"I'm on my way," Harry said shortly, hanging up without any further inquiry, for which Beth was thankful. He might not be the best choice, given that it was most likely Harry who had gotten Ruth into this state in the first place, but she couldn't help but recall Ruth's words to her on the train to Thames House that first morning. The only people who know the truth about what happened are me and Harry, because we were there. Perhaps the same was true in this instance, as well, and the only person who could help Ruth, who could understand her pain and bring her round, was the same man who had broken her heart in the first place.

Beth trudged back down the hallway, listening to Ruth's agonizing sobs only growing in intensity as the minutes ticked by. She tried to enter the bathroom again, but Ruth waved her off, only just managing to choke out the words, "Leave. Me. Alone." Beth couldn't abandon her in good conscience, so she sat down on the floor in the hallway, her back leaned up against the wall right beside the door, and listened to Ruth cry.

There was more going on here, she suspected, than Ruth just being upset about the pregnancy. She wondered if this Jo, and the boxes piled high in Ruth's closet, and the hiatus Ruth had taken from work were all connected somehow, wondered for the thousandth time what Ruth had been through, in the name of defending the realm. Was this to be her fate as well? Beth had to ask herself. In coming to work for MI-5, had Beth resigned herself to a life of isolation, of heartbreak and horror? Ten years from now, would it be her weeping alone in the bathroom of some soulless flat, with no one but a confused colleague to offer her comfort?

It was in the midst of this reverie that she heard the sound of someone at the door. Before she could drag herself to her feet, Harry appeared, having evidently picked the lock and walked right in. Though it was late, he was still wearing his work clothes, dark trousers and a thoroughly wrinkled shirt, his gold tie still in place, if somewhat askew. He marched down the hall towards her, his face like a thundercloud, but Beth was so exhausted, so mentally and physically and emotionally drained, that she could not bring herself to stand to face him.

"What happened?" he asked curtly, wincing slightly as Ruth let forth a particularly loud, animal sound of pain.

"No idea," Beth said. It was half truth and half lie, and the most she could give him. It wasn't her place, to explain about the night's most shocking revelation. Ruth was the only one who could tell him that, if and when she was ready. "She called me Jo, and then she started to cry, and she hasn't stopped."

Harry's expression grew even grimmer, if such a thing was possible. He squared his shoulders like a man about to face the gallows, and marched into the bathroom.

For a long time Beth stayed where she was, listening as Ruth's cries gradually grew softer and slower. If Harry was speaking to her, it was in a voice too low for Beth to hear.

It was sort of sweet, she thought, in a terribly depressing sort of way, that Harry had come straight over, never mind the hour, never mind that Beth had offered no explanation of what he might find. Not only that, he hadn't even stopped long enough to knock on the door, shoving his way in as quickly as he could, his need to see her overwhelming any moral objections he might have had regarding breaking and entering. Beth didn't know, might not ever know, everything that had passed between Ruth and Harry, but she knew that Harry relied on Ruth, and based on the fact that she could no longer hear her flatmate weeping, it would seem that Ruth relied on him as well. Perhaps Ruth wasn't completely alone, after all.

When Ruth had been quiet for several minutes, Beth finally found the strength to stumble to her feet, and peeked into the bathroom.

Harry was sitting on the floor beside Ruth, both his arms wrapped around her, her face buried in the front of his shirt. He was running both his hands up and down her back, and for a moment Beth could have sworn she heard him humming softly. The image before her was so incongruous with the Harry she thought she knew, the man who had stared across his desk at her only a few hours before and damned her as a betrayer. This Harry was gentle, and kind, and so painfully, obviously, hopelessly in love with the brokenhearted woman he sheltered in his arms. That love radiated out of him, from his very pores, shining like a beacon on a stormy night. That love made Beth's breath catch in her throat. She'd never been one for sentimentality, but she thought the tableau before her was quite the sweetest, most devastating thing she'd ever seen in her entire life.

"I think the worst of it has passed," Harry said softly, catching Beth's eye over Ruth's head. He carefully disentangled himself from Ruth, never quite letting her go, and rose to his feet to the sound of his knees cracking. He looked down at Ruth for a moment, as if considering his options, before he slipped one arm beneath her own, wrapping securely around her back, and slid the other beneath her knees. Ruth appeared to be half asleep, but she managed to drape her arms around his neck, holding him tightly while he lifted her carefully into his arms. As Beth realized what was happening she rushed ahead of him down the hall to open Ruth's bedroom door. Harry met her there a moment later, his face showing the strain of carrying Ruth like this, but his steps sure and never faltering.

Tenderly he lay Ruth down on her bed, and Beth watched from the doorway, feeling like a voyeur of the worst sort as Harry removed her flatmate's shoes, and covered her gently with the duvet. Ruth murmured something intelligible, and Harry responded by brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, standing by her side for a moment as though trying to reassure himself that she really was all right.

He'd make a good father, Beth thought sadly to herself, if he ever gets the chance.

Before she could make herself scarce Harry turned around, and saw her standing there in the doorway. Beth blushed slightly, all too aware that she wasn't supposed to bear witness to this most private of moments, and took a step back into the hall. Harry joined her there a moment later, pulling the door closed silently behind him.

"Will you stay, for a bit?" Beth asked before she could stop herself. "It's just that, if she wakes up, and gets upset again…"

Harry ran a hand over his tired face, but nodded his assent.

"I'll make us some tea," Beth said, and together they made their way back to the kitchen.

Beth's mother always made tea, to celebrate, to mourn, to console, to start her day, to end it, to give herself something to do with her hands, and whenever Beth felt at loose ends, unsure of what path she should take, she always fell back on tea. Harry offered no objections, so Beth set about heating the kettle up again, clearing the remains of the tea and toast she and Ruth had attempted to eat earlier in the evening. Harry was quiet while she worked; if Ruth had told him about the pregnancy, he made no mention of it.

"If you don't mind me asking, Harry, who is Jo?" Beth inquired as she set a mug of hot, sweet tea in front of him. Harry gave her a half-hearted smile in thanks, and leaned back against his chair, his small, dark eyes watching her like a hawk, searching her face in a way that told her he was sizing her up, trying to decide just how far he could trust her.

"She was on the team, before you came to us. Jo and Ruth were quite close. I suppose you probably remind Ruth of her; in some ways you're very similar." Beth could only hope that was a good thing.

"And what happened to her?" Beth still wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she needed to ask, needed to hear the truth that had left Ruth so utterly brokenhearted.

"She was shot in the chest on Ruth's first day back on the job." Harry said the words rather quickly, as though if they lingered too long on his lips he might be forced to face the harshness of them, as though he could not bring himself to examine them too closely. "She died."

Christ.

They were both quiet for a time, Harry remembering, Beth wondering. She had thought it would be easier, making sacrifices for the security of others, rather than constantly seeking out her own personal gain. She had thought she would sleep better at night, knowing she was doing the right thing. As she quietly sipped her tea, the sounds of Ruth's anguished sobs echoing in her ears, she realized she'd been a fool. There was nothing easy about this life they'd chosen. There was nothing simple about the sacrifices they had to make. Ruth, Harry, Lucas; they were none of them safe, none of them whole, none of them well. And they were all that stood between their beloved realm, and utter ruin.