2:

"You say the girl is fully qualified to baby-sit?" Harry asked, smearing butter and jam on Lucy's toast. "How exactly does one get 'fully qualified' for that?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and sighed. "People take CPR classes and first aid classes, and she's done both."

"And those are the only things you think are important?" he shot back. Lucy, god love her, was eating her egg and soldiers while cheerfully ignoring the adults. Preschool was still closed because of the weather, but the rest of the schools in the area were back for the morning, letting out at noon as the next round of snow rolled in. Catherine would basically be at work for homeroom and two classes before heading home for the day. Harry didn't envy her.

"Of course not, but she's proved herself very capable," Catherine protested, covering her chest with her arms defensively. "Speaking of watching Lucy… can you do it tomorrow night? I've got plans."

Harry grunted. "Surprisingly, so do I."

"You just got back – when did you have time to make plans?"

"I didn't. I bought these tickets in February," he sighed. "Box seats to Much Ado About Nothing. I bought all four so I could enjoy the play without my neighbors tittering around me." It had seemed like a good idea at the time. "What are your plans, then?"

"I'm going out to dinner, if you must know. With John Harris."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Why?" He couldn't have sounded more irritated unless he'd said, "Why ever would you go out with that tit?"

"Because he asked me. And we've got class overlap and he's trying to figure out how to discipline a bunch of unruly teenagers that think they're the shit," Catherine muttered.

"Mommy, can I have a orange?" Lucy asked.

"Go ahead, darling," Catherine replied. "Dad, don't just sit there looking like a pissed off statue. Say something."

"Anything that I might say will be misconstrued as a verbal attack on that man." Harry was not pleased at all – if she had to have dinner with a colleague, did it really have to be that asswipe?

"Okay, so you don't approve – next?"

"Did it have to be that… that… piece of crap?"

"Wow, dad, I didn't think you had it in you to actually be offensive at the breakfast table – guess the joke's on me." She slammer her fork down on the table and added, "I'm not going to sleep with him if that's what you're implying I might do. Because, actually, I don't really care for him at all either, and if he hadn't asked for my help – nicely, for once, I might add – I wouldn't be going out at all. So thank you for treating me like I'm sixteen and sneaking out for a fag and a beer. Jesus. I am an adult, remember?"

Harry exhaled and looked down into his glass of juice. "Yes, I do remember." He deliberately kept his tone neutral and stopped trying to provoke her. "I'll give up my tickets and –"

"No, you should absolutely go to the play," Catherine said. "I'll just get Hope to come round."

He twitched a little; he still knew nothing about the Hope girl, nor her mother, and he didn't feel that enough inquiry had been made into either one to justify leaving his granddaughter with either woman for very long. "Did you at least –"

"Not everyone is an evil spy, hellbent on destroying civilization through your family, you paranoid git," Catherine countered. "She's fine, dad. I trust her."

"And her mother?"

Catherine shrugged. "Mary teaches French. She's a bona fide genius, dad. And she's raised Hope single-handed. I don't think we should judge her for her choices."

Harry rolled his eyes. "All right," he conceded. "But if I find any fault with the girl, she's done."

The walk from the subway station was exhausting. It had never occurred to Harry that he might need to actually change his casual routines since having his knee replaced, but it seemed laughable now that he was tired, sore, and frustrated that they lived three blocks from the 14th Street station. He was shuffling slowly past the alley between the apartment block next door and his brownstone when the shadows moved.

Even in the dim light, he recognized the light coat and ugly scarf. "Get off her, you hooligan," Harry snapped, turning down the alley, cane at the ready to knock some sense into the boy – stupid fucking teenager – that had his hands down Hope's pants. For her part, she seemed to be frozen in terror, not responding to anything the boy was doing. "I said, GET OFF," Harry roared, hitting the asshole little shit with his cane. "Get the fuck out of here before I call the police."

"Yeah, right, old man," the kid scoffed before he sauntered off with a smirk.

Hope was against the wall, shaking and breathing very erratically. Harry immediately cupped her cheek in his hand and drew her focus to him; her huge blue eyes were filled with tears and she stared right through him. "Breathe," Harry instructed gruffly. "Just try to breathe normally. You're going to be fine. Breathe, Hope."

She did as he asked until she'd collected herself and then she stammered, "I didn't – I was – I just left your house and he grabbed me and… and I just froze. I was so scared – so scared he was going to do it again and no one was going to help me –"

"Again?" His voice sounded hollow, tinny. "He's done this to you before?"

She tried to pull away from him, and he let her, knowing full well that if he interfered, she would quite probably get hostile and defensive. "I don't know why I should tell you. You're a stranger."

"Yes, well… I did hit a young jackanape with my cane to defend you," he pointed out.

"You should've aimed for his balls," Hope muttered. "I've got to get home before mom wonders where I am."

"You shouldn't be walking around alone," Harry said. "Let me walk you home." He paused. "Unless you want to go to the police station to file a report – in which case, let me take you there."

"No," Hope said, shaking her head hard. "I want to go home." She carefully fixed her clothes and mumbled, "Thank you. I'm sorry – I know you were ready to go home and go to bed."

He sighed. "No, not at all – thank goodness you're all right, though. Shall I explain to your mother –"

Hope shook her head hard. "No. I'll tell her. She'll be angry enough."

"Then maybe I can calm her –"

Hope shook her head and fell into step with Harry. Even though he walked slowly, she was much shorter than he was and she took two steps for his every one. "She has a tendency to overreact just a little," Hope said.

"Just a little?"

"Nuclear," the girl confessed. They slipped into silence until they stopped at a building on Nineteenth. "This is me."

"I really do feel that I need to see you safely to your door," Harry said firmly. If for no other reason than to assuage his own feelings of helplessness.

"Oh, fine," Hope muttered, unlocking the lobby door with a key. "Come on, then – we're on fifteen."

Once they stepped off the elevator, Harry said, "Are you trying to prevent me from meeting your mother?"

"Maybe, a little," Hope mumbled.

"Because you think we'll not get on."

"Because I think you'll make a bad situation worse. Thank you for bringing me home. Tell Catherine she can ask me to baby-sit whenever." Hope unlocked the apartment door and disappeared inside.

Harry jammed his hands inside his coat pocket and debated with himself for a long time before he turned back to the elevator. He was getting tired and he was definitely not as young as he'd been; he needed to get home and to bed before his alarm went off and he had to go about getting Lucy ready for preschool.

He had just made it back down to the lobby, stepping out of the elevator, when he abruptly changed his mind and rode it back up to the fifteenth floor. He could hear muffled voices inside the apartment and he hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door.

He wasn't expecting the door to be flung open with such gusto. "Yes?" came a clipped voice.

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his mouth suddenly dry, his lips forgetting how to make words, his knees going weak. It was her – wasn't it? Older, scarred, grey haired and… but it was her. It had to be her. Recognition flashed in her eyes, then the door all but slammed in his face.

It took a few seconds for his hand to catch up with his brain, his fist colliding with the door roughly, pounding with desperation. "Please," he said.

The door opened again, and she had closed her dressing gown, run her fingers through her hair, and was looking a little less wild. "It is you, isn't it?" she said very softly.

"Of course it's me – but is it…?"

"Sixteen years." The words were bitter.

"It isn't as if I didn't try to –"

"Did you?"

Hope said, "Mom, stop being rude and let him in."

"I don't think so – you and I both have school in the morning," she snapped. "It's far too late for this kind of serious conversation –"

"Meet me tomorrow night for dinner," Harry forced out. "Your choice where – I don't care. But somewhere we can talk."

"How about Chelsea Market?" she suggested.

He nodded and reached out to take her hand, but she refused to give it to him. Frowning, he added, "How about I meet you at the south entrance by the crepe place at five?"

"Six," she corrected. "I've got staff meeting at four."

"Six, then," Harry said softly. "I never thought –"

"I should've hidden better." With that, the door slammed in his face again.

Ruth turned and looked at her daughter. "Do you mind telling me just exactly how you managed to be rescued by Harry Pearce?" she inquired icily.

"He's Catherine's dad," Hope said very quietly.

It took a moment for Ruth to regain her composure, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was staving off a headache. "I knew we've been in one place too long. If he can find us, what about…" Her voice trailed off. "We need to start packing now. We'll leave on Monday."

Hope sat up in alarm. "No, mommy, we just – we just got settled for real!"

"I have to protect you," Ruth said firmly. "It's time to go."

"Is this because of him – because of Harry?"

"No, it's because of Jason fucking Donovan. He's not going to stop and I don't have the strength to fight him off," Ruth said, leaning against the door. "Harry Pearce doesn't mean anything anymore," she lied.

"But you know him."

"Knew him."

"From London? Before you had to run away?"

Ruth sighed heavily and rubbed her eyes. "Yes."

Hope didn't accept that simple answer, she just kept pushing. "Is he the one you left London because of?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Is he my… is he my dad?"

"It doesn't matter," Ruth said. "We're leaving on Monday, end of discussion. We'll go south – I hear Georgia is pretty."

When push came to shove, Hope's safety trumped everything else. It didn't matter that Ruth was ready to jump straight back into Harry's arms, it didn't matter that he still looked at her with such reverent love and desire… all that mattered was keeping Hope safe. And if that meant far away from the shithole apartment, the groping teenagers, the… far away from Harry… so be it.

Ruth closed her eyes to hold back tears.

There was another knock on the door behind her back. Ruth opened it; of course he was still standing there. "Is she mine?" was all he asked.

She was conflicted; if forced, would he try to sue her for parental rights? Would he try to take Hope away from her? Would he accept the truth? In the end, she settled for, "I don't owe you an explanation."

"No, but you owe me the dignity of the truth."

She took a deep breath, then exhaled quickly. "Fine. Yes. Are you happy now?"

He shook his head. She didn't have the time to react, to prepare, when his hand came around the back of her neck, pulling her into a kiss.

"Holy crap," Hope gasped in the background.

Dazed, Ruth stared up at him as he ended the kiss. "Tomorrow," Harry said. "We'll talk tomorrow."

And then he was gone, shuffling down the corridor back to the elevator. Ruth closed the door and turned to meet the curious, probing gaze of her daughter. "Yes, he's the reason I left England," she finally said.

"He's my father," Hope said with dead certainty.

All Ruth could do was nod.