A/N: I anticipate this being my last fic - other than the possibility of a one-shot here and there, and perhaps one more crossover fic with the Ruth Galloway novels - so I am beginning posting this in time for it to be completed by Christmas. I wish to thank the many readers of my work over the past 6+ years, and especially those who have been consistent and encouraging in their reviewing. As Sigma Creations once said, reviews are the currency with which we fic writers get paid.

The Grid - early September 2010:

"But I thought you knew."

Ruth can't believe she's hearing this. She stares up at Lucas, who looms over her, casting a dark shadow across her side of the desk. She'd hate to meet him in a dark alley late at night; he might be an attractive man, but he has a distinct aura of menace about him.

"But you're his Section Chief. You're the one in charge."

Ruth immediately regrets the emphasis she'd placed on the last two words, effectively casting doubt over the man's leadership skills. Lucas is barely in charge of himself these days, and the faith Harry has clearly shown by leaving him in charge of the Grid is a case of misplaced optimism.

"So I've been told," he replies snappily. "It's just that he said he'd be away for anything up to a week, and that I should ensure the Grid keeps running. Those were his instructions. I just thought ... never mind," and he turns away from her.

"What did you think?" Ruth's words, spoken quietly, have the power to turn Lucas' attention back to her.

"I thought, given your relationship with Harry, that he would have confided in you."

"There is no relationship between us .. at least, not in the way you're inferring."

Lucas stares at her, but Ruth isn't budging. If he wants to know more, she needs him to work for it. Their eyes each hold the other's, and Lucas looks away first. Ruth turns her attention back to her monitor. She hears him cross the floor towards the doorway. Lucas is leaving. They both know that the Grid will run perfectly well without him. Once he disappears through the doorway, Ruth waits a couple of heartbeats before she sits back in her chair, allowing a long sigh to leave her.

She has little idea where Harry might have gone. He hadn't confided in her. It's almost five months since the events following Ros' death had left a wide, weeping wound between them, never cleaned and sutured, never having been kissed better. They had worked side by side as usual, ignoring his marriage proposal and her curt reply, he consulting her, she offering her considered opinion. All was as if the event had never happened. `We move on from this', he'd said sagely. They'd not even managed to salve the sore that was his clear love for her, and her rejection of that love, so how could they possibly move on? It's not that she doesn't care for him. She cares for him far too much to risk marrying him. To bind herself to him in marriage only to lose him - under any circumstances - would be a wrench from which she'd likely never recover. And were she the one to be lost to him, Harry would likely lose the will to go on. She can't do that to him, and she can't do it to herself. Nor has she shared with him her real reason for turning down his suggestion of marriage. To do so would be to raise his hopes, hopes which are poorly placed, hopes which in all probability provide the fuel which ensures he still lives and breathes.

She glances towards Harry's office to see it in darkness. She misses his presence. She misses the wrinkling of his brow when he's worried, his fingers pressed hard against his skin, his eyes dark with some dreaded possibility he'll eventually share with his Section Chief. It is Harry's clear humanity which has her holding him above all others. Beneath the bluster and the moods and the posturing Harry cares about his country, and more importantly, he cares about its people. Wherever it is he has gone, there will be something, or someone he cares about, and this person or persons will need him ... more than the Grid needs him, and more than she needs him. Ruth doesn't wish to contemplate the possible identity of this person-in-need. Besides, it's none of her business, just as Harry is none of her business.

The sharp ringing of her desk phone draws her back into the present.

"Hello?"

"Ruth," says Tariq, "there's something I think you should see."

Ruth glances towards the technology suite to see Tariq, phone against his ear, his dark eyes on her. She can't determine his mood, but were she to take a guess, she would have to say that Tariq appears worried.

"Lucas asked me to check the location of Harry's phone," Tariq begins, lifting his eyes momentarily as Ruth takes the chair beside his own. Ruth rather likes Tariq. He is an uncomplicated man working side-by-side with a number of overly complicated men. He enjoys his job, and happens to be very good at it. "Even when his phone is turned off, I can trace it."

"What if he's using an untraceable phone?" she asks.

"I can do nothing about that," Tariq replies, his eyes on his monitor, "but I've found his office phone."

He says nothing more, so Ruth leans closer, her eyes on his monitor, where a green dot flashes. "Which is where?"

Tariq leans back, stretching his arms in front of him. "Keep in mind that he may have left his phone in this spot to put us off the scent ... or not. He took off in a rush, so I'm guessing he hadn't planned too far ahead."

Ruth waits. She knows he will tell her eventually. And he does.

"It's in Essex," he says, turning to glance at her.

"Essex! Why Essex?"

"I can't help you there. The location is Landsby. It's a small village outside Maldon ... on the River Blackwater, with views of Northey and Osea Islands."

"I suspect he's not there for the scenery," Ruth muses.

"Have you any idea why he might be there?" Tariq asks.

"None."

"The thing is," Tariq continues, "that phone has been stationary, in that particular building off the square, for the whole day ... which means -"

"He could be dead."

"Or ... he could have left it there, while heading off to somewhere else entirely." He picks up a pen, placing the non-writing end between his teeth. "For all we know, he could he in Paris .. or Amsterdam."

"Nice for some," Ruth muses as she sits back, chewing the corner of her fingernail. It's unlike Harry to go dark without informing his team, or at the very least, his Section Chief. Her phone rings from inside the pocket in her jacket. She grabs it, answering without checking the identity of the caller.

"I've been thinking," she hears Lucas say, "and the longer I think about it, the more I think that almost four days is rather a long time for Harry to be out of communication with the team."

"I agree. Tariq has found his phone," and Ruth tells Lucas about Tariq's findings. She waits while Lucas thinks some more.

"I take it someone has tried calling him," Lucas says.

"Tariq tried a few times, but the calls went straight to voicemail."

"It could be turned off," Lucas muses.

"I think that's likely." Ruth hesitates before sharing with Lucas something which has been on her mind. "Shouldn't someone ... go to investigate? It's only an hour away, and it's possible he's in trouble." Ruth pushes aside images of Harry, trussed like a chicken ready for roasting, his legs, arms and eyes bound.

"I'll arrange a pool car for you, Ruth."

"Me? I'm not a field agent."

"Maybe not, but you've known Harry for longer than anyone else on the team, and he trusts you."

Ruth considers for a moment that she should have kept her thoughts to herself. "Why can't Alec go? Or Dimitri?" Even Beth would be a better bet than her.

"They're both doing surveillance for the next few days, and I can't spare them. I'll arrange a car for you," and then he hangs up. Great. What has she talked herself into?

Landsby appears to be a village trapped in a time warp. Ruth parks the pool car in a side street next to the one and only pub, and enters the square, its shape more rhomboid than square. Along the short side is the village pub - The Landsby Arms - and along the long side are a row of shops - a Co-op, a bakery, hairdresser, and an Indian restaurant. Tariq had messaged her a map of the square, along with a star on the location of Harry's phone. She stands on the hotel corner, gazing around the square. It is past mid-afternoon, and yet only one person crosses the cobblestoned square - an old man accompanied by a border collie dog - on his way towards the hotel.

Across the square to her left is the building inside which Harry has left his phone. The building, like all others around the square is built from light grey stone, and like the hotel, is of two storeys. She could try to gain entry to the building, or she could firstly engage in some reconnaissance. She wanders along the pavement in front of the hotel until she reaches the main entrance. Once inside, she enters a darkened lobby. She is about to ring the bell on the desk when a blond-haired woman of around her own age enters from the passageway.

"Can I help you?" the woman asks.

"I'm hoping you can," Ruth says, immediately stepping inside her legend, the one Tariq had hurriedly concocted for her before she'd left Thames House. "I'm looking for my husband."

The blond woman smiles. "That makes a pleasant change. Most women who come in here are aiming to get shot of theirs."

"He's ... he said he was getting away for a few days. We had a fight, you see. It was then that I threw away my wedding ring, and he -"

"You don't have to give me a blow by blow. I've heard it all before. The last woman who wandered in here in search of her hubby had a knife stashed in her bag."

The woman is smiling, so may not be telling the truth, but Ruth's response is one of shock. "I might be mad at him, but I have no intention of causing him harm."

"I can see that. If you tell me his name it might not mean anything, but a description would help."

"He's ..." Ruth hesitates, wondering how best to describe Harry. She decides to put aside her own personal feelings in favour of the truth. "He's older than me ... blond hair, balding -"

"That describes half the men in the county."

"He's in his late fifties, and ... depending on the angle from which you look at him, he's a little overweight."

"Does he have eyes that look right into you?" the woman asks, placing her palm over her heart.

"You've seen him?"

"Not for a day or two, but I know where he's staying."

"He's not staying here?"

"No," the woman says, regretfully, Ruth thinks. Maybe she's rescuing Harry just in time. "I sent him to my brother's establishment across the square. It's called Fisherman's Rest, although we're short on fishermen around here. He lets small, self-contained apartments on short-term lease, and now that school is about to begin, everyone's gone home. The hotel does good trade all year round, but his place tends to empty about now. Ask for Craig, and tell him Julie sent you."

So Ruth thanks Julie, and heads across the square to Fisherman's Rest. There, she is met by a mid-forties man with a crew cut and even teeth, as he steps from his office to greet her. He could be CIA, but she suspects her imagination is working overtime.

"I'm looking for my husband," she says, "and Julie told me he's staying here."

"Which one is he?" Craig asks, smiling. "The dark-haired, chubby one with the ready laugh, or Mr Average middle-aged executive with an attitude?"

Mr Average! Harry would be insulted, just as Ruth is mildly insulted on his behalf. "The middle-aged executive," she says. "I'd like to surprise him."

"Well," Craig says, scratching his scalp, "I can't let you into his apartment without his permission, but you can wait in there."

Craig shows her into a warm and comfortable living room, where there are two sofas, and several armchairs. In one corner is a TV, which is turned off, and along one wall is a book shelf bursting with books and magazines. Ruth already has a book in her bag, just in case she is faced with a situation such as this. She thanks Craig, and makes herself comfortable in an armchair. When Craig brings her a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits, she nods and smiles. Craig is a lovely man, and she finds herself wondering whether he is married, or partnered.

Silly woman, she thinks, knowing that any man who can make a decent cup of tea, and arrange biscuits on a plate has probably already been taken.

A little over an hour passes before Ruth hears the rumble of male voices from along the hallway. When she hears a voice which sounds like Harry's, Ruth places a bookmark between the pages of her book, before tucking it back into her bag. Only moments later, footsteps approach the living room, and she looks up to see Craig standing in the doorway, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. As before, he is smiling.

"Your husband asked me to send you up to his apartment," he says, before scratching the back of his head, making a sound like rubbing sandpaper.

Ruth nods. "He doesn't want a public scene," she says by way of explanation.

"Good job, too," answers Craig. "Landsby is a quiet village." He nods towards the stairs. "Your other half is in Apartment 3 ... right at the other end."

When the door to Apartment 3 opens Harry stands there, his face giving nothing away, before he steps aside, allowing her entry. He is dressed casually in slacks and an open-necked shirt, the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. She takes this in before stepping past him into the room. Glancing around her, Ruth sees a generously sized living room, at one end of which is a small kitchen. Doors lead off each end of the living room to which she supposes are bedrooms.

Having sized up her immediate environment, she turns to see Harry watching her.

"You took your time," he says. "I expected you yesterday at the latest."

"Why expect me? Why not Lucas, or Alec?"

"Because neither man is curious enough to believe I might be in trouble."

"And are you? In trouble, I mean."

The shake of his head is very slight, before he points her in the direction of two chairs at a small round table beneath the window. "Tea? Coffee?"

"A coffee would be nice, thanks."

Once they are sitting at the table, Ruth carefully observes him, attempting to gauge his mood. Thus far he has surprised her. At the very least she'd expected him to be irritated with her, even angry, but the opposite appears true.

"You're not wearing a wedding ring," he says, glancing at her left hand.

"I told Craig's sister that I was so angry with you that I threw it away, and now I can't find it."

Harry nods slowly. "Very creative," he says, before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Harry," she says carefully, once she has placed her mug of coffee on the table, "what's going on?"

He pushes his coffee mug away from him before sitting back in his chair. Then he watches Ruth closely, as if assessing her. "What I am about to tell you is for your ears only."

"What if it had been Alec who turned up here? Or Lucas, or Beth?"

"I would have reprimanded them, and instructed them to return to London immediately."

Ruth is confused. "You expected me to come?"

Harry nods, and for the first time since he'd opened the door to her, his mouth softens in a smile. "It seems I know you better than you know yourself." His voice is deep and honeyed, and Ruth feels a shiver pass through her body. Only Harry has the power to affect her in this way.

He suddenly gets up from his chair, entering the small kitchen space, where he opens a drawer to take out his work phone before turning it on. By the time the phone boots, he is again sitting at the table, scrolling through his messages.

"My trip to Essex on Monday morning was as a result of having received this text message."

He hands the phone to Ruth, who reads the message once, twice, and then a third time.

"But ..." she says, hesitating before she continues, "that's impossible ... isn't it?"

"Define impossible."