"I'm so sorry, Harry," she moaned. Her breath hitched with pain and emotion.

Harry was kneeling beside her where she lay. He reached out to brush her hair from her face and cup her cheek in his hand. "Shh, it's alright, Ruth. It's going to be alright." It was training and instinct and nothing else that kept his voice clear and even.

With his free hand, he put his gun down and reached into his pocket for his mobile. With the press of two buttons, he dialed a call.

As it rang, he continued to speak softly to her. "We're going to be fine, Ruth. We're going to go home. Just hang on for me."

She tried to smile. "It's been so long since I've heard my name. I never realized before how much I liked it, since I couldn't have it for two whole years. It suits me, I think, better than anything else."

"Yes, it does. Ruth Catherine Evershed. Beautiful name. Very fitting," he replied, desperately holding on to the conversation and watching her eyes brighten ever so slightly when he said her full name aloud. He too tried to smile at her. It had been a long time since he'd said her name aloud. Her full name. No matter what the context, including their current one, the mere thought of her filled his chest with a feeling he could not quite describe.

The phone was answered on the other line. "Harry? Have you got her?" came Malcolm's anxious voice.

"Ambulance in the Bois de Boulogne. Right now. Right now," Harry demanded. Even still, his voice was even. Quiet and urgent and terrifyingly grave. And he knew that Malcolm knew him well enough to understand the tone. Harry hung up before waiting for an answer. He dropped the phone and used both hands to hold on to Ruth. He took her hand. "Help is on the way, Ruth," he told her.

"God, I'm so sorry, Harry," she said again, a tear escaping out of her eye and falling against where his hand cradled her face.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked, wiping that tear away. Perhaps keeping her talking would keep her alive longer.

"I never wanted to leave you. You know that, I know. But I just had to tell you. I know I broke your heart a hundred times over."

"Not a hundred times. Just once or twice."

"Well, that's once or twice too many. Please believe me when I say I'm sorry for everything I did to you. Before. And since. I know you were worried about me. Because I tend to get myself into horrible trouble like this. I'm such a bloody mess," she lamented.

Harry squeezed her hand. "You're not a mess. You're brilliant. In every way. And I think you're lovely. The loveliest thing I've ever seen. And I worry about you because I…" He realized that he was not sure if he should say those words.

Ruth swallowed hard, her breath coming in shallow pants now. Harry did not dare look down to see the status of the bleeding from her wound. "Harry?" she whimpered.

"Yes, Ruth?" he replied eagerly.

"Just…just once more…would you…"

"Yes?"

"Would you kiss me?"

Never in his wildest dreams did he believe he'd hear her say those words. Never did he think she'd come home to him—not that they were home here in the woods in Paris—but they were together. And she asked him to kiss her. And he did.