Ruth woke the next morning, gritty-eyed and starving, with absolutely no idea how she'd managed to make it into bed. She remembered her conversation with Beth, remembered looking at the pregnancy test in horror, remembered calling Beth by the wrong name, but everything after that was darkness. As she lay there, valiantly trying to marshal her thoughts, she vaguely recalled having a dream about Harry, about his warm embrace and his soft words, the sound of him humming to soothe her as he might a frightened child. It was a sweet dream, too gentle to be real, and she gave her head a little shake as if to banish the very thought. No matter how she might long for him, she was certain he had not come to her in the night. How could he have? How could he have known how desperately she needed him, how could he have known her heart was cracked and bleeding, mourning for so many different people that she could hardly keep track of them all? How could he have comforted her, this woman who had spurned him, scorned him, told him they could never be happy together?

Take a deep breath, she told herself. Breathe, and think.

Beth was right, she decided as she marched down the hall to the bathroom. She needed to see a doctor, sooner rather than later, and she needed to come up with a plan.

The water helped to ease her aching limbs, the heat of it and the familiar scent of her soaps and shampoo clearing her mind. I can't tell him yet, she reasoned as she stood beneath the spray. Most miscarriages happen during the first trimester, she remembered the doctor telling her last year. She couldn't be very far along; it had been barely two months since Ros's death, and she did some quick math in the shower, counting off days on her fingers and deciding that she must have gotten pregnant near the beginning of those two weeks she'd spent in Harry's bed. Another month, she told herself. Wait one more month. She could not bear the thought of telling Harry, of dragging him into this nightmare with her, only to lose the baby and break his heart yet again. Yes, she would wait, wait until there was no turning back from this, until she absolutely could not keep the secret a moment longer.

As she washed away the sorrow of the night before, she trailed her hands along the smooth, soft skin of her stomach, thinking. Funny, that underneath her flat (well, mostly flat, she amended in her mind) stomach there lay a tiny person, so tiny that she could not even perceive its existence, beyond the havoc her hormones had wrought over the last few days. A tiny little person, half Harry, half Ruth, entirely unique. What would it look like? she wondered. How would she ever explain any of this to a child?

Her thoughts drifted to Wes Carter, whom she saw once or twice a month, sometimes accompanying the boy and Harry on their trips to the dog track, making disapproving noises while watching the pair of them conspiring with fondness in her heart. Little Wes, growing like a weed, with his father's fair complexion and his mother's impish smile, completely abandoned in this world as a direct result of his parents' choices. Would she do the same to this little one? Would she continue down the path she'd chosen for herself, choose to stand on the wall alongside Harry until death and destruction claimed them both? Who would take their child to the track? she wondered. Which "aunt" or "uncle" would quietly take their child to the side, when he was old enough, and explain the truth of his parents' demise?

Oh God, she thought, exasperated with herself as the tears threatened to fall again. Get a grip.


When Ruth walked into the kitchen, showered and dressed, fresh-faced and completely in control of herself, Beth breathed a sigh of relief. She had been worried, upon waking, that Ruth might be catatonic after last night's torrent of emotions, too drained to function, but it appeared that she'd gotten herself well in hand.

"I'm sorry," Ruth said from the doorway, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. "About last night. You were wonderful, and you deserve better than having all my troubles dumped on you like that."

For a moment Beth could not find her voice. What exactly was she supposed to say to that? It's quite all right, think nothing of it, please don't be cross with me for calling your ex-lover round to talk you down?

"I was happy to help," she said finally.

Ruth nodded, satisfied, and crossed the kitchen, heading for the tea Beth had prepared. They'd gone through rather a lot of it, in the last twenty-four hours, and Beth made a mental note to pick more up on her way home from work. And then it hit her – oh shit – but before she could say a word Ruth reached the same conclusion, dropping her travel mug back down on the counter with a sigh.

"I'm not supposed to have tea, am I?" Ruth asked wryly.

No tea, Beth agreed silently, and no wine, oh God, what is she going to do?

"I think herbal tea's all right," Beth supplied helpfully, "you know, as long as it doesn't have caffeine in it."

"I suppose I'll get the full list when I go to see the doctor," Ruth said, leaning back against the counter, wringing her empty hands. "No soft cheeses."

"No swordfish," Beth added. She couldn't quite remember where she'd heard that, but she was pretty sure it was on the list.

"No sushi."

Ruth was actually smiling, Beth realized as she watched her. She was smiling. Last night she'd been crying so hard she couldn't breathe, and this morning she was smiling. Whatever Harry had said to her, apparently it had done the trick, and Beth was relieved that Ruth seemed so much more at peace with her situation now. Maybe this could be fun, she thought as she bid Ruth good-bye and headed off to have her own shower. Maybe they could do all those girly sorts of things Beth had never had a chance to do with her friends before, window shop for baby things and bicker about names. Maybe Beth could help decorate the nursery-

Oh shit, the nursery.

There were only two rooms in the flat, and Beth was sleeping in the spare. How long could Beth stay here, now that Ruth was expecting? When would she need to be gone? Should she stick around for a while after the baby was born, help Ruth with nappies and things? Would Harry try to reconcile with Ruth, try to talk her into moving into his? If he did, what would happen to the flat?

The questions swirled round and round her head as she went through her morning routine, feeling a bit selfish for being so worried about her own future when Ruth was the one about to have a bloody baby, not her. Through it all, though, she realized she quite liked the thought of being "Auntie Beth", of slipping the baby sweets and teaching him curse words when he was older, laughing at the look of horror on his mother's face and claiming innocence all the while. If they had to, she thought she and Ruth might make an all right team, looking after a little one, if things with Harry didn't work out well.

Christ, Harry.

Beth was operating under the assumption that the baby was Harry's, after all. Ruth had not offered a single word of explanation, on the subject of paternity, but the way Harry had come to her last night, the way he had held her, the way she allowed him to comfort her, all spoke to the intimate nature of the relationship between them. In Beth's mind, the fact that they had been lovers once, however briefly, was a forgone conclusion. It was just that thinking about whatever they had done, whatever had resulted in this little surprise, made Beth feel slightly…squeamish; she didn't want to picture Harry in those sorts of incriminating positions, particularly not with Ruth, but there was no denying the magnetism between the pair of them, the invisible cord that bound them, kept them dancing closer and closer, never quite touching.

Had Ruth told him yet? Beth wondered. There was no sign of the pregnancy test in the bathroom, buried as it was beneath a pile of spent tissues at the bottom of the bin. Had Ruth already thrown it away before he arrived, or had he seen it the moment he entered the bathroom?

Not one bloody word, Bailey, she told herself sternly. She couldn't very well ask Ruth if she'd told him, couldn't run the risk of voicing her suspicions aloud and bringing Ruth's wrath down on her before she had a plan in place. Conversely, she couldn't say anything to Harry, without knowing how much he'd been told; Ruth would be livid, she knew, if he heard the news from anyone else. The safest course of action would be to simply keep her mouth shut.

So she would keep her peace for now, and follow Ruth's lead, whatever course she chose to take.


By a stroke of good fortune, Ruth managed to arrange a doctor's appointment for that very afternoon, under the name Louisa Ramsay, a legend she used sometimes when dealing with members of the general public. It wouldn't do to visit the in-house doctor, or even use her real name; she couldn't risk having this pregnancy added to her file, revealed to her boss as a matter of procedure before she was ready to face him herself.

The only obstacle in her path at the moment was figuring out a way to sneak out for a few hours without arousing Harry's suspicions. Things were supposed to be a bit slow today, just clean up from the Westhouse debacle and routine surveillance, but Ruth's pattern of intense devotion to her work was so well established that she could think of no plausible explanation for ducking out early. None of the excuses she came up with as she stood alone on the roof, mobile in hand, sounded even remotely truthful, and she began to worry about how she could possibly manage to hide a secret like this for the month she'd decided on. Ruth was a spook down to her bones, could lie to anyone with aplomb and not a trace of guilt; anyone, except Harry. Harry, who knew her better than she knew herself, who could read her thoughts in just a gaze, who cradled her heart in his battle-scarred hands, would never believe her if she dared lie to him.

There was really only one thing to do.

Taking a deep breath, she turned once more to her mobile, pressing the second speed-dial button.

"Beth?" she said when the girl answered. "I need a favor."


The day dragged by, each minute seeming longer than the last as Beth stared at the clock and spun her pen idly between her fingers. She was still the new girl, given only light duties while Harry and Lucas tried to decide just how far they could trust her. On the Grid, Harry was closeted away in his office, phone glued to his ear, while Lucas and Dimitri finalized their plans for the next operation and Ruth directed a veritable army of analysts and translators with all the skill of a drill sergeant.

A little after 10:00 a.m. Ruth phoned her from the rooftop, asking for a favor. She'd arranged a doctor's appointment, set for 3:00 p.m., and she needed to be out of the office no later than 2:15 to get there on time. Beth had been surprised, when Ruth asked for her help, but she'd been all too happy to agree to her flatmate's madcap scheme. For one thing, it solidified Beth's belief that Harry was to be kept in the dark about the pregnancy for now, and for another, it gave her a chance to prove her loyalty to Ruth. Also, it sounded like it might just be fun.

The plan was rather simple. As soon as she hung up with Ruth, Beth went to Harry, and told him that she had a contact from her days in the private sector, an asset who could help them keep abreast of developments within a rapidly growing anti-immigration group. Of course, Harry wasn't quite ready to trust Beth out on her own, but Dimitri and Lucas were too busy to go gallivanting off around London with her. It was at that point that Beth suggested Ruth as a possible babysitter, explaining that they had discussed it earlier in the week, and that Ruth had expressed a willingness to go along with it.

They thought the plan might work, because Harry trusted Ruth so implicitly, or it might backfire, because he trusted Beth not at all, and would not want to see Ruth harmed as a result of the girl's actions. If they were lucky, and Harry agreed, it would also give them both cover for any future appointments Ruth would need to make. Ruth had even come up with a probable name for the asset (Richard something-or-other, Beth had already forgotten), and agreed to enter him in the system, if necessary.

Luck had been with her after all, and Harry had rather reluctantly signed off on their little adventure.

All clear. Leaving at 2:00.

Beth fired the message off, and leaned back against her chair, waiting for Ruth's response. After a moment, she heard the soft ding signaling Ruth's reply.

Thank you, it said.