7:

Harry opened the door and smiled. "Took you two long enough – I've just been getting screamed at over Ros's 'dangerous assumption'," he said. "Though, it wouldn't be Ruth and me if we weren't prevaricating over something or another…"

Jo laughed. "Yeah, well… have you told her yet about –"

"No, and I'm not going to until we must," Harry said softly. "She's got enough on her plate right now."

"We met Hope," Malcolm said.

Harry's smile faded. "Yes, well… of course, I feel badly because it's most definitely my fault that –"

Ruth stopped at the top of the stairs. "I'm not through yelling at you, Harry," she snapped. "Tell them to come up so I can –"

"Continue your abominable behavior?" Harry shot back.

"Some things never change," Malcolm said with a smirk.

Jo pushed past Harry and ran up the stairs to hug Ruth tightly. "My god, it is you," she whispered. "I didn't really believe it until now – what have you done with your hair?"

Ruth was crying, tears rushing down her cheeks. "Bloody teenage daughter did it to me," she said softly. "Look at you –"

"Sight for sore eyes, eh?" Jo replied. "Dunno how I've made it this long, but, knock on wood… You look good, really."

"Liar," Ruth accused. "I look like crap on the bottom of someone's shoe."

"I wouldn't go that far," Malcolm said as he joined them at the top of the stairs, pulling Ruth into a heartfelt and out-of-character hug. "Harry might take us out back and have us shot."

"Very funny," Harry forced out as he very slowly made his way back up the steps, wincing with the effort it took. "Bloody knee," he grunted.

"Have you taken your pain pills?" Jo asked.

"I don't need bloody pain pills," Harry snapped.

"You do if you're in pain," Jo countered. "So take the damn pills. You aren't the head spook anymore, so stop acting like you're saving the bloody world by suffering. You're only hurting yourself in the long run. Take the damn pills, Harry."

Ruth cocked her head and said, "Isn't that what I said last night when we went to bed and you were complaining?"

"He doesn't do very well with suggestion," Malcolm commented.

"Enough," Harry muttered. "I'll take the damn pills if someone will get them from upstairs for me." He rubbed the cold sweat off his forehead, wincing. "I need to sit down and get off my leg – it's like pins and bloody needles."

Lucy came trotting out of the kitchen with her little apron and chef's cap on, humming. "Granpa, you wook sick," she commented.

"Grandpa's hurting, love," Ruth said gently. "Let's go get your hands washed so we can get ready for supper."

"God, she's getting so big," Jo commented as Malcolm headed upstairs in search of Harry's pills. "I remember when you sent a photo over when she was first born and she was just a tiny little thing."

Harry nodded and said, "She's smart as a whip, that one. But don't you dare try recruiting her: she's meant for bigger and better things than being a spy." He groaned and put his head in his hands. "Jo, tell me there's progress on Operation Sundial, please."

"Well, to be fair, you did find Ruth," Jo pointed out. "And that was the main objective."

He glowered at her. "What about Gina Hamilton? Did you bring her in?"

There was a long pause, then Jo looked away quickly. "By the time we went back, she and her family were dead. Execution-style, single bullet to the head, trussed like chickens. Gina, her husband, and both daughters."

"Fuck," Harry exhaled. "Any clues who?"

"Yes, but I'm not at liberty to say." Jo frowned. "I mean, what do you care? The bitch shot you in the knee."

"I'm rather unfortunately used to being shot by my officers," Harry sighed. "You remember the Agent X story about twenty years ago? That was her. Her name was Zoe Reynolds. Good woman, good officer… if a bit emotionally reckless."

A shadow crossed Jo's face. "That's why you weren't more pissed about her shooting you."

"She was protecting herself, her family – and, though we didn't know it at the time, she was also protecting Ruth and Hope." He inhaled deeply. "Do you know what information they got from them before they were killed?"

"Not a clue – but they were apparently running a well-funded forgery ring," Jo commented dryly. "Lots of faked passports and papers everywhere. Place was an absolute disaster."

"They might have had something of Ruth's," he said unnecessarily.

"I missed the conversation," Malcolm said, coming up and passing Harry the bottle of Vicodin. "But operational details shouldn't be discussed here."

Harry took two pills dry, flinching as the pills stuck in his throat. "Of course not," he coughed.

"Shall we eat?" Ruth asked coming back from the bathroom, Lucy in tow.

"I'm hungwy," Lucy added unhelpfully.

"You all go on," Harry said. "I'll stay out here till the medicine kicks in." He punctuated the statement by flicking up the foot of the recliner and closing his eyes.

"Well, if that's what you want…" Malcolm said, his voice tinged with worry.

"It isn't so much a want as I am not currently capable of walking into the other room," Harry ground out through clenched teeth. "So go eat dinner. Without me."

He closed his eyes again, and listened to the chatter from the other room. The pain was not easing, and he found himself wondering if it was worth living with the constant agony. He jerked when a gentle hand came to rest on his arm, eyes flying open.

"Harry?" Ruth murmured. "Jo and Malcolm went home a little bit ago. Catherine came home a while ago. Hope will be here any minute –"

"Did I… did I fall asleep?" he asked, flinching when he shifted and the pain became unbearable again. "Fuck."

"Must have been the meds," Ruth said gently. "Are you still in pain?"

"Immense," he agreed.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head. "No," he exhaled. "Go to bed, try to get some rest. I'm sorry I'm just a washed up old man –"

"Harry, stop talking bollocks," she muttered, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his forehead. "You are the very model of a man who has spent his lifetime in service. So don't you dare be so hard on yourself for being frail now. You have earned it."

"The rest of my life in pain and suffering?" he shot back.

"Retirement, you moron," Ruth sighed.

He frowned. "Go to bed," he repeated. "I'll wait up for Hope."

"And you called me a stubborn mule," she scoffed.

"Ruth, please, just… go to bed," he pleaded weakly. "I'm sorry to be a burden."

He watched several things cross her face at once: pity, sadness, anger, but the strongest emotion in her eyes – the one that he trusted most – was love. No matter what else happened, she still loved him, even if he was a washed up old cripple with delusions of a better life ahead.

She took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily with a frown on her lips. "You're only a burden because you're too heavy for me to carry up to bed," she commented wryly. "So I suppose I should make myself comfortable on the sofa because I'm not about to leave you alone and in pain down here, Harry."

"Playing little wifey, then?" he grunted.

"If you must know, I don't trust you any farther than I can throw you – and god knows if I can't walk you up the damn stairs, I can't throw you very far." She glared at him. "What aren't you telling me, Harry?"

"So many, many things," he reiterated.

"Jo said to tell you that Peregrine is in play."

He exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her for a long second. "Peregrine is your security at work," he said.

"I don't need security at work," she replied.

"I need you to trust me."

"You're fifteen and a half years late for that." Her voice was cold, hard. "My trusting nature died when Mace…"

"Did he…" Harry paused, trying to word it delicately. "Assault you?"

"He cut my face to ribbons, Harry."

"I mean… sexually."

She glared at him. Anger, more anger, darker and more furious than he'd ever seen her before. "It wasn't exactly like anyone was stopping him from doing anything." Her tone was like ice, frozen and robotic. "He never let anyone else touch me. And when he… did things… it was with objects."

The fury toward a dead man was almost more than he could bear to handle; but he had no right to feel that way if she did not feel the same way. She seemed resigned to it, to the fact that she had been all but raped by a master manipulator – but her rage wasn't boiling over. She had just forgotten how to trust anyone, even him. "I am," he began, his voice catching in his throat. "I am sorry you were forced to endure that."

"We aren't the same people who parted ways on the dock," she said very quietly, suddenly drained of all the anger, the vitriol, as if she'd shut it back into its box and banished it. "It's stupid to think that we can make this – us, a marriage – work."

"Then I am stupid with wishful thoughts," Harry sighed. "Because I want nothing more than to make this work between us. I'm too old to pretend that what we felt for each other then – and now – is anything other than love, Ruth, and I will fight till my dying breath to earn your trust and faith in me again." He stared at her, his lower lip working into a out rather than quivering and showing his fear that she would pack up and go – depriving her of the protection she may need to survive and leaving him alone with his demons again. "Peregrine is a decommissioned, deniable asset that reports to Section D directly. They have used him before in many covert operations. I trust him with your life, Ruth."

"Why do I need surveillance?"

"I can't."

The door slammed shut and they heard Hope trudging up the stairs. She passed the living room and went to the kitchen, then they heard the sounds of the fridge opening and closing.

"How was study group?" Ruth called.

"It was crap like always," Hope said, appearing in the doorway with a pint of ice cream and a spoon in hand. "I'm the only one taking it seriously, so we're all going to fail. And Jason Donovan thinks it's funny to try and corner me in front of everyone. He followed me again."

Ruth's lip curled, and all of that ferocious rage came back. "I'm going to kill that little –"

Harry held himself back from telling her that Peregrine had orders to protect Hope as well. If he mentioned that, it might well all be over before it began. He would, of course, have to meet with his old friend in order to pass on the information that Jason Donovan was on the short list of people that Peregrine could make piss their pants if necessary.

"Do you carry pepper spray?" Harry asked.

"No."

"You need to start. Do you know how to –"

"I know self-defense," Hope said tetchily. "But it doesn't help when all you see is –" She shrugged unhelpfully, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

Harry sighed. "Then we need to contact the police, make a report – he cannot just be allowed to do these things to you, Hope."

"I can't," the girl said simply. "I'm scared that he'll – that his friends, his dad –"

"Luke Donovan is the Deputy Mayor," Ruth spoke up. "It's a minefield, Harry, and no one wins."

"Someone is going to win, and it will not be him," Harry said simply. "Even if I have to castrate the little fucker myself. We do not negotiate with terrorists, and I will extend that remark to include rapists, as well."

Hope was frowning. "You can't hurt him, Harry."

"Just you put that… arsehole out of your mind, sweetheart," Harry said. "And tell me if he follows you tomorrow."

She paused, then nodded. "I'm going to bed," Hope announced, putting the lid on the ice cream and retreating.

Once they were sure she was upstairs, Ruth said, "He torments her because he can. He has a sick obsession with –"

"I don't want to talk about rapists anymore," Harry grunted. "I don't want to talk anymore at all. There isn't a point, Ruth – we just go in circles."

"Because you are so stubborn – everything is black and white with you, Harry, and it's not. It's all shades of grey and murk and filth and –"

"Come here, Ruth," he said softly, patting his lap. She eyed him warily, but complied, carefully sitting on his lap on the recliner. "That's better," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and holding on tightly, but not so tightly that she couldn't get away if she tried. "I love you."

She was very quiet for a long moment, then echoed, "I love you."

They sat like that for a while, drawing comfort from each other and the companionable silence they shared. His hand moved, gently caressing her ribcage, but if she noticed the change, she didn't react. Until her hand moved, stroking his chest. He took that to mean overture accepted, and let his fingers wander within reason.

They tentatively explored one another, committing the changes to memory. There was a moment when everything shifted and it became sensual, rather than innocent, and kisses were added into the mix. The pain in his leg receded, to be supplanted by the need and want of her.

"Ruth, we can't go on," he rasped out. "Not now – not like this. Not in my bloody recliner."

She moaned and dropped her head to his chest. "Damn it, Harry – don't be so fucking noble."

His laugh was short and bitter. "You think I'm being noble, Ruth? I'm being practical."

"I don't care," she whispered. She was done with it – all of it, the rejection, the holding her at arm's length, the noble sacrifice… done. He was still her Harry, the man who brought her blood to fire in her veins, the man who had taught her that passion and desire was nothing to be ashamed of. "We're not done here, Harry and –"

"I will never do anything to misuse your trust," he said softly.

She hesitated for a moment, then exhaled a laugh. "Harry, I'm not going to ever say you forced me to do something sexual against my will," she murmured. "Because it's simply not true. I want you; my heart wants you. I am as committed to you as if we were already married – so no, I am not going to stop just because you think I'm going to regret fucking you again."

"That's such a disgusting word for such a beautiful thing," he muttered.

"Do you prefer 'making love' then?" she challenged. "Because I remember a time when neither of us could get enough and it was… it was definitely more than just 'making love'."

"My inner animal would deign to call it 'fucking'," he grumbled. "Fine. Whatever we call it, I just – I need to know that you want it."

"I do," she murmured. "More than you know." She paused and smiled. "Whoever knew that Harry Pearce, master of seduction, is really a bit of a prude?"

"Master of seduction?" he said with a raised brow. "Where on earth did you get that?"

"Watercooler gossip," she breathed hot against his neck before kissing him. "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…"

"Isn't that the beginning of Star Wars?"

"And what if it is?" she challenged, kissing him again, giving in to the temptation of deepening the kiss and drinking greedily of him. A few more minutes of intense kisses, of illicit touches, and he gave in – finally.

She had wanted their first time back together to be special – wine and flowers and violins and a hotel suite with no distractions – but she was just going to have to settle for an intense shag in the living room where anyone could walk in. Her expectations were obviously too high, the fantasy of what would happen having played out in her mind so many times over the years.

But fantasy had no place in the reality she was firmly rooted into: however, she had Harry right where she wanted him. They both struggled with their clothes until they were just undressed enough to do what they were desperate to do. Ruth moaned softly as she straddled his hips, lowering herself until she was firmly seated on his hips, his cock deep inside her. His breath was quick and heavy, and he was struggling to keep control of this, of them, of the situation – but she wrested that control away from him by staying completely still against him.

"Who is Peregrine?" Ruth murmured.

"A friend," Harry exhaled lowly. "You'll find out tomorrow." His hands landed on her hips, his pelvis rocking forward just a bit, just the tiniest bit –

"That isn't good enough, Harry." She didn't want to play hardball, but she was going to do it anyway, despite the feel of him – so good, oh god, so deep – distracting her. "Tell me."

"Or what?" he challenged, thrusting hard into her, his knuckles white as he grasped her body. "Or you'll stop this?"

She laughed and kissed him, moving against him in a slow, steady way that she knew from experience drove him absolutely mad with lust. "Silly man – I just need to know how much to flirt with our friend," she breathed against his lips.

"Don't," he advised. "Your old husband will be jealous."

She laughed and whispered, "Oh you will, will you?"

Neither one of them was willing to give an inch. The battle of wills carried over into their sensual game, the passion rising, the need increasing. Ruth refused to be the one who came first: she held onto her urges like a vise, holding them back, giving him everything he needed to –

He caught her by surprise, biting her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, making her lose that firm grasp of control with what amounted to a caveman thump on the head. She stared at him, dazed, but he took the chance to break her walls down completely. His kiss was hot, passionate, tender in a way that only he could manage, and the hunger of it shocked her all the way to her core. Their movements became frantic, friction and desire pulsing between them as the heat rose.

Just when she thought she couldn't take any more… one of his hands released her hip, and came down hard on her backside, shoving her over the edge into the embrace of an orgasm so strong she stopped breathing. When she inhaled again, his face was pressed into her torso, smothering his moaning, grunting cry of utter bliss. He was still deep within her, his body still, but his cock twitching and spilling inside her, and she moaned softly as his hand caressed her ass, taking her right back up to the edge.

"Don't you dare flirt with him," Harry ground out. "You are mine, Ruth – remember? My creature, my lover –"

"Your wife," she exhaled lowly, letting go for just a moment, letting his voice, that gentle touch, knock her down again into ecstasy.

There was silence for a long moment, then he whispered, "I'm sorry – Ruth, I lost my head – there is no reason at all for me to –"

"Be a chauvinistic piglet?" she countered, leaning against him, letting her breathing slow again. "I am yours, Harry. Your creature, your lover, your wife… the mother of your child. I gave you my heart a long time ago – but have you kept it safe for me?"

He didn't reply; she hadn't really expected him to.