A/N: This one shot follows on from my last one shot - "It's Lonely at the Top" - taking place 4 months later.


London – Tuesday, September 13, 2011 –9.57am:

It has been an interesting few months. Even Harry has admitted as much, and it's about to become even more interesting.

Ruth hurries along the embankment, keen to reach the assigned bench first, but despite being a few minutes early, the other party is already there – calm, elegant, unflappable, she is perched at one end of the bench, her back ramrod straight. This is her first sighting of this woman, but Ruth would know her anywhere.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, more to announce herself than to offer an apology.

The woman turns towards her, her movements careful, and (perhaps) deliberately theatrical. She indicates the space beside her on the bench with a fluid sweep of her hand. "So lovely to meet you, Ruth," she says, holding out her hand for Ruth to shake, which she does before sitting.

She'll be damned before she says it's lovely to meet this woman, because it's not. It's a chore, and at this moment she is silently cursing Harry for being in Leeds when he should be here. She nods her head. "Elena," she says.

The other woman smiles a mouth-only smile. Beneath the makeup and the hairstyle, the tailored clothes, and the ridiculously high heels, there is something reptilian about this woman. Behind her cold eyes Ruth senses a viper about to strike.

"I thought," Elena begins, "that given you work closely with Harry, you might be the one best able to settle a disagreement I've been having with my husband."

Ruth doubts that's the reason Elena Gavrik requested this meeting. This woman is a spy, a Russian spy, and so is on a mission to gather information, not about Harry, but about her.

"As I told you on the phone, Harry is away. He'll be gone for most of the week, and during that time members of our team are not in contact with him."

"Even you?"

"Me also."

Elena Gavrik turns towards her, looking her directly in the eye, before her gaze takes in Ruth's hair – a little wind-blown, her makeup – sparse, and her clothing – something dark blue which she'd extracted from the bowels of her wardrobe in the half-light of dawn, not yet aware that she'd be meeting with Harry's ex-lover from thirty years ago.

"That is unfortunate," Elena says at last. "Harry is an old friend, and I'd been hoping to catch up with him." Elena's cold eyes watch Ruth for a long moment. "Sadly, the talks which brought us to London have been cancelled, and my husband insists we fly home tomorrow. He finds London cloying and foreign, while I enjoy the shops."

Ruth had heard about the talks being called off. The British Foreign Secretary had refused to negotiate with `a second-grade former spy with a dodgy past'. For once, both Ruth and Harry agree with a British politician.

"And how is Harry?" Elena asks, surprising Ruth with her bluntness. Not only is Elena a smooth and cold operator, she is also a sledge hammer in a dress. "Ilya – my husband – suspects he is considering retiring from intelligence, and trying his hand at politics." Ruth drops her head to suppress her smile. Harry in politics? Never. "But I, on the other hand, imagine he will choose a more gentle option. I see him retiring to the country, where he'll grow vegetables, and raise goats."

This time it is Ruth who holds the other woman's gaze while she concocts a suitable riposte. "I really can't say," she says at last. "While I work closely with Harry, we don't share a personal relationship." She continues to hold the other woman's stare, knowing that Elena may already know about the close personal relationship she has with Harry.

"I find that difficult to believe," Elena says at last. "Knowing Harry's eye for a beautiful woman, I can't believe that he hasn't at least ... approached you."

"In this country we call that sexual harassment in the workplace. Should a man – or a woman – be accused of it by an employee it can ruin the perpetrator's career. Harry wouldn't be that foolish."

"So you do know him," Elena says quickly.

"Only as my boss. Harry is a very fair boss, although he expects a high standard of performance from those of us on his team … as he should."

"Of course."

Ruth's phone suddenly rings from inside the pocket of her jacket. She reaches into the pocket to grab it. She has no need to check the caller, because she knows who it will be. "Calum," she says quickly, "what is it?"

"This is your permission-to-run-from-the-Russians call. Like you ordered. Besides, we all miss you."

"Is that all?"

"Of course not," Calum adds lightly. "Everyone on the Grid misses you, and I'm sick of looking at Dimitri's ugly mug."

Ruth waits and listens to Dimitri's voice in the background as he objects to Calum's harsh assessment of his appearance. "I'll be there as soon as I can," she says in what she hopes is an urgent tone. "I'm sorry," Ruth says, turning to Elena, "but there's something I have to attend to back at work."

Ruth stands, while Elena remains seated. "It's been lovely meeting you," Ruth says, not meaning a word.

"Give my regards to Harry when next you speak to him." When Ruth says nothing, Elena, appearing a little discomfited, continues. "I have fond memories of my time in Berlin … and meeting Harry. He was … unforgettable." Suddenly Elena stands, turning towards Ruth before taking a step closer. "There's one more thing .. a message I wish you to convey to Harry." Ruth is about to tell this woman to get the message to Harry herself, when she decides against making that particular suggestion. "Tell Harry that Sasha is not his son. Can you remember that? It's important you repeat that message word for word."

Then Elena turns and walks away, her heels clicking on the pavement. Ruth stands very still, taking a deep breath to bring herself under control. The cunning, evil woman orchestrated their whole meeting for the express purpose of delivering that message … a message she had always intended to convey to Ruth, and only to Ruth. What a dark heart she has, if in fact she has a heart.

Ruth turns and slowly walks back the way she had come. Elena Gavrik was wasted as a spy; she's a skilled and natural actress, and her stage is wherever she wants it to be.


Thursday, September 15, 2011 – 6.51pm:

Using her own key Ruth enters Harry's house. Downstairs the house is dark. She engages in a private battle within herself; should she call out and announce her arrival, or should she wander upstairs to greet Harry unannounced. Suddenly an upstairs door is opened, sending a beam of light into the hallway, and Harry, dressed in casual clothing, descends the stairs two at a time. It has been four days since they have spoken, or even seen one another. To Ruth it has felt like a year. She is surprised by how much she has missed him.

Just before he reaches her Harry stops, his eyes drinking her in. "You can't possibly know how much I've missed you," he says, his voice little more than a husky whisper. "And how much I love you," he adds before enveloping her in a long hug. Ruth presses her nose into his neck, breathing in deeply to absorb the smell of him.

In the four months since they began dating the words `I love you' had only been spoken perhaps twice, and both times by Harry. They do not live inside an American romance movie, and so regular declarations of love are unnecessary. Besides, they are not the kind of people prone to openly sharing their deepest emotions. They each know they are loved by the other. As Ruth sees it that is enough; it is enough that Harry knows he is loved by her, and she is loved by him.

"I've missed you so much," she says as she lifts her face to his to receive his kiss. The kiss is long and languid, a declaration of how much they have missed one another.

When they pull away Harry grabs her hand and leads her to the kitchen. "Time for a cuppa," he says.

Ruth nods, privately wondering why the occasion doesn't warrant a whisky.


"She said what?" Harry almost slams his coffee mug onto the table top, some coffee spilling as he does so.

Ruth refuses to react to his impassioned response to her news about Elena Gavrik's message to him. She had delivered Elena's message word for word, and Harry had responded exactly as she knew he would. "I thought you should know the truth," she says quietly, once Harry has calmed a little.

"Why would she tell you?" he says at last. "Why not send me an email? Why drag you into the whole sordid story?"

"I would have thought that obvious. I spent much of our meeting denying that we're close, but I'm sure she knew." Ruth waits, slowing her speech to gather together the scattered bits of herself. "I suspect her plan was to create trouble between us."

Harry has been watching her the whole time. "I have no doubt about that," he says quietly. "Trouble is Elena's middle name. She thrives on upsetting people … other than Ilya, of course. She doesn't play with his emotions. She relies on him too much."

Ruth has had enough of talking about Elena Gavrik. She is ready for a change of subject. "You haven't said anything about your time in Leeds."

"There's not a lot I can say about it." Harry's eyes are on the surface of his coffee, as though within the remainder of his drink lie all the answers to Ruth's questions. "One of our agents died, while two more are still successfully undercover, and another is missing."

"Who?"

"The missing agent?" Ruth nods. "Rhett Braidwood."

"Braidwood? Isn't his father -"

"Derek Braidwood, of Braidwood Systems Inc. Rhett's mother was born and raised in India, so I suspect he has fled to Jaipur as a way of getting lost in the crowd. His appearance is more Indian than English, so he'll blend in. I also suspect that he has disappeared without trace in an attempt to impress his father, who will only bring him into the business once Rhett has proven he can take risks and survive."

"That's harsh."

"That's business, Ruth, and it's also the way of the intelligence service."

Ruth ponders her next question, knowing even before she airs it that it is an unwise call. "Would you have wanted your own son to work in intelligence?"

Harry's eyes dart upwards before he breaks eye contact, standing to turn to the counter, where he begins filling the electric kettle. "Another one?" he asks, turning briefly to Ruth.

"I'd rather something with a kick," she says quietly, still afraid that she has picked open a wound which has never quite healed.

"Like a mule?" he replies, turning towards her, kettle in one hand.

"The bigger the kick, the better."

Harry strides to the living room, and quickly returns with two whiskies – a large one for himself, and a much smaller one for her. He returns to his chair opposite Ruth, turning his cut glass tumbler between his fingers. It is a long moment before he speaks.

"There was a time," he says at last, "when I would have been happy had Graham wanted to join the service, but … as things have turned out, it would have been a disaster had he chosen that as his career. He's an addict, so the danger of intelligence work would have had him taking unnecessary risks."

"And?"

"There's an `and'?" He lifts his eyes to hers, and she is relieved to see the hint of a smile on his lips. "I suppose I was afraid he'd enjoy the lifestyle a little too much."

"As you once did?"

Harry drops his eyes. "As I once did, yes," he says.

"And Rhett Braidwood .." Ruth continues, returning to Harry's reasons for visiting Leeds, "what will become of him?"

Again Harry contemplates his drink, rotating his tumbler in a clockwise direction. "That's largely up to him," he says. "The agents I consulted in Leeds suggested he may be planning to infiltrate the Research and Analysis Wing of Indian Intelligence. I've already informed Dilip Bakshi, from the Indian desk at Six, so ..."

"So he's no longer your problem."

"If he ever was. Rhett Braidwood operates according to his own rules, which is as brilliant as it is dangerous." Harry drains the last of his whisky.


That same night – 9.13pm:

After dinner they retire to the living room. Harry has turned on the gas fire, and they sit across the coffee table from one another, Ruth on the sofa, while Harry has pulled his favourite winged chair closer. Between them on the coffee table is the remainder of the red wine they had begun over dinner. They say little. Ruth can feel Harry thinking. She knows that eventually the pressure of holding in whatever-it-is he is holding in will result in an outburst of some kind. She is not worried, but she is curious.

She doesn't have long to wait.

"Ruth .." he says after a long silence, "what was it made you change your mind .. about me .. about us?"

For four months Ruth has been waiting for this question, She lifts her head to see the fear in his eyes. Harry is afraid to hear her answer to his question. She longs to reach across and place a kiss on those lips, but to do so would be unfair. She turns to stare into the gas fire. "What took you so long?" she asks.

"To ask you about your change of heart?"

Ruth turns back to him and nods. "I was expecting you to ask me that very thing four months ago, on that first night we had dinner."

Harry breathes out, releasing the tension in his body. "I suppose I was afraid of your response. I even suspected you might have given in because you felt sorry for me."

Ruth stares at him then, shocked by his answer. "That's not a good reason for being with someone," she says. "Besides … I could never feel sorry for you, Harry. You're far too self-sufficient."

"Not all the time," he says quietly.

She knows that now, but she hadn't known it four months ago. Harry relies on her in ways she hadn't imagined possible.

"To answer your question," she says, carefully choosing her words, "I always wanted to .. be with you, but I was afraid that when and if we got closer, you'd be disappointed in me, that I'd somehow not measure up."

"That's ridiculous," he says.

"I know that now, but I hadn't known that then. I was afraid, I suppose, but now that fear seems a bit silly."

When Harry nods she knows he is satisfied with her answer, as flimsy as it was. For another long minute they sit in silence. Ruth suspects there is more. The drive from Leeds to London is a long one, providing more than four hours of thinking time.

"And there's another thing I don't understand," he continues, his eyes on his half glass of wine, which he holds balanced between two fingers. "Why is it you've never told me you love me?"

Ruth has no answer to that question, or not an answer he'd accept. She'd like to pretend she hadn't heard him, but that would only be stalling the inevitable.

"I tell you in other ways," she says cryptically. "Words are not always an accurate measure of what a person means." Noticing Harry's frown, she continues, hoping she's not about to dig a hole so deep that she's unable to climb out. "It's just that in .. other relationships I've had … the other person used the I-love-you line to keep me where they wanted me. Those three words are often used to manipulate."

Harry relaxes a little, leaning back in his chair. He sighs what Ruth hopes is a sigh of relief. "We seem to be at odds, then. When I was married, Jane complained that I never said I loved her. I did love her, but I believed I showed her in other ways, but she said that wasn't enough, so ..." He drops his eyes, hoping Ruth will follow the trail of his thoughts.

She has followed. "So you're not about to make that same mistake with me," she says. When he nods, she stands and moves around the coffee table to his chair. She reaches out to take his face between her hands, and then leans down to place a soft kiss on his mouth. "That's an I-love-you kiss," she says, her face still close to his. "And this is another one," she adds, kissing him again. By the third kiss Harry has reached out to draw her closer until she is about to sprawl against him. She holds herself apart a little, holding his gaze.

"And when we head to bed in an hour or so -"

"- or less," he interjects.

"Or less … I will climb into bed beside you because I want to, and not because it has become a habit. That will be another I-love-you. If we happen to make love -"

"You should be so lucky," he says quietly, playfully, a flash of devilment in his eyes.

"When we next make love, it will be another declaration of my love for you."

They kiss again. This time the kiss lasts much longer, and when Ruth comes up for air, she looks down at him. "And next time you drink too much, and I clean the toilet after you throw up in the toilet bowl, that will be me saying I-love-you."

"Such an evocative word picture, Ruth," he murmurs, "and it's only been the one time that happened."

Slowly Ruth stands, breaking contact with him. "And so you see why I don't say the words on a daily basis," she says, adjusting her skirt.

"I do."

"And we don't need to live together or be married to love one another."

"But it might be nice, all the same."

Ruth returns to her seat on the sofa. "Or it could be all kinds of hell," she says, lifting her glass to take another sip of her wine.

Harry is sitting up, leaning forward, his eyes on her. "What is it has put you off cohabitation .. or marriage?"

"What experience of yours has left you with such optimism?" she counters quickly.

Harry smiles widely. "Touché," he says quietly. "And to answer your question, nothing I've experienced has led me to that conclusion, although I remain forever hopeful." He leans back in his chair, watching her with those eyes she loves so much. "You're a wise woman, Ruth."

"And don't you ever forget it," she says.

"So, you're staying the night?" he says after a long silence.

"I thought I might .. if it's alright with you."

"When has it not been alright with me?"

She had led him into that, of course. It is not for nothing that she is his senior analyst. He needs her, while she has chosen him, and to date that suits them both just fine.