A/N: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed! I have reworked the summary of this story, in the hopes that perhaps it might make our eventual destination a bit more clear.


Beth stood in the hallway between the bedrooms and the kitchen, trying to decide what to do with herself now that she had stowed her meager possessions in Ruth's spare room. It was late, nearly midnight, but she could still hear Ruth clacking away at something on her laptop as she sat at the kitchen table, glass of wine close at hand. Should Beth just go back to her room and try to sleep, or should she go and join Ruth for a nightcap? They'd only just met and now they were supposed to be flatmates, and Beth had no idea what to do in this situation. She hadn't really spoken to Ruth much; they'd had a brief conversation over the phone when Beth called in from the ship, and they'd worked together on the op, but Ruth had spent most of the time closeted with either Harry or Tariq. Beth hadn't had the chance to get any sort of a feel for the other woman's personality, and the next thing she knew, Ruth was pulling her aside, in the Thames House lobby. You're to be given a permanent position on the team. We know you don't have anywhere to stay, at the moment, so you can use my spare room for now. We can share a taxi back.

And what an awkward taxi ride that had been. Her new flatmate had been quiet and withdrawn, staring out the window and biting her lip. It was fairly obvious that something was wrong; there was a sorrow in the dark-haired woman's eyes that couldn't be explained by the mission they'd just completed, or by her having been forced to take the new girl home. Honestly, if Beth didn't know any better she'd say that Ruth had been on the verge of tears, and though this concerned her a great deal, she was fairly certain that any attempts on her part to offer comfort or solace would not be met with approval.

Once they'd arrived at the flat Ruth had pointed out the spare room and the bathroom, and then retreated to the kitchen to pour herself a very generous glass of wine. Beth had taken her bag into the room that was to be hers now, and unpacked as slowly as possible. It was a nice, if somewhat spartan room; there was a bed with a soft white duvet, a solid oak chest of drawers, and a matching bookshelf. The bookshelf and the drawers were completely empty, but the closet was piled with boxes marked "R.E./Dec./5-D/Eyes Only." What on earth Ruth was doing with a bunch of boxes labeled "eyes only" was a mystery to Beth, and one which she fully intended to investigate, some day when Ruth wasn't home.

Even with her attempts to delay the inevitable, unpacking had been a quick affair; Beth traveled light, always had done. Most of her possessions were in storage, as she'd spent the last eighteen months bouncing around the Middle East, and so the battered old holdall she'd carried into Thames House after arriving straight off the boat was all the luggage she had to bring into her new home. But with her unpacking done, she still felt a bit restless, adrenaline from the op and her sudden change of circumstances leaving her excited and not quite ready to settle down for sleep.

Which was how she found herself dithering in the hallway. She had very nearly made up her mind to go into the kitchen and talk to Ruth when she heard the sharp rapping sound of a visitor knocking on the front door. From the kitchen, she heard Ruth sigh and close her laptop with a sharp snap before pushing back her chair.

On impulse Beth stepped further back into the shadows of the hallway and pressed herself against the wall. From her vantage point she had a clear view of the front door, but she was fairly certain that Ruth and whoever had come to see her at this obscene hour wouldn't be able to spot her. She wondered if perhaps Ruth had a boyfriend, and this line of thought led to some unpleasant questions. Was Ruth living under a legend? Would Beth need to concoct one, too? Would she need to make herself scarce when he came round? Oh God, what would she do if she heard them having sex?

This multitude of questions was quickly abandoned as Ruth unlocked the door and revealed her visitor. Beth sucked in her breath sharply, watching the scene unfolding before her with equal parts confusion and interest.

There, on the other side of the door, looking a little the worse for wear and utterly lost, was Harry Pearce.

During the brief time she'd spent in his company, Beth had drawn all sorts of conclusions about Harry. He was demanding and a bit sharp, but deeply invested in his work and his team. He was the sort of man who was willing to give people a second chance, but never without good reason, and never a third. He was professional, calm, and slightly terrifying. None of these traits were in evidence at the moment, however. He was swaying slightly on the doorstep, and he looked very nearly as sad as Ruth had done in the taxi on the way over. As she watched the pair of them, Beth took in every minute change of expression, every flinch and every sigh, and compiled them all in the back of her mind, to be examined and picked over at a later date.

Ruth was leaning against the open door, one hand curled around it as if she were trying to decide whether or not to let him in at all.

"Harry," she sighed, sounding exhausted and devastated and not even a little bit angry, "It's late. You should be asleep."

"I didn't know where else to go," he answered, his tone faintly pleading and his words slurring just enough to indicate that the Section Head had had a bit too much to drink. "Beth?" he asked, looking over her shoulder. His dark eyes were slightly unfocused, and slid straight from the hallway to the sitting room without ever once landing on the spook hiding just a few meters away from him.

"I think she's already gone to bed."

"I'm sorry to put you out like this-"

"Can we have this conversation another time?" Ruth interrupted him.

Their body language was all wrong, Beth thought as she watched them. One of them would lean slightly towards the other, and then catch themselves and pull back at the last instant. Ruth kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her head bowed as she studied her toes rather than look at him. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off her, staring desperately at her face as though searching for the answer to a question he hadn't yet asked. There was something between them, Beth realized, something personal and dark and awful, and curiosity over what it could be was winning the battle against propriety currently taking place in her mind.

"Let's not do this on the doorstep, Harry," Ruth said finally, stepping aside to let him in. He walked past her, heading straight for the kitchen, and Beth watched Ruth sigh again before closing the door, locking it, and following him.

Beth leaned against the wall, straining to hear the conversation from the kitchen. She heard the sound of a chair being pulled out from the table, the low grunt as Harry sat in it, the soft clinking sounds of Ruth putting the kettle on.

"I'll have something stronger, if you've got it," Harry said, his voice a low, gruff rumble.

"You'll have tea or I'll call you a cab right now," Ruth shot back.

"Tea would be wonderful, thank you," Harry responded in a voice that was very nearly docile.

Silence, again. A palpable, strained, horrible silence as the kettle warmed up and Ruth pulled the milk from the fridge.

Beth knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping. She barely knew these people, she had to live with Ruth and work with them both, but she couldn't stop herself. She'd always been a curious sort; that was part of what drew her into this line of work in the first place. She liked poking around in people's lives, connecting the dots, learning their secrets. It was a habit so deeply ingrained that she simply couldn't put a stop to it, even when she knew she should. So still she stood, and she listened.

She found herself wondering, was this a common occurrence? Harry had gone straight to the kitchen, rather than waiting for Ruth to direct him or plopping down in the sitting room. Ruth had gone straight for the tea, rather than asking what he wanted or what he thought he was doing, barging into her home at this hour. Neither seemed particularly surprised, that he should come round to his employee's home at nearly midnight on a work day, slightly drunk and looking like a little boy whose puppy had run away.

There came the soft sound of a mug settling on the table, and then Harry spoke again.

"Sweet tea," he said. "How very English." There was something heavy in his tone, like he was trying to convey some deeper meaning, and though his intent was lost on Beth, it seemed to strike a chord with Ruth.

"I can't do this now, Harry," she said in a voice that was very near to tears. "I've said everything I mean to say, on the subject."

"I know you have. That's not why I'm here," he told her earnestly. "Really, Ruth, I just came round because…because this is what I would have done, a week ago, if I'd had a hard day and needed some company. I just wanted to see you."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea any more, Harry."

Silence, again.

Any more? Beth wondered. So this was a common occurrence, then. She filed that information away for later. It was important to know how things stood, on the team, and she was glad she'd be starting her new job one step ahead.

"You smell like the inside of a whiskey barrel," Ruth observed finally, breaking the tension with her wry observation, and Harry chuckled.

"I made the mistake of going to my club, earlier in the evening. I shan't be doing that again any time soon, I can tell you that."

"Why did you even bother joining one in the first place?" Ruth asked.

Beth wished she could see them; the whole tone of the conversation had shifted, as if they'd reached some sort of agreement not to discuss whatever it was that they had touched on a moment before. Whatever it was that Ruth had already said her piece about, whatever it was that made it a bad idea for Harry to come round for tea and comfort, late at night

"Never underestimate the importance of perception. Belonging to a club like mine affords a modicum of respect, in certain circles. They made me jump through all sorts of hoops before they allowed me to join; had to have a letter of recommendation and everything."

"Oh?" Ruth asked, clearly trying to keep things light. "Who recommended you, then?"

"Oliver Mace."

The silence this time was sudden and sharp, and it lingered for a long while. Beth heard the quiet sounds of mugs being raised and lowered, of one of them leaning back against their chair, of Harry clearing his throat. Whoever this Oliver Mace character was, the silence that followed the pronouncement of his name indicated that both Ruth and Harry had a history with him, and, whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant.

"Where is-"

"Don't ask me, Ruth," Harry cut across her sharply. "Please don't. I don't think you want the answer to that question."

She hummed in response. "You're probably right."

Beth was beginning to feel a bit exasperated by the quiet that fell between them. They clearly didn't feel the need to speak to one another in order to communicate, and while that was all well and good for them, it was hell for the spook trying to listen in from the hallway. What sort of people could carry on a conversation as fraught with meaning as this one, and half of it without ever saying a word? The sort of people, she supposed, who knew one another very, very well.

"I shouldn't have come," Harry said eventually, his voice very soft.

Ruth didn't answer him; instead, after a moment, Beth heard her calling a taxi to come and collect Harry.

"Fifteen minutes," Ruth told him when she hung up the phone.

"Does it have to be like this, between us?" Harry asked her.

She sighed.

"We'll be all right, Harry. Like you said. We move on from this." She was quite a moment, and then she repeated, "We'll be all right," though there was something in her voice that made Beth unsure who she was trying to convince, Harry or herself.

"I won't apologize for any of it," Harry told her, his voice firmer, more sure than it had been all night. "I don't regret a moment of it, even knowing how things turned out."

Ah, Beth thought, so that's how things are between them. An office love affair gone wrong; how very cliché. Though they made a rather unlikely couple, to her mind; Ruth had to be at least a decade younger than Harry, if not more, and she was quiet and withdrawn where he was charismatic and volatile. The notion that they had simply fallen into bed together didn't quite match their personalities, and as she mulled this over Beth considered the possibility that they shared something more than just sex. In the kitchen, Ruth had found her voice, and was responding to Harry's non-apology.

"That's good for you," she said.

Ruth's words seemed innocuous enough, but apparently, based on the long lull in the conversation that followed her statement, she had just dealt a crushing blow to Harry.

In fact, they did not speak again until Harry's taxi arrived out front. They came back into view, walking too close together, both of their heads bowed. Harry turned around at the door, staring at Ruth with beseeching eyes, but she refused to meet his gaze.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry," she said, reaching past him to open the door.

Harry just nodded and walked off into the night without another word.

Ruth waited until he was safely in his taxi before closing the door once again. As she locked it a small sob escaped her; she turned, leaning heavily back against the door, and Beth could clearly see the tears streaming down her face. Slowly, as if she simply couldn't bear the weight of her sorrow any more, Ruth slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, pulling her knees against her chest and burying her face in her hands as she wept.

Though she'd found some of the answers she'd been seeking Beth couldn't help but feel rather guilty for eavesdropping on such a personal moment, and so she slipped back into her new bedroom as quietly as she could, hoping Ruth would stay lost in her grief just long enough to cover the sound of the door closing down the hall.