8:

"Have you seen the dish they have subbing PE?" Catherine said, flopping onto the sofa with Ruth in the lounge. "I would bang him like a screen door in a hurricane, but he's probably married." She sighed and offered Ruth her container of carrots, celery, and bell pepper strips.

"The best ones usually are," Ruth commented drily.

"Speaking of relationships," Catherine said hesitantly, "I heard you and dad last night. On the way to the kitchen for a snack. I didn't mean to and I got the hell out of the way before I broke the mood, but… maybe upstairs next time? Behind a door? With a lock? Please?"

Ruth blushed and murmured, "Sorry. Harry's knee was buggered and –"

"Look, I'm happy for you two, I am – the secret is out and all that. But what if it wasn't me coming down? What if Lucy got up – or Hope?"

"Hope knows about sex," Ruth muttered.

"Okay, yeah, that's… really not what I meant, but okay –"

"You're going to have to talk him into a chair lift for the stairs," Ruth said softly. "He couldn't walk last night; that's the only reason we were in the living room."

"He's a stubborn pillock," Catherine muttered. "Oh, oh – look at who just walked in. Mary, look – the PE sub."

Ruth glanced over, then blinked twice, swallowed hard, then said, "Yeah, not my type."

"Chubby old bald men might do it for you, but I want to climb him like a tree," Catherine all but purred.

"Shh, he's coming," Ruth hissed, shoving the lunchbox back at Catherine as the man sauntered over and sat across the coffee table from them. "You must be the PE sub," she greeted.

"Aaron Campbell," Adam Carter greeted with a small smirk, his American accent fully in force. "And you are…?"

"Mary Smith, I teach French – and this is Catherine Peyton, journalism, yearbook, and A/V."

Adam smirked. "Nice to meet you both."

Catherine squeaked, "Nice to meet you, too –"

"To be honest, you two are the only two women in the room – and there are several men, as well – who aren't ogling my ass," he commented dryly.

"Widowers aren't my type," Ruth said.

"How do you know he's a widower?" Catherine interjected.

"I just do – it's like a secret club: lose someone forever, it scars your soul," Ruth said, sipping her coffee idly.

He smiled a little. "Yeah, something like that – my wife died a while back," he agreed. "What about you?"

Catherine cleared her throat. "Almost five years ago," she said very quietly.

"Not married, but I think I've found my Prince Charming," Ruth said dismissively. "Why don't you two talk? I need to go make a call."

"Oh, but we're just getting to know one another –"

Ruth retreated to the corridor and dialed Harry's number. He picked up on the second ring, out of breath. "Ruth? Has something happened?"

"Peregrine is Adam Carter."

"Please don't flirt with him," Harry pleaded softly. "I couldn't tell you – operational details, Ruth."

"I'm not going to flirt with him," she sighed. "Your daughter has that covered. I can't tell how seriously he's taking her, though."

"You're angry."

"No, I'm confused and a little frightened by what you aren't telling me," she admitted softly. "I may be out of the game, Harry, but I'm not stupid and the implications are – well, quite frankly, none of them are good and all of them are staggering."

He sighed. "We'll talk tonight."

"Will we?"

"Yes."

"You're promising?"

"Ruth, I will tell you everything I can. I owe you that much."

"You owe me a hell of a lot more than that," she hissed, ending the call. It took her a moment to compose herself and go back into the lounge. "Sorry about that – what did I miss?"

"I was just putting Catherine here to sleep with details of the Mets spring training –"

"Yankees girl, me," Catherine muttered.

"Ah, yes, sportsball," Ruth sighed. "My late husband was a cricket man." She knew she had to keep up the pretense for Catherine's sake – she definitely did not need to know what was going on.

"Dad's a cricket fanatic," Catherine sighed, rolling her eyes. "My husband played basketball." She shrugged a little, then went back to nibbling on her container of veggies. "Watched everything else, though," she added. Her gaze was troubled and unfocused, as if she was far, far away, and Ruth felt a pang of guilt. She knew that Catherine would give anything to have Brad back, but here Ruth was, just sauntering in and grabbing Harry without any thought as to how it would affect her. "My brother watches baseball sometimes, but he's not exactly a hardcore fan. We go to see the Yankees when he visits, though."

Adam smiled indulgently. "My wife couldn't stand sports and always tried to sabotage my 'me time'. Not that I really minded." He glanced over at Ruth and the pain in his eyes was just as fresh as it had been when Fiona had died. "It looks like I'll be here for at least two weeks, so… Maybe we could go get drinks or something?"

"I'm busy in the evenings with my daughter," Ruth spoke up. "Catherine, why don't –"

"He wasn't really asking me," Catherine mumbled.

"Actually, I was," Adam said, clearing his throat. "No offense, Mary, but you're really not my type, either."

"None taken," Ruth replied, smirking a little. "Catherine, maybe tonight?" she prodded.

"But we were going to –"

"Tonight would be a good night, Aaron," Ruth steamrolled. "Wouldn't it, Catherine? We don't have anything on."

"We?" Aaron said, raising a brow.

"She moved in with my dad and me," Catherine said cheerfully. "So now we're all playing 'happy families'."

"It's only temporary, till I can find a new place," Ruth said. "Getting evicted by a court order does manage to put a cramp in one's style."

Catherine snorted a little. "Yeah, new place… pull the other one. The way you and dad are cozying up –"

"TMI," Aaron said with a shudder. "And I'm assuming that's why I'm not your type?"

"Yes," Ruth said simply.

"Point well taken."

The conversation shifted and Ruth found herself strangely outside of it even though she was a part of it. Too many layers of communication and code were flying for her to even begin to catch up, and her head was spinning by the time their lunch break was over.

She knew something was in the wind, but she couldn't begin to unpick it – her good old fashioned spook senses were dulled by too much time away from her people, from her family … For, like it or not, they had been her family just as much as Hope was. As much as Harry was.

It was sick, toxic, even, the need to go back to it, to thrive again in the midst of such… inhumanity and bleakness. But it didn't make the urges go away to acknowledge how wrong it was.

"So you've seen her," Adam said to Jo. "What do you think?"

"I think she's seen some shit," Jo said softly, sighing and stirring her coffee. "I think if we could have pulled her out before now, we should have."

"Are you referring to her face?"

"I'm referring to everything. She's not the same Ruth we knew; not at all. She's scared that we're going to swoop in and rob her of everything she's managed to build for herself – which isn't much. That's why she's fighting so hard. She's scared and we can't give her any kind of assurances."

Adam shrugged and sighed. "You know Harry can't comment on black ops, either – and he's probably given her more information than he should have already. Loose lips and pillow talk and all that."

Jo shook her head. "They aren't together – not properly, anyway. You should've seen them the night before last. It's like they're strangers – perfect bloody strangers that can finish one another's sentences."

"It's been years," he countered. "Of course they aren't going to be in sync. It's all new and awkward and wrong again. Did you meet the daughter?"

"Hope? Briefly. She was on her way out to a study group. She's a dead ringer for Harry – no denying who her father is at all." Her lips twitched with mirth. "So we know they got there before, and now we have to wait for them to get there again."

"I really hope that it's sooner rather than later because the entire operation hinges on the fact that Ruth needs to be seen to be alive and well and in Harry's bloody back pocket," Adam sighed.

"Don't you dare tell her that – don't breathe a word," Jo warned sharply.

"She'll find out anyway."

"Then let her find out on her own – do not offer her anymore information than absolutely necessary. Ros's orders. It's safer if she's ignorant of the severity of the situation."

"You know, I thought I'd missed all of this… turns out, I only miss the plotting," Adam confessed. "And maybe the honey trapping – a little."

"You're such a man," Jo scoffed with a chuckle.

"When is Ros making her way over?"

"When shit hits the fan and no sooner."

"So we'll just have to wait."

"Can I talk to you?" Hope asked, getting Harry's attention. "Before mom and Catherine come home, I mean."

"Sure – let me get Lucy settled with the telly for a bit and I'm all yours," Harry said with a smile. "Do you need help with your homework or…?"

"No, no, I'm okay with that," Hope assured him. She didn't want him to think she was stupid, not when everyone else teased her for being a teacher's pet and knowing all the answers. She just needed –

It only took a couple of minutes before he was back at the kitchen table with her – he was armed with a mug of tea and she was armed with a glass of juice. "Now, what can I do for you?" Harry asked, his lips pursing together in a grim line as if he was dreading the answer.

"You're my dad," she began quietly. "I know you are because mom said you are – and because I look like you. But…"

"But?" he prompted when she was quiet for a long time, trying to word what she wanted to ask.

"Why now?" was what Hope finally settled for slamming down on the table between them. "Why did you just turn up now? Why not any of the times we actually needed you?" She took a deep breath and added, "Mom used to cry herself to sleep every night."

He set his mug down and leaned back in his chair, watching her cautiously. "How much has your mother told you about me?" Harry inquired.

Only that you were a very important man doing a very important job and that's why you couldn't be with us… "Not much," she said very quietly. "Not anything, really."

"She must have told you something: a curious child like you would ask questions, wouldn't you?"

Hope sighed. "She said you were a very important man doing a very important job and that's why you weren't with us," she said.

"That is true, more or less," he said, nodding.

"But it's not the entire truth, is it?"

"I can't tell you the entire truth."

"Why not?"

"Because you're too young to understand."

"I'm fifteen. I'm not a little kid."

"That isn't what I meant," he sighed. "You are… in many ways, you are your mother's daughter: intelligent beyond fault, entirely too stubborn, and very, very much good at putting together pieces of things. But you are also very much like me – the world is a harsh place, Hope, and I don't want to be the one who causes you more pain."

"Your job was dangerous?"

"Very."

"And you couldn't be with us because it was dangerous and you didn't want us to get hurt?"

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."

"Did you know about me?"

His silence said it all.

"Did you love mom enough that you'd've come to find her?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying to me right now?"

He flinched. "Maybe."

She considered him for a long moment; if he was going to lie to her, what even was the point of asking the next question she had? He hadn't exactly been forthcoming during their conversation, and he still put her ill at ease, no matter how much she tried to assure herself that he was her father. It was difficult to reconcile everything in her head into something that made sense.

"Do you love her?" Her words were soft, broken in their simplicity.

She could see him fighting with himself, an inner battle playing out on his face. When he finally spoke, it was with quiet, hard conviction. "More than I ever thought was possible to love another person. That was why I didn't come for her. Because we could never be together the way we wanted to be."

"But you're here now."

"I am," he said, his voice breaking with the strain. "I almost wasn't – if I hadn't walked you home, it could have been months or years more before…"

"Do you love me?"

"You're my daughter."

"That's not answering the question."

"I had no idea you existed before last week – you have to give me time to –"

"There is no time," Hope hissed. "You are my father – you either love me or you don't. And if you don't, what am I supposed to do? Pretend that I'm okay with you and mom just… being together? Because you are, aren't you? You just want her – you don't want me."

"You think in absolutes, just like your mother – everything is fact or fiction, black or white – can't you for a moment give in and admit that there are shades of grey?" Harry challenged angrily, his hand shooting across the table to grasp hers firmly. "I love you because you are my daughter – but I don't know you. I cannot just… let you in. Your mother has my absolute trust – and she holds my heart in her hands. Always has done, from the moment I realized that I might care for her more than was socially acceptable. I need you to understand that I cannot… I am not… I am not a strong enough man to –"

Hope bit her lip till it bled, frightened that if she moved, he would hurt her. It was irrational, she knew that, but the fear was real. "Harry," she whispered, "you're scaring me. Please don't hurt me."

He immediately withdrew and looked at her for a long moment. "That wasn't the first time that boy attacked you, is it?" Harry asked cautiously.

Hope stared at him for a long time, then said, "Did mom tell you? What he did?"

"Enough of it to know that if I see him within five feet of you, I will beat him senseless," Harry said. "Have you… talked to anyone? A counselor? A friend?"

"I don't have friends," Hope said with a sad laugh. "No one wants to be friends with the smartest kid in the class. No one wants to be friends with someone who isn't popular. I don't have anybody to talk to. And they all make fun of me – all of them. Especially him."

Harry heaved a sigh and covered his face with one hand. "I'm sorry, Hope – I'm so sorry to be… dredging all of this up," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I was only trying to help. Because I am… a limited man, emotionally, but… I do care. You are my daughter, and I do care."

The awkward silence stretched between them until she broke it. "I see him. All the time. When I'm awake, when I'm asleep… at school, on the street, everywhere. I hate it. I hate him. Why me? Why did he do this to me?"

Harry took a deep breath and whispered, "Because you were isolated and alone – with no friends to turn to, no one to talk to… no one but your mother to care about your welfare. But that isn't true any longer, and I swear to you that I will protect you, Hope."

"You can't promise that," she whispered.

"I can, actually," he said firmly. "You're going to notice a man watching you at school, on the streets, always a few steps away, but never too far from you. His name isn't important, but he's there to watch over you – to protect you."

"Why?"

"Because you need it," Harry said simply.

She watched his face, then whispered, "You aren't lying to me now."

"No, I'm not," he said with a rueful smile. "What gave it away?"

It took her a moment, but then she connected the dots. "When you lie, you pause like you're looking for words – like what you're going to tell me isn't the truth. But when you're telling the truth, there's nothing like that – and you look like you've got indigestion when you're saying something emotional."

"Well, thank you for that," Harry said, amusement flashing in his eyes for a brief moment. "I am sorry for everything you and your mother have gone through on my account – I need you to know that before I tell you something important."

Hope nodded and exhaled. "I know you are."

He nodded. "I… I asked your mother to marry me a few days ago and she's agreed." His eyes flew to hers when she gasped in alarm. "I can't explain why except to say that it's for your protection, and because I love her very much. I cannot allow… I will not – damn it." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't mean to –"

"You love her and want to protect her. I'm just incidental. It's okay," Hope whispered. "It's okay." She pushed back from the table and ran upstairs, locking herself in the room that was supposed to be hers, wondering why everything had to be so painful.