One month later…

"Do you have any big plans for the weekend?" Harry asked her, and Ruth smiled as she relaxed further into her bath, his voice echoing around the room through the tinny speakers of her mobile. It was such a nice question, such a normal question, a piece of banality her heart had yearned for, for years now. It was a Friday evening, and she was lying in the bath with a glass of white wine and her mobile close to hand, talking to Harry about her plans for the weekend. A bare few months before such a thought would have been preposterous to her, and yet here she was, enjoying every moment. Oh, she thought, how things have changed.

His calls had been infrequent, and they never ceased to delight her. With his unpredictable schedule there was almost no point in her ringing him, and so she had resigned herself to waiting until he could spare a moment for her. Which he did, as often as he could; preparations for leaving London and turning over operations to Erin had kept him busy near every minute but still he found the time to reach out to her, to strengthen their connection, and Ruth never begrudged the interruption, no matter how late it came, for each call was a reminder of just how much Harry loved her, just how important she was to him, just how much value he placed on their relationship. A real relationship now, a proper one, complete with murmured endearments and concrete plans for the future and conversations that didn't center on national security. It was strange, sharing these tiny intimacies with Harry, but it was lovely, too.

"Actually, yes," she answered, grinning though he could not see her. "I'm going to look at a house."

There was a moment's pause, and then through the mobile Ruth heard a shuffling sort of sound, and then the unmistakable slam of a car door. He must be on his way home, Ruth thought, for Harry often called her from the car as he made the journey from Thames House back to his own home.

"Where?" Harry asked, and Ruth delighted in his tone of curiosity, his total lack of hesitation. He had entrusted this task to her, to find them a place to live; he was far too busy, and insisted that whatever choice she made would delight him. I will follow you wherever you wish to go, darling, he had told her, and she had known then that his words were true, that all that mattered to him was that they might start over together; the how and the where of it did not factor into his concerns.

"Peacehaven," she answered. "There's a position available at the University of Sussex for next term, and it's only a twenty minute drive."

"Sussex," Harry said, a world of meaning contained in that single word.

Can you even picture it? Us in a little house in Sussex?

It had seemed unthinkable, once. A piece of serenity they would never achieve. And yet now, astonishingly, everything had changed, and that dream of a simple, elegant life was somehow within their grasp.

"There's a house, close to the cliffs. I think you'll like it. I'll take pictures tomorrow so you can see."

"That would be lovely," he said, but before she could answer him there came the sound of someone pounding on Ruth's front door.

"Shit," she swore, scrambling from the bath, her heart racing. It was rather late, and she couldn't imagine who would possibly come knocking on her door at this hour; unless, she realized as a tide of horror began to rise within her, unless it was Paul, piss drunk and angry, come to have it out with her. She had so far been able to avoid him, but she wouldn't put it past him, really, to show up unannounced, cross and combative. A little piece of her heart expected it; a little piece of her heart suspected that she deserved it. And so she squared her shoulders, and she slipped into her robe as quickly as she could.

"I'm going to have to put you down for a moment, Harry," she said as she padded down the corridor from her bathroom to her front door.

"Everything all right?" he asked her gently.

"Someone's at the door. I'll just be a moment."

With trembling hands she slid her mobile into the pocket of her robe and reached to unlock the door, opening it slowly, dreading the very thought of who might have been standing on the other side.

And yet the sight that greeted her there was not Paul, with bloodshot eyes and pouting lips and a roar of invective; it was, miraculously, impossibly, Harry, standing with his mobile pressed to his ear and a holdall clutched in his free hand. He wore a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark blue jeans, and the widest, brightest smile Ruth had ever seen upon his face.

"I'm going to hang up now," he said, laughing, ending the call on his mobile before tucking it in his pocket.

"Harry?" Ruth breathed his name incredulously, her heart now pounding for an altogether different reason. This was the last thing she had expected; they had discussed his arrival, and while no concrete date had been set they had been both determined that another month's waiting would be required. And yet, here he stood, smiling.

"Hello, Ruth," he answered.

She could not help herself; with a low cry of delight she reached for him, wound her arms around his neck and clutched him to her fiercely. Harry just laughed and dropped his bag so that he could hold her, properly, as she buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed in the comforting scent of his cologne, let her lips brush against his neck as she tried her hardest not to cry. Though the phone calls had helped there was no denying that Ruth had spent the last four weeks languishing in grief and doubt, missing him with everything she had, wondering if the next time her phone rang it would be Erin or the Home Secretary, calling to tell her that Harry had perished like so many of their friends. Men like him didn't often leave Thames House on their own two feet, she knew, and she had been desperately, terribly afraid that some terror would snatch him from her grip before they ever had a chance to set out in their new life together. Those worries had been for naught, it would seem, for he was here, warm and solid beneath her hands, holding her close, whispering gentle words of reassurance in her ear while she trembled in his embrace. He had come to her, for how long she could not say, but just having him here, just the touch of his hand, was enough to comfort her now. She could bear any burden, so long as she had the chance to hold him now.

"I have missed you so much," she confessed, her lips brushing his skin as she spoke.

"I have ached for you," he answered, and those words threw her back to that beautiful, terrible night in Paris, when he had wrapped his arms around her and sworn to love her, always, forsaking all others, when he had clutched her thighs in the cages of his broad hands and brought her to the very heights of bliss, when he had set fire to her very world, and in so doing allowed her this chance at a new beginning.

She did not hesitate, then; she raised herself up onto her tiptoes and tilted her chin and he met her in a moment, soft lips sliding together, warm and sweet, and her heart swelled full to bursting with love of him. It all unraveled quickly from there; he kicked his bag through the door and then promptly closed it, anchored her against him with his hands on her hips, kissed her with everything he had while she led him back, step by step, down the short corridor to her bedroom. They slid onto the bed together, rolling until they met, her thigh over his hip, his lips brushing against the swell of her breast where her robe parted. Her hands fell to the button of his jeans and his own delved beneath her robe, a groan of longing escaping him as he found her naked and soft from her bath.

They did not speak, but then they did not always need to; after so many years, so many losses, so many long nights together, they communicated in a language all their own. The trail of fingertips and the soft sound of laughter and the brush of their lips spoke louder than any words, and so they continued, rocking against one another until at last a hoarse moan left Ruth's lips, and Harry swallowed the sound of it with his own fervent tongue while they fell apart, together.

After, sated, exhausted, deliriously happy, they rested, wrapped up tight in one another's arms.

"Peacehaven," Harry said, and Ruth hummed, turning her head to press a gentle kiss against his chest, just above his beating heart, that heart she loved with all of her own.

"It's an apt name," he explained, revealing some of his thoughts to her, and Ruth just smiled, shifting so that she could rest her chin against his chest and look him in the eye.

"It's what we need, isn't it?" she asked him softly. "A little peace?"

"A haven," he answered, reaching out to brush a lock of hair back from her face. "A place where we will be safe and happy, you and I."

Before this moment Ruth had not even thought of the significance of the name, but she became quite suddenly convinced that this must be the place where they settled down. It seemed...predestined, somehow, ordained by some higher power, that a house should come available in that place, that a job might be on offer for Ruth there, that Harry had arrived in time to come with her when she visited. Peacehaven; a place they could rest, and heal, together. It was a beautiful thought.

"You will come with me tomorrow, won't you?" she asked him, studying the soft lines of his face, so clear at this short range. "How long can you stay?"

At this question Harry grinned, and Ruth's heart soared in her chest, for with one look at him she found that she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"I mean to stay forever," he answered gently. "Today was my last day. I'm afraid I couldn't wait a moment more."

Ruth slid across his body and kissed him soundly, hoping that he could feel in her touch all the emotions she could not find words to express. That he had done such a thing for her, expedited his plans for departure and come to her at the first possible moment, was a beautiful thing, a gift she had hardly dared wish for. Before this moment she had been somewhat worried that she might have to go down to London and prise Harry out of his chair with her own two hands, so bound was he to the life he had lived there. And yet here he was, having made a clean break, ahead of schedule, for no reason other than that he loved her, and wanted, more than anything, to be with her. There was nothing he could have done to more clearly demonstrate his commitment, his devotion to her, and Ruth had recognized the gesture at once for what it was.

At long last they parted, and Ruth lowered herself to rest atop him once more, delighted and content.

"You're going to love the house," she told him softly.

"I love you," he answered. "The house doesn't matter. So long as you're in it, I'll be happy."

Tears gathered in the corners of Ruth's eyes, for she could not remember, truly, the last time he had been happy, the last time she had been happy, and yet it seemed that joy had found them, at long last. They had finally broken free from their chains, and closed the door on all the grief and heartache that had so troubled them in the past. They were together, and tomorrow they would go, would set their feet upon the path towards home, and there was nothing Ruth wanted more.