1 January 2008 – Harry

He walks for an hour or more, heedless of the cold and the late hour as he hears Big Ben strike two, feeling more broken than ever before, crushed under the weight of everything, this latest blow almost worse than everything that came before it.

Ros had been right. Adam had chosen to die a long time ago, would have kept going until he'd succeeded, and he's accepted that now, has made peace with it, especially after taking revenge, killing Kachimov. And getting Ros and Lucas back has brought its own kind of satisfaction, and though it hasn't erased the guilt he carries for failing to protect them, it has helped ease it considerably – seeing them working well together, Lucas coming into his own under Ros's leadership, filling out and getting stronger, reversing some of the damage that Russian prison had done to him physically, though he knows that nothing can expunge the torture he suffered there and the scars that run deep into his psyche. Adam had hidden his inner turmoil from all of them almost completely, so he has no illusions that Lucas is not hiding similar troubles – a turbulence that could unbalance him at any moment and any operation he's involved in. He's learnt his lesson though and is keeping a closer eye on his team, though he will not let it jeopardise his trust in them. If he can't trust them and their instincts, then what has he got left?

Nothing is the answer that springs to mind as he turns to lean against the barrier and looks down, contemplating the dark, swirling waters of the Thames. Over the last few months – since he'd received Ruth's letter and all hope had died with it – he's become progressively more morose and maudlin, the numbness growing inside him, prompting him to cut himself off from those he cares about most. He doesn't ring Ben any more, hasn't seen his children in months, or Jane since last November. He'd spent Christmas alone with Scarlet and the cats, which are not doing so well lately either, perhaps sensing his changing emotions towards them – that, where they once brought hope and joy to his heart, they now only bring sorrow and pain.

And as if all that hasn't been enough, it turns out now that what happened with Jane wasn't a fluke, but yet another thing to add to his growing list of failings.

Impotence.

Never has he felt more emasculated than he does right now, never has he felt so old, so past it, useless, pathetic, like such a failure. He thought he'd hit rock bottom when he'd lost Ruth and then Adam, but it turns out that there's twenty miles of shit below that and counting.

Who would miss him, he wonders, if he just leant forward a little more and let gravity and the Thames do the rest?

Ben.

The answer comes immediately and he feels tears spring to his eyes, grateful beyond words for the unquestioning loyalty of his brother, the strength of the bond they share, and his understanding. He really doesn't know what he'd do without him.

He lifts a gloved hand to wipe at his eyes, taking his phone from his pocket and pulling off his other glove with his teeth to select the number. He hesitates, finger poised over the call button, thinking that Ben is either in bed with Sarah right now, or blissfully asleep in her arms. He doesn't want to disturb him either way, so he types a message instead, just a simple 'Happy New Year' for him to read in the morning. Then he pockets the phone once more, pulls his glove on, and turns to walk back along the bridge, wondering what the chances are he'll find a cab at this time in the morning, on new year's day.

He hasn't gone far when his phone rings, so he pulls it out and answers it with a gruff, "Pearce."

"I wondered why I woke up at such an ungodly hour," Ben's voice greets him. "I thought it might be one of the girls, but I'm glad it's you. Happy new year, Harry."

Harry smiles, the first smile he's been able to muster all week. "Happy new year, Ben. Sorry I woke you."

"You're alright. How are things?"

"They could be better," he confesses, making Ben chuckle.

"That bad, eh? What's happened this time? Is the world falling apart?"

"Undoubtedly," he murmurs, "though London's rather quite at the moment."

"I see. It's your own daemons that are keeping you awake then?"

"Something like that, yes. What about you? How are things with the lovely Sarah?"

"Just about perfect, I'd say."

"I'm glad. After everything, I'm glad you've found a way to make it work."

There's silence after that for several moments, the spectre of Ruth looming large between them. He knows Ben's no longer a fan of hers. He can sense it every time they move near the subject though Ben has never said anything against her to him. He is much more restrained that he himself had been all those years ago when Sarah had chosen someone else over his brother. Perhaps it's age that's given him the wisdom he'd lacked back then, or perhaps he's just a much more perceptive person. He's certainly much more restrained when it comes to expressing his opinion about other people's choices. And though Ruth's desertion pains him so much he can hardly breathe when he thinks of it, he still feels that he has no right to question her decision when the potential cost to her well-being and safety could be so catastrophic were she to return to his side. He would give his very life to see her happy, and if she's happy where she is, then he will be content with that. He has to be.

"You should come visit sometime this year, Harry," Ben tactfully changes the subject. He no longer offers Harry any platitudes or encourages him not to lose hope, and sometimes, he finds that hurts more than the actual knowledge that Ruth isn't coming back to him any more. "It's been almost five years that I've been here and you've not visited me once."

The ghost of smile flirts with his lips for a moment. "I will."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's a promise – my new year's resolution."

"Excellent," Ben replies, sounding genuinely pleased.

"I'd better let you get back to sleep," Harry murmurs, "and try to find a cab."

"At this time of night? You'll be lucky."

"I can always go back to the Grid if I fail."

"You're incorrigible, Harry," Ben replies with mild exasperation.

"Perhaps," he agrees, thinking that the only person who'd had a chance of making him resist the pull of Thames House is gone now, part of a brief moment of true joy and happiness that shone bright and died all too quickly. "Good night, Ben. Say hello to Sarah from me."

"Will do. Take care of yourself, Harry. Things won't always seem so bleak." He doesn't respond to that, knowing that just talking to his brother has brought him up a notch from the pit of despair he was in before he'd rung. "See you soon."

"Yes. See you, Ben," he replies and ends the call. Then he turns his steps towards Thames House, telling himself that if he's meant to go home to Scarlet tonight, a cab will appear to take him there. If not, then back unto the breach it is.