"There, that's sorted," Will said, flashing Harry a triumphant little grin as he stepped away. Harry reached up to readjust his tie once more, but Will batted his hand away. "Stop fidgeting," he chided the old man gently. "I just got it straight. Leave it alone."

"It doesn't feel right," Harry complained.

"It's fine. You're just nervous."

Harry muttered something unintelligible under his breath and turned away, stalking around the room once more like a panther trapped in a cage, plotting his escape.

Will watched him with a fond smile on his face, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. It was funny, really, to see a man like Harry Pearce, a soldier, a spy, a killer, practically vibrating with nerves over something as trivial as a wedding. Sure, it was his wedding, and there had been moments when everyone involved quietly feared it would never come to pass, but they'd made it this far. They'd made it through Ruth's bumpy re-entry into her life in London and through Harry's rather messy retirement, through surprises and arguments and a year's worth of breakfasts.

The time had passed quickly, for Will. He'd decided after some deliberation to open up a bookshop of his own. With some help from Harry, who had sold his home in London and decamped to Ruth's little house to live full time, and a loan from the bank, he'd managed to take out a lease on a little storefront in Bethnal Green. He'd gone into business with his mate Mark, who'd lived with him while they were at university together. Mark sold coffee and bread and biscuits, and Will sold books, and chatted to a pretty girl with pink hair who had stopped by every morning for the last six weeks running. He was slowly working up the courage to ask her out for a pint.

Ruth had decided against going back to Five. It had been an agonizing decision for her, he knew, but in the end, she'd told him quietly that the sacrifices that job required of her were more than she was willing to pay. He knew what she was thinking, how she was remembering the pain of her exile, and the trauma of her return, and he could understand how she'd come to that conclusion. He couldn't help but wonder if sometimes when she looked at Harry she saw George, if she recalled the fate that poor man had suffered and wanted something better for Harry, for herself.

Once Ruth's decision had been made, word had come down from on high; the powers that be told Harry in no uncertain terms that he was no longer allowed to see her, so long as he worked for Five and she didn't. Though Will had obviously not been privy to that particular conversation Jo told him later that Harry had exploded in a spectacular fashion. Once everyone's tempers had cooled (and the Director General's ears had stopped ringing) Harry had turned in his notice. Those three months had involved quite a bit of sneaking around, on Harry's part; his bosses at Five, no doubt recalling the vitriol he had spewed at them and stewing quietly over their bruised egos, had set men to watching him, with the intention of catching him in the act of visiting Ruth. Had they done so, he would have been summarily dismissed without his pension. In the end, though, it turned out Harry was an even better spy than Will had originally thought. Though a surveillance team had remained in place in front of Ruth's little house for the duration of Harry's tenure at Five, and though Harry spent most nights sleeping there, no word of it ever reached the sharks circling him. Will had his suspicions; Jo had intimated to him that most of the agents working in Thames House, including Malcolm, were very much on Harry's side. It was a rather romantic story, this tale of Harry and Ruth falling apart and coming back together, willing to sacrifice everything just to be together, and he imagined that that sort of thing appealed to the spooks, who were all frustrated actors at heart.

His mum had started teaching history at a local school, and Harry had started grumbling about retirement. They were working through it, trying to learn how to be together without the fate of the nation hanging in the balance, but all in all Will thought they had done a fine job.

Last Christmas, Harry had asked Ruth to marry him. Will thought it a bit clichéd, the way Harry had dropped to one knee on Christmas morning and produced a little box from his trouser pocket, but Ruth had agreed in an instant, and kissed him so fiercely that Will had been forced to clear his throat obnoxiously in order to remind them that they had company, and that it wouldn't do for them to start shagging on the sofa.

And now they were here, Harry and Will standing in a little room at the back of a church, waiting for someone to tell them it was time to go. Out of necessity, Harry and Ruth had decided to get married in a little village well outside the city; the guest list consisted of a mix of current and former spooks, some of whom were supposed to be dead, and they weren't taking any chances. It had all been very cloak-and-dagger; messages passed through dead drops and encrypted email accounts, arranging which guests would stay at which hotel, who would drive with whom, which legends would be used and how much alcohol was needed to get them all through the day's festivities. His mum had very nearly had a nervous breakdown over one particular guest who would be flying in from Chile; apparently that one had caused more trouble than all the others combined, though she did not share the details with Will.

Catherine had been a great help; she was six months pregnant, and in the midst of planning her own wedding. She and Fabian had decided to take the year off from their documentary work; it wouldn't do, she'd said, to be running around Syria while she was pregnant, a sentiment with which her father had heartily agreed. As she'd suddenly found herself with rather a lot of time on her hands (and Fabian underfoot at all hours of the day and night) she had thrown herself into wedding plans, spending many a Saturday morning sitting at the kitchen table with Ruth, discussing things like flowers and food and whether or not they ought to institute a rule that all guests must check their weapons at the door.

There had been no word from Harry's wayward son Graham, and this bothered Will more than a little. He knew, from his conversations with Catherine, that Harry had not been around much for his children, and that both of them had resented his absence in their lives. This knowledge had come as a shock to Will, who had only known Harry to be kind and attentive and wonderfully selfless, when it came to his treatment of Will and his mum. He'd said as much to Catherine, and she'd just smiled sadly and told him that some people take longer than others to mature. Harry had been young and reckless, when his children were little, but now he was much more settled, and everyone in his life was better off for it. Catherine was trying to talk her brother round, and Will wished her well in that endeavor. Harry deserved a second chance, to be a father to his son, the way he had been to Will.

Someone knocked gently on the door; it swung open to reveal Catherine, smiling and radiant in a soft blue dress that showed off the curve of her growing belly. When Harry caught sight of her, his face softened the way it always did when he looked at his daughter, the look of a man who has finally found happiness after a lifetime of sorrow.

"Time to go," Catherine said.

Harry squared his shoulders, and followed her out of the room, Will hot on his heels.

"Are you ready, dad?" Catherine asked him as they made their way towards the chapel.

"I was ready three years ago," he told her softly. Will wasn't certain, but he thought he could see a sheen of tears in Catherine's eyes as she leaned forward on her tiptoes and kissed her father's cheek.

"Go on," she told him. "I'm going to fetch Ruth. We'll be along in a moment."

"Right, then," Harry said. His eyes were somewhat wild, as he and Will passed through a little door and took up their positions at the front of the chapel.

The guests had already assembled. He could easily pick out Jo and Ros and Malcolm, sitting together at the front of the church with a dark haired man Will did not recognize. Little Wes was sitting with his grandparents, and he waved enthusiastically at Will, who returned the gesture gleefully. There were people he did not recognize; a blonde-haired girl with an impish smile was sitting with a handsome man wearing a stony expression. Squeezed in beside them was a little family, a mother and father and two small boys. Will recognized the woman; these were the visitors from Chile who had caused his mum so much aggravation. His mum's friends – some she'd sung in choir with, and some she'd known in Cheltenham - were sitting on the other side of the chapel, eyeing their fellow guests with open interest. There were others, more people he did not know, but whom he assumed he would be introduced to at the party scheduled for later in the evening.

Then the music began to play, and the guests shuffled dutifully to their feet.

Catherine entered first, regal and demure, holding a small bouquet of delicate white flowers. She made her stately way down the aisle, and then took up her post, standing across from Will and Harry. She caught Will's eye, and promptly stuck her tongue out at him.

And then the music changed, and Ruth herself appeared in the doorway at the back of the little church. Beside him, Will heard Harry suck in his breath sharply at the sight of her. She wore a simple white dress, and the flowers she carried were pink, and the smile plastered on her face was the most beautiful thing Will had ever seen in his life.

Afterwards, he wouldn't be able to recall much about the ceremony itself. He'd always found that sort of thing to be desperately boring, and though he was really pleased for Harry and his mum, he was ready to get on with the drinking and dancing portion of the evening. Through it all, though, he watched his mum, watched her saying the words in her quiet little voice, watched the way her eyes kept flickering to Harry's face, the way she couldn't seem to stop smiling. This was right, he thought. After everything she'd been through, everything she'd suffered, Ruth had finally found happiness. And Will, well, Will finally had a family. He could think of nothing better.


A/N: Sorry for the descent into fluffy nonsense, I simply couldn't help myself. Merry Christmas, everyone!