12:
"Trackers are active; he's on the move," came the voice down the comms line.
"Oh, yeah, I meant to ask… exactly how –"
"The juice, Ms. Lawrence. Every day, he drinks three bottles of fresh juice dosed with nanotrackers that are activated by entry into the large intestine."
Rose stifled a groan. "Of course, the juice… I did think it was odd that Harry was on a health kick, rather than his usual whiskey diet –"
"God knows, the man could stand to lose some weight with both of his knees buggered to hell and back," the man said with a bitter laugh. "Looks like they're in Brooklyn – waterfront warehouse."
"How long do you think we should wait before we go –"
"I don't mean to interrupt your scintillating discussion about Falcon's bowels, but Songbird just left the nest; Theta Two, please tell me that you've got eyes on Dove?"
"Dove is in class."
"And the other two?"
"Class."
"Class."
Ros took a deep breath and said, "Well… how long is long enough to wait to close a ten year operation?"
A bark of laughter came down the line. "Gotta be at least an hour."
"You really think we need to wait an hour?"
"I don't think we should wait at all," Ros said, "but we don't know what they'll do if they think we're incoming. So, yes, we need to wait just a little longer." She gritted her teeth and side-eyed Malcolm, who nodded his agreement. "Not long. But long enough."
Tom Quinn said, "Well, whatever you plan on doing, Ms. Lawrence, you'd better get ready to do it. You might have been working your side for ten years, but if Falcon knew you weren't chomping at the bit to get him out of there… I sure as hell wouldn't want to be in your shoes."
"I'd like to see you try to walk in my shoes for a day, Mr. Quinn," Ros sniped. "Rendezvous in ten at Doghouse 3, everyone but Theta Three, Six, and Four. Bring your weapons and your best smiles."
"Harry," Ruth said softly as she was propelled none-too-gently into a chair in the room, barely out of arm's reach of her husband. He looked to be relatively unharmed – the only thing wrong with him being a thin cut above his right eye, oozing blood. "Are you –"
"Fine," he dismissed. "If you've harmed her in any way –"
"You'll what?" Mani taunted with a smirk.
"I'll kill you," Harry growled darkly.
"That, Harry, I would like to see," Mani said with a laugh. He turned to Ruth, flicking an invisible piece of lint off his cuff. "Now, onto business. The two of you know the location of something that doesn't belong to you and never did. I want it back."
Ruth tilted her head, lifting her jaw and smirking. "Ah, yes, the uranium," she said.
Mani chuckled. "She's very clever, Harry – too good for the likes of you."
Ruth stared at Harry for a long moment, willing him to understand that she was playing the long game. "Oh, I don't know," Ruth drawled lazily. "Besides, who wouldn't want to have their hands on a little chunk of uranium these days? You, the Russians, the Americans…"
Harry grunted and shifted in his seat. "Mani, I'm not going to tell you where the uranium is. Because I don't know."
"Oh, Harry, I hate to make a liar of you, but your little wife being here just proves it – she knows that you do know where it is and came to make a deal," Mani pointed out.
Ruth just kept smirking; if she didn't, the façade would be broken and he would know that she was bluffing. She was banking on Harry having moved the uranium multiple times after she had gone into exile and that he had told Ros where he had moved it to – if not having had her move it in the first place. She didn't know shit, and having to prove it could be utterly catastrophic.
"Ruth," Harry said warningly.
"Harry, the last thing I want is to lose you now," Ruth commented dryly, off-handed, fumbling with her ziptied hands, twisting her ring round and round in a nervous gesture he would recognize as something other than a physical tic. His expression changed then, his jaw twitching as he tensed and slid a furtive glance Mani's way. "Not when we've finally gotten almost everything we've ever wanted."
"Almost everything?" Harry said with a raised brow.
She shrugged. "Still haven't gotten that new mattress delivered yet," Ruth said softly.
"It was meant to arrive this afternoon," he said.
"Ah, well… c'est la vie," she murmured.
"Enough with the charming domestic scenes," Mani interjected. "Tell me where the uranium is or I will… retrieve… your daughter by force and bring her here. I do rather despise the sound of screaming – it sets my teeth on edge. But needs must."
"If you touch my daughter –" Harry began.
"Harry, do stop being melodramatic," Ruth snapped. "You aren't bloody King Lear."
"Why would you marry a man like that?" Mani questioned with a laugh. "He's pathetic."
Ruth looked at Harry for a long time, then said, "Because you can't choose who you love, and you aren't meant to try." Harry opened his mouth, but she was already moving, snapping the zipties with extreme force from her foot, whirling around, tossing her guard and taking his gun in the same motion, three shots – one, two, three – headshots for each of the three men who had been their captors. When her brain caught up to her body, she was breathing unevenly and she had a searing pain in her shoulder where the second guard had managed to get a shot off accidentally.
Harry was staring at her in something akin to horror tinged with wonder, and she primly sat back down on her chair, kicking Mani's body out of her way. Only a few seconds later came the sound of steps in the corridor and shouts of, "Put your hands in the air!"
"If you don't mind, I don't think I will," Ruth called back in a pained voice. "I've been shot."
Ros and several other agents she didn't recognize burst into the room, checking everything over. Ros herself poked Mani with her boot, rolling him over with a sneer before she leaned in to look at Ruth's wound. "You'll live, but you'll definitely want a hospital," Ros commented. "Nice to see you, by the way – you've led us on a merry chase."
Harry found his voice, finally. "Ruth… where did you learn – we don't teach that –"
"School of hard knocks," Ruth ground out. "And YouTube."
Ros laughed in disbelief. "Seriously?"
"There are detailed videos of how to escape ziptie bonds," Ruth explained. "I know about ten different ways, depending on the size of the ties." She winced. "Are you just keeping me talking to keep me from thinking about how much this hurts?"
"Maybe just a bit," Ros said. "Harry, you okay over there?"
"I'm fine," Harry said gruffly. "Erin, would you stop bloody fussing? I'm fine. My wife is the one who –"
"I'm fine," Ruth grunted. "No worse than I've had before." It was a lie; she'd never been shot before, and it bloody well hurt. The raw anguish of having had her face cut to bits was a whole different league of pain. "Harry – I'll be fine," she assured him, meeting his gaze for the first time since Ros had started trying to staunch the blood flowing from her shoulder.
He shook off the brunette – Erin? – and lurched forward, trying to reach Ruth. She sighed and said, "I promise, Harry –"
"You've been shot," he said simply. "You're bleeding heavily. You are in no condition to tell me you're going to be fine." He held her good hand tightly and pressed his forehead against hers. "You… you took such a risk, Ruth – I don't know what I would do if I lost you again."
"I knew there was a tracker somewhere either on you or me – I just didn't know where," she exhaled.
"Harry doesn't drink all that juice for nothing," Ros quipped.
"Liquid nanotracker," Harry said with a sigh. "And your ring. It's hidden beneath one of the diamonds."
That gave her pause; the insidious seeds of doubt were already rooted in her mind, and now she had reason to let them flourish. "So this was all about getting me to wear the ring," Ruth ground out through clenched teeth. "No wonder you pushed marriage so hard, Harry. It's not as if you actually wanted to –"
"Ruth," he said very softly, gently placing his hand over the scars on her face, keeping her eyes on him when she would have looked away. "Needs must. We exploited what was already there, what I could never hide, what I would never wish to change. It doesn't change anything. My feelings are the same. Have yours changed?"
"No."
"It wasn't for show." The words were soft and full of conviction. "None of this has ever been for show – except maybe the ring. It isn't what I would have bought for you and I am sorry for lying about that."
Black spots were starting to encroach on Ruth's vision and she was fighting to stay conscious – she knew the wound wasn't life-threatening, but she was slipping into shock. The last time she had felt like that, she'd been wandering in the street with her face torn to shreds.
"We'll get another," she choked out, leaning against Harry's touch. "I don't… feel so… fantastic."
"Ambulance is two minutes out," one of the agents said.
"She's lost a lot of blood," the one called Erin said. "Do we know her blood type?"
"O negative," Harry said gruffly. "Right, sweetheart?"
Ruth nodded and swallowed hard, fighting hard to stay in control.
"I'm O negative," one of the agents said. "Anyone up for a spontaneous blood transfusion?"
"Dimitri, do you think that's wise?" Ros asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No wiser than letting Harry Pearce's wife bleed out waiting for an ambulance," the agent said with a crooked smirk.
"There's been a delay in the ambulance – closer to seven minutes now. Detour," the other agent said.
"Looks like we don't have much choice," Dimitri said. "Tariq, you've got the field kit – Erin, don't give me that sour lemon face. Ros, please tell her to stop looking like she sucked a lemon."
Ros rolled her eyes and sighed. "Harry, be glad you retired. Ruth, I need you to focus on Harry – he's going to apply pressure to your shoulder and I'm going to hook you and Dimitri up for a direct blood transfer. Believe it or not, this is not my first time doing this." She looked at Harry, then nodded. Ros's hands moved and Harry's replaced them, strong, steady, sure.
Ruth whispered, "I'm sorry, Harry."
"For what?"
"For doubting you – us –"
"Your daughter is going to kill me when she finds out what's happened," Harry said.
"Our daughter," she corrected.
"Ah, but when she's cross, she's all you," Harry said softly, trying to keep her focused. "All logic and fact and just enough emotion to twist the knife."
"She's a good girl," Ruth sighed, "but… with everything…"
"She's scared," he supplied softly. "I know. God knows I know – hell, I'm bloody terrified I'm going to screw up another kid and… you don't need to listen to me whinging."
She smiled softly, looking up at him with much effort. "I signed up for Harry Peace, whinger extraordinaire," she teased very softly, flinching when the needle pierced her skin, despite her attention being diverted. "Harry?"
"Mmm?"
"You'll take care of her, right?"
"No, Ruth, don't you dare – don't you give up and say goodbye –"
"I'm not – I just… if anything happens to me, I need to know."
"She's my daughter; of course I'll take care of her, for as long as I'm able," he said gruffly.
She nodded, feeling her tenuous grip on reality beginning to fade. The dark spots in her vision were getting much larger and she was having a hard time even keeping her eyes open. "I love you," she whispered. "So much."
"Ruth, sweetheart, I need you to look at me – Ruth, love, please –"
She struggled to open her eyes again, taking in the frantic worry on his face – the Harry of old would never have looked at her that way. "I'm so tired," she rasped.
"I know, sweetheart, I know. But I need you to stay with me, okay?" His hands pressed harder against her shoulder and she nearly jolted out of the chair despite her weakened state. "Tell me about Hope, when she was little."
"You don't want to hear about that."
Ros's voice cut through their conversation. "Ruth, you need to hold on just a little longer – you've lost a lot of blood."
Ruth turned her head to look at the handsome agent sitting beside her, intimately connected to her via a plastic tube, blood coursing from his veins to hers. He was pale, sweating a little, and she knew then that it was worse than she thought. "If he keeps giving me blood, it's just going to –"
"It's just till the paramedics get here," Ros growled. "Tariq?"
"One minute," he responded.
"Ruth?" Harry said softly, drawing her attention back to him. "I'm sorry. For everything I've done – and haven't done. Do you understand?"
She nodded, breathing a little easier. "I'm sorry, too." She knew he was trying to be pragmatic in the face of everything, trying to let her go if he had to. He was trying to absolve them both of the guilt that embraced them like a shroud.
"I never meant you to be hurt," he whispered.
"The road to Hell, Harry," she murmured, the darkness pressing in on her from all angles now. "I –"
"Shh," he breathed.
She heard a rush of movement, clanking of equipment, voices barking words that made no sense. The world closed in on itself like a rush of water descending on her, drowning her. All was dark and still, and she was so grateful for the silence.
The waiting room was cold and Harry shivered involuntarily. It had started snowing as the ambulance had made its way to the nearest hospital, and his coat was god only knew where. He'd already removed his ruined jumper and been horrified by the sheer amount of blood that wasn't his own that he was sporting; the blood had soaked through the wool and his shirt, straight to his skin, forming an itchy, sticky layer that he was aching to go wash off.
Ros was watching him with concern. "She's going to be okay, Harry."
He resumed pacing, his knees screaming in protest, but he couldn't sit down. He couldn't. He needed to be in motion, to be active, to do something. "You don't know that." He knew the words were clipped, cruel, even, but they had to be said. "She lost a lot of blood for just a shoulder wound."
"It nicked an artery, that's all," Ros assured him. "I hear tell of a similar incident involving you, Tom Quinn, and a shotgun – and god knows your fat arse nearly bit it."
A tiny smile tugged at Harry's lips. "Too stubborn to die, me," he said, as if he was proud of that fact. It was the only thing that had managed to keep him alive over the years: sheer bloody determination. "But Ruth…"
"She'll be fine," Ros repeated. "Jo and Malcolm will be here any minute with your family and a change of clothes for you."
Harry nodded stiffly. "I can't believe I couldn't see it was about –"
"Harry, we knew. That's why we brought Tom and Christine on board," Ros said softly. "You didn't need to know anything but your part."
"My part," he spat, "nearly got her killed, Ros."
"Look, it was a sound operation, and you both behaved exactly as we were hoping you would," Ros sighed. "Well, except for the bit where Ruth basically became Wonder Woman and beat the shit out of the bad guys. That was entirely unexpected. Pleasing, but unexpected."
"She's stronger than you give her credit for," Harry muttered.
"Yeah, she has to be, living on the run and having to be prepared for anything," Ros said. "But she's not on the run anymore, Harry. She's been given her reprieve and she's got you. Why would she run?"
"To stay one step ahead of Five," he shot back bitterly. "I'm complicit in all of this – I'm a symptom of the problem, not the solution. Do you think for one second once she's out of danger, she's going to sit back on her hands? No – she's going to go back to ground."
"Why do you say that?" Ros asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Because it's what I would do," Harry grunted. "It's always hardest when you realize that your greatest enemy is your friends."
"Harry… I know you've been saying the last five years that you intended to retire for good when we'd completed Operation Wentworth, and I think it's a good idea – for the sake of your family," Ros said, her voice suddenly gentle.
"What about Ruth?" he shot back angrily.
"There's no reason she can't be officially decommissioned once we finish the debrief," Ros murmured. "If that's what she wants."
"She won't want to go back to Five," he growled. "Don't even offer it as an option. I will not –"
"It isn't your choice, Harry; it's Ruth's choice."
He was about to launch into a diatribe of just what a truly fucking awful idea it was for Ruth to go back to work for Five in any capacity when the door to the waiting room burst open and Lucy shrieked, "Granpa, Granpa – " The next thing he knew, the tiny bundle of ceaseless energy was catapulting into his legs with enough force to nearly knock him down.
"Sorry, dad," Catherine said as she came in behind her. "She got away for a second – Luce, bunny, c'mere. Grandad needs to go change clothes. Hope?"
Hope was lingering in the doorway, looking small and startled, clutching a duffel bag in her hands. "Daddy?" she said, her voice wobbling.
"She's going to be okay," Harry promised out of habit, more than anything else. He didn't know what the fuck he was going to do if Ruth wasn't okay. "Hope, she's going to be fine."
Malcolm and Jo came in, immediately moving to take up residence in plastic chairs flanking Ros. Lucy reluctantly let go of Harry and went to Catherine, who was already pulling out her tablet and some small toys from a bag – ever prepared, Harry charged the tablet every day and made up a bag of distractions in case he and Lucy were out somewhere and got stuck. Like the day there had been a bomb threat on the subway and they'd been on the uptown train; he'd never been so glad to have juice boxes, cookies, and Lucy's toys in his life. Hope took a few unsteady steps toward him, and he met her halfway, hugging her tight. She pushed the bag into his hands and leaned against him, obviously trying not to cry.
"What did Zaf tell you?" Harry asked.
"That mom got hurt and he didn't know if you were," Hope whispered weakly.
"I'm fine," Harry said softly, rubbing her back.
"You've got blood all over you –"
"Your mum got shot," Ros said bluntly. "She lost a lot of blood, and your dad was trying to keep pressure on the wound. He's fine. She's in surgery. Hence why you brought him a change of clothes."
"Ros," Harry said, his voice carrying a stern note of warning – which he knew she would ignore.
"What, you want me to lie to her?" Ros shot back.
"I signed the Official Secrets Act," Hope said, lifting her chin stubbornly. "In the car on the way here. So you can tell me what happened and why my mom got hurt."
Harry felt a strong surge of pride at that; his little girl was going toe to toe with a lioness and she was going to prevail. "Hope, I'm going to go get cleaned up," he said softly. "You've met Jo and Malcolm before."
"Are those their real names?" Hope shot back.
"Joanna Portman," Jo said, her eyes twinkling despite her emotionless face.
"Malcolm Wynn-Jones," Malcolm introduced himself.
"And I'm Ros Lawrence," Ros said, retracting her claws suddenly. "God, you're just like your mother – stubborn to a fault."
Hope raised an eyebrow. "Well, Ros, in that case, you'd better start talking."
Catherine bit back a chuckle and looked up at Harry with a lopsided grin. He was smiling back as he released Hope, distracting her for only a moment with a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back," he promised. "Don't eat Ros."
"I would never," Hope said, wrinkling her nose.
"Good girl," he praised softly, giving her another reassuring kiss – this time on the cheek. Unused to his affection being displayed in that way, she looked uneasy, but the whole situation was just ramming home how much work he still had to put in to be her father, really be her father.
He retreated from the waiting room, shuffling wearily down the corridor to the nurses' station, inquiring about somewhere he could shower and wash away the substantial amount of blood on him. It went against all hospital protocol, but upon hearing his was with the MI-5 group, an exception was immediately made and he found himself being led to what was basically a locker room. He was provided with towels and soap, and told to take no longer than fifteen minutes – and dispose of the unused soap when he was finished. Someone would come and sterilize the shower when he was done.
He stripped and stepped under the blindingly hot water, praying that he could get all the blood off his skin. He wasn't going to break down, not here, not in the bloody shower in a bloody hospital; he would save it for later, when he could close the doors and shut away the world.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from the locker room and smiled at the nurse who had been posted at the door. She didn't look that old – maybe twenty-five? – and she eyed him up. "Your wife is in post-op," she said. "I don't know anything more than that, though. They'll be in to talk to you and your family in about half an hour or so."
Harry swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay," he said softly.
"I heard she got shot by a terrorist."
Harry's lip twitched. "That's a tricky definition."
"One who seeks to terrorize – it's not that tricky, Mr. Pearce."
He nodded and sighed. "Yes. In that definition, he was a terrorist. I need to get back to my family, please excuse me." He made his way back the way he'd come, feeling tired and sad all in the same breath, even though, logically, he didn't need to be sad – Ruth was alive. That was what mattered.
Catherine looked up when he came back into the waiting room, her eyes hopeful. He shook his head, lying for the moment and indicating he hadn't heard anything. Better they be surprised and relieved together; after all, they were a family, as cobbled together as they were.
Hope was deep in conversation with Ros in the corner, the older woman looking very reserved as she spoke softly, Hope more animated, cheeks flushed, upset but not raising her voice.
Harry went to sit between Malcolm and Jo. "There haven't been any fisticuffs while I was showering, I take it?"
"Hope is a very level-headed girl, much like her parents," Malcolm said pointedly.
"Being level-headed isn't something anyone has accused me of in a very long time," Harry commented. "In fact, after Cotterdam, the exact opposite rang true."
"No comment," Jo said with a small smirk.
Harry exhaled, tried to remain calm, placid, like a duck on a millpond. "I'm afraid I've probably gone and buggered everything up with Ruth," he said dully. "I should have told her everything I knew and I didn't."
"You didn't know everything," Malcolm commented.
"Yes, well…"
"Including that Ros was in contact with Gina Hamilton prior to sending you in," Jo said. "Gina shot you on Ros's authority, to keep you away from the mission for a few months while we tracked Ruth down."
Harry's jaw twitched. "That duplicitous whore –"
"Harry, you were close to blowing the whole operation," Jo murmured. "You have no idea how close. Years of planning and pulling strings and – you almost blew everything."
He grunted and picked at his cuticles. "Sorry," he muttered.
"It's all washed out in the end," Malcolm commented.
Hope stood up and came over to them. Malcolm deferred to her and moved so she could sit next to Harry. "Hey," Harry said softly, holding Hope's hand when she offered it to him.
"Hey. You work with some crazy people," she commented dryly.
Harry's lips twitched into a smile. "Yeah," he agreed. "You okay?"
Hope nodded. "I hope mom's going to be okay."
"She will be," he promised. "She's got to come back to you, kiddo."
"Zaf said she was hurt and he didn't know if you were – and I was so scared, dad. So scared I was going to lose you both."
"Hey now," Harry said softly, pulling her into a hug. "Hey now, none of that – your mum is the bravest person I've ever known. She's brave, and strong, and fearless when it comes to protecting the people she loves. She's always going to fight to come home to you, kiddo, always."
"But she got shot," Hope protested.
"She was fearless," Harry said firmly. "She broke the cable ties, disabled one of the guards, and shot three men dead in less than twenty seconds."
"But she got shot –"
"When she disarmed the first guard," Harry confirmed, his voice soft. "It doesn't diminish her courage or her will to survive."
"I'm sorry, dad," Hope whispered.
"For what, kiddo?"
"Fighting with you the other night."
He smiled a little, then said, "You were right."
"But I'm not supposed to disrespect my elders and –"
"It's okay," he assured her.
The waiting room door opened and a doctor stepped through. "Pearce family?" he inquired.
"Yes," Harry said simply.
The doctor smiled. "She's in recovery now. She's awake and asking for Hope and Harry?"
"You go first," Harry said softly, nudging Hope.
"No, she wants you both," the doctor said. "I told her one at a time, and she told me if I didn't want to meet a violent end, I would go collect the both of you."
Hope giggled. "Sounds like mom," she said. She stood up, still holding Harry's hand. "Come on, dad."
He didn't know when he'd shifted in her mind from being 'Harry' to being 'dad', but he would be unsurprised if it had been that afternoon, when she'd been unsure of his life or death. Regardless, he was grateful for it, and thrilled to see her smiling and hear her laughing, even if it was just a little hysterical giggle. "I'm coming," he said, struggling to his feet. "I'm not young anymore, kiddo. You've got to be more patient with me."
"I know," she said softly, squeezing his hand.
The walk to the recovery room was quiet, and when they arrived, Ruth was looking rather small and battered in her bed. "Thank god," she exhaled.
Hope released his hand and hurried to the bed, accepting her mother's possessive caresses and tender kisses. "Mommy, I'm so glad you're okay," Hope said quietly.
"I was so worried about you," Ruth murmured. "Zaf took good care of you?"
Hope nodded. "Yeah, mom – he did."
Ruth looked up at Harry, her eyes filled with tears. "Are you –"
"I'm fine," he assured her. "Believe me, everyone has been more worried about you than me."
"Did they tell you…?"
"No, but it doesn't matter now," he said. "All that matters is that you'll be okay."
Ruth smiled hesitantly, lazily – he knew she was doped up on a pain drip. "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you. I love you both so much."
"We know," he assured her.
"Mom, we love you, too," Hope said softly, reaching back to hold Harry's hand. "We both do. So stop getting hurt, okay?"
Ruth laughed and looked over the top of Hope's head, directly at Harry. "I remember telling you not to get shot," she quipped. "Did you listen to me?"
"Marginally," he responded with a small smile.
"Okay, Mrs. Pearce, it's time to get you to your room," a nurse said, coming in with a smile. "Oh, are you –"
"My husband and daughter," Ruth said with a smile.
"Well, they should get on home – we're going to give you a sedative so you can sleep through tonight. Come back tomorrow during visiting hours," the nurse said brusquely.
"Don't talk to them like that," Ruth snapped. "Don't you dare speak to them like that."
"Ruth, love, it's all right – she's quite right. We should go home and let you rest," Harry said gently.
"No," Ruth said stubbornly. "I'm sorry – this is not negotiable. You stay with me or I leave AMA right now. I didn't get shot protecting you for you to go scarpering off."
"I don't scarper," Harry sighed.
"We're staying with her," Hope said. "You wanna make a scene? There's a waiting room full of mad people with guns who will be glad to set you straight. They kinda like my mom and dad – a lot."
"There will be an armed guard on Lady Pearce's room," Harry added for good measure. He was pretty sure that Ros would insist on it if he suggested it. "We will stay out of the way and behave," he promised.
"Speak for yourself," Hope shot back.
Ruth smirked at the nurse. "I've had a rather traumatic day," she confessed. "I would rather like my family with me."
"It goes against all procedures."
"Bugger your procedures," Ruth hissed. "I got shot protecting him, and I'll be damned if I let him out of my sight for even a second." Her hand fell heavily, clumsily, on top of his, and he wrapped his fingers around hers: united. "Harry, don't leave," she ordered. "Don't leave me alone here."
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised gently. "If you would please send an administrator in, ma'am, I would appreciate it. I'm certain there are ways around the procedures that won't compromise your work or my wife's continued recovery." He should have been a politician – except he hated them with all the fire of the sun. He ran his thumb comfortingly over the back of Ruth's hand, content in the moment just to revel in the knowledge that she was alive.
He tried not to think of how he had felt when the shooting had stopped and she had sat down, bleeding and in pain. How frightened his had been; he was a coward in the face of losing her now that he had her back in his life. How unprepared he had been for her actions, for the way things had gone pear-shaped. He tried to relax, but failed: he had fallen off the wall and now he was broken ala Humpty Dumpty; no longer the MI-5 boss spook, he was just an old man clinging to his memories.