Late that night, after Harry and Ruth had left and Jean had gone to bed and Mattie had come home from her evening with her friends, Lucien sat up alone in his study with a bottle of whiskey. Such a thing was far from rare for him. But tonight was different.

Tonight, Lucien was not caught in an endless well of despair. He was not filled with regrets and nightmares and horrors of his past. Though that being said, Harry Pearce certainly did bring up quite a bit of the past for Lucien that he had not had to confront in a very long time. In many ways, he had enjoyed his time in Hong Kong. He was a good spy, skilled with thinking on his feet and ingratiating himself to all sorts of unseemly people. He had enjoyed the thrill of that work, and he had appreciated that it allowed him to continue his search for Mei Lin and for Li. He may have even gotten close to finding the truth of their fate and being reunited with his beloved Li if it were not for his untimely dismissal.

Lucien took another sip of scotch. Harry Pearce. In two days, that was all Lucien had thought about. But he had not had cause to think of the man in years. Seeing him again had brought back that violent wave of rage over every rotten thing Harry had ever done. But his anger had cooled now. Seeing Harry again after so long had reminded Lucien of who the man truly was. He had always been a spy, and, when necessary, a ruthless killer. And Ruth had certainly softened Lucien towards Harry as well. Her faith and devotion to him had reminded Lucien that for all the hardness of Harry Pearce, he had been one of the most caring people in the Service. Harry had looked out for him when no one else would have bothered. Harry had wanted to keep him safe, keep him working, keep him going. With this distance from those events, Lucien recognized that now. Harry Pearce had been a brilliant commanding officer, and his was a life that Lucien was proud to save. Then and now.

Dinner this evening had brought up more for Lucien than just memories, however. Seeing Ruth and Harry together at dinner had been a strange revelation. They were both so at ease together. That was not something Lucien had seen or anticipated from either of them. And they were so happy. It radiated off them in waves. The tender looks between them and the closeness of their body language. They were in love, and Lucien had not quite expected it.

Was that what happened when two people worked together so closely for so long? Was it possible for a man and woman to ever share a working intimacy and not have it blossom into romance? It was a very special sort of relationship for a man to have a woman he could rely on and for a woman to have a man who depended on her and respected her. For Harry and Ruth, clearly, whatever trials and tribulations they had overcome professionally had led to this personal depth of feeling that was so innate to them. Did they even know what they looked like to outsiders? Did they know that everything about them together screamed out their deep connection?

And that, of course, led Lucien to pour himself another glass and wonder if perhaps that theory extended out further. Did he and Jean look to outsiders anything like Harry and Ruth? Did others recognize that Lucien and his housekeeper were not merely employer and employee?

Well, to be strictly accurate, the were just doctor and housekeeper. There was nothing more between them. Oh they had danced around one another for quite some time. Jean had allowed Lucien more liberties now than she had when he'd first moved back to his father's house. They had developed between them a closeness and reliance on one another that was, in all honesty, the most important and fulfilling relationship he'd ever had. She was quite possibly the best friend he'd ever had. Matthew was good for a drink and a heart to heart at times, but it wasn't the same. There was not the same safety as with Jean. That's what it was, really. After so many years of uncertainty and horror and loneliness, Jean made him feel safe. Never mind that he could not keep his eyes off her, thanks to the bewitching nature of her easy beauty. Never mind that the first and last thing on his mind at any given moment of the day or night was Jean. Through her gentle care and feisty scolding, Jean Beazley had wormed her way into his heart. He loved her, and that was really all there was to it.

In the end, Lucien did not give a single thought to Lester Carr and his possible involvement in the death of Michael Nesbit. His thoughts did not drift away from Jean. She was surely sleeping peacefully upstairs. And as Lucien eventually settled into bed himself, he wondered if she was having good dreams and if those dreams at all featured him as all his good dreams inevitably featured her.

Ruth woke up the following morning having slept better than she could ever recall. The sun was shining brightly through the window of her hotel room, and she was enjoying having a little lie-in in the comfortable bed. That lie-in was interrupted, however, by a sharp knock at the door.

She scrambled out of bed, asking her visitor to wait just a minute. She threw on a dressing gown and opened the door.

"Good morning."

Harry stood there with a smile on his face, looking rested and freshly shaved and thoroughly lovely. Ruth had not expected to see him so early, though he was not an unwelcome sight. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Nearly eight. I was going to see if you wanted some breakfast. But obviously you're not ready yet."

She blushed, realizing she'd forgotten to set an alarm the night before. "No, sorry. But if you give me about fifteen minutes, I can be."

"Take your time," Harry told her. "Come knock on my door whenever you're ready."

"You don't mind waiting?"

There was a softness in Harry's eyes that made Ruth realize what she'd said. And what his lack of response meant. He silently conveyed to her, I have waited a long time for you, Ruth, and I'll wait another half hour so you can get dressed for the day.

When he did not answer, she just smiled. "Alright. I'll be ready soon."

Harry glanced down the hall in either direction, checking to see if anyone was walking by. When he was sure there was no one watching, he stepped forward and leaned in a quickly kissed her. He pulled back with a besotted smile. "Get dressed," he whispered.

Ruth closed the door behind him when he walked back to his room. Her whole body was buzzing with a happy sort of excitement that she could not recall having felt before. She had not been this happy in a long time. Ever, perhaps. She and Harry had waited so bloody long for this, thanks to their myriad of missteps and the horrors they'd been subjected to over the years. And there was no way to know whether such things might come for them again soon. But Ruth felt a strange sort of hope and optimism for the first time in her entire history with Harry that now they might be able to face such challenges together, to hold tightly to one another when their love was threatened.

But it was no use worrying about such things now. Harry was waiting for her, and she was getting hungry for breakfast.

Their meal together was lovely. But their conversation turned inevitably to less pleasant matters.

"I've got to contact the army base to reschedule our visit. We were supposed to be there yesterday, but obviously we were a bit preoccupied. And I'm sorry I didn't think to call beforehand like I should have. But you were in jail and I was a mess, and I…"

"Ruth," Harry interjected, cutting off her stumbling rant over work. Such a thing was not uncommon for them. "It's alright. You can figure it out, I'm sure. See if they can host us tomorrow. We're technically free today, but I don't quite fancy having to face the Australian army just yet."

"We're not free today," Ruth said with a furrowed brow.

"Aren't we?"

"We've got to help investigate Lester Carr," she reminded.

Harry sighed in slight annoyance. "Do we really? I mean, now that I've been cleared of suspicion over Nesbit's death, do we really have to get any more involved?"

"We should finish what we start. Or at least I should. I've been working with Lucien on this from the start, and we owe it to him at the very least to see it through."

He regarded her carefully, thinking for a moment as he stared at her. "Are you sure I shouldn't be jealous of Blake?"

If they weren't in public, Ruth would have thrown her napkin at him. "No, Harry, you shouldn't be jealous. I'm absolutely positive," she told him softly.

"And you're not going to give up on solving the mystery, are you?"

She tried not to laugh at that. "What do you think?"

Harry sighed again. "I think you're probably going to drag me all over town trying to find a murdersome salon owner."

Ruth smiled, glad that he was relenting. "I think after breakfast I'll go up to the room and handle the army arrangements, and then I'd like to stop by the police station and see if they've got any leads we can follow up on."

"You do remember we aren't detectives, right?"

"Well Lucien is a doctor, so I don't imagine it matters much."

"Lucien was a spy," Harry reminded her.

"And you are still."

A small smile crossed his lips. "Yes, and so are you," he said quietly.

Ruth's heart skipped a beat at that. He'd never said that to her before. Oh he relied on her much more than any normal secretary. He let her help with all sorts of top secret things that she had no right to be part of. She assisted on translations and analysis and everything else, thanks to her education and background. But the work she did in the war was different from this, for there was no war going on now and there were plenty of men to take over all the jobs anyone needed a proper mind for. Harry kept Ruth as his secretary because of her skills, rather than in spite of them. And though he may have told her time and again that she was more than just a secretary, he had never once dared to call her a proper spy. And it was a wonderfully validating thing to hear.

He leaned in over the table and murmured, "You're a born spook, Ruth. And even though they won't give you the proper job, you're the best one I've ever seen. And I don't just say that because you've let me kiss you a half dozen times in the last twelve hours."

If she were a different sort of person, Ruth might have started to cry. But instead, she just put her hand on his over the table and gave it a squeeze. "Yes," she replied, "I know."