldn't be enough for him, that I'd lose myself and lose who I was and instead just turn into a woman who lived and breathed Harry Pearce. I could feel it happening, and I didn't know what to do. And as with everything, when I got scared, I ran away."

As Ruth explained her feelings—something she'd never done to him directly about that time in their relationship—Harry had an epiphany. "But you came back."

"Yes, obviously."

"No, I mean…every time you ran away, Ruth, every time you got frightened and shut me out, you always came back to me. We had Havensworth and then that night at my house and then on the Grid. You always came back."

Ruth met Harry's eyes. Her gaze was filled with love. "Of course I came back, Harry. You may not have realized it then, but I hope you do by now: I will always come back to you. I love you too much to ever stay away for too long. Even when I was scared, being with you was always safe and beautiful, and I've never wanted to give that up for good. I can't. Not ever."

The bloom of warmth that filled Harry's chest in that moment was like dazzling sunshine. And if Penny weren't sitting right there on the sofa, he probably would have pulled Ruth into his arms and kissed her till neither of them could breathe. They'd been together quite a long time by now, but it never ceased to astound him that this incredible, perfect woman could love a grumpy old sod like him, that she could love him so very much. But she did. She really did.