A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I'm having quite a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you're having fun reading it. I promise there will be more Harry soon.


"You don't have to come with me," Ruth said softly as they waited together at the bus stop around the corner from Thames House. "You could go have a coffee, or something, and just meet me after."

How very typically Ruth, Beth thought to herself, not wanting to cause trouble, not wanting to put her out, when it was Beth who had volunteered to go with her in the first place. Beth wanted to go, wanted to make sure that Ruth was all right, to ensure there wasn't a repeat of last night's breakdown, or, if such a scene could not be avoided, to ensure that Ruth wasn't alone. Besides, she'd already offered, and it wasn't in her nature to back down, once she had decided on a course of action.

"I'm going," Beth said, adding, "if that's all right," when she realized how forcefully she'd spoken. Ruth just nodded, and hugged herself tightly round the middle.

As they waited for the bus, Beth turned over her suspicions in her mind, wondering if perhaps she had been wrong about Ruth and Harry. That they had some sort of dark, intimate history was plain to see; after just one week of working with them in close quarters she'd clearly observed the way they spoke without words, the way they gravitated naturally towards one another, Ruth sitting at his right hand in the briefing room, Harry standing too close to her when she ventured into his office. But Ruth had been so distraught, so devastated, so completely torn to pieces by this news, and Beth had only ever seen Harry be kind to her; what if this child wasn't Harry's at all, and that was the source of Ruth's sorrow? It would make sense in a way, she thought, if someone else had come between them, if there was sorrow of another sort hiding behind Ruth's glorious eyes.

Beth studied her flatmate surreptitiously as they boarded the bus. Ruth was quite pretty, in a soft, understated sort of way; her eyes had a way of grabbing hold of you, and refusing to let you go. She was small, soft and delicately built, with a warm, low voice you couldn't help but listen to. Was she the sort of woman who could inspire such passions? Beth asked herself. That Harry loved her was plain, but could she have snared another, a man who did not share her grief and perhaps brought her some small amount of relief, in denying her pain?

Did it really matter?

"How long?" Beth asked her.

Ruth shot her a mortified sort of look, as her mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, and Beth rushed to explain her question.

"How long before you tell Harry? He is your boss, Ruth, you can't hide this from him forever. He needs to know, in case he tries to send you out in the field."

Ruth sighed. "Another month," she said quietly. "I'll wait another month. Harry never sends me into the field, he knows better. And besides, I'm not an invalid, I can do my job."

They sat quietly for a time, as Beth mulled over her words. A month seemed a reasonable amount of time, to her mind. Ruth could wait, and tell Harry before she really started to show, and buy herself the time she needed to come up with a plan. And while Ruth planned for her future, Beth needed to look after her own. Once this appointment was done, and Ruth had had a few days to think things through, Beth would raise the issue of her staying in the flat. If Ruth wanted her gone, she'd need to start looking for a new place immediately. The thought filled her with dread, but oddly, it wasn't fear for herself. She couldn't stand to imagine Ruth alone in that flat, distressed and crying and completely abandoned. And wasn't that a funny thing? Since she was fifteen, Beth's first and only thought had been herself, her own needs, her own wants, her own survival. And now, she found herself consumed with worry for another.


The doctor had raised an eyebrow, when Ruth insisted that Beth come in with her, but in the end the woman acquiesced, allowing "Louisa" and her sister to come back to the examination room together. Perhaps Doctor Peters noticed how very sad her new patient looked, perhaps she sensed there was some sort of tragic story here, and recognized how badly Louisa needed support in this moment. For whatever reason, she gave a curt nod, and shepherded them back together, chatting pleasantly about the weather in a way that set Ruth's teeth on edge.

Doctor Peters weighed her, and took her blood pressure, and then sat her down on the table, and started in with the questions.

"Right then," she said amicably, "do you have an idea of how far along you are?"

Ruth felt her stomach clench, and fought the urge to glance nervously at Beth. It was quite nice, having someone to lean on, someone to stand beside her, someone who didn't ask questions and didn't judge her for her mistakes. Still, though, Ruth had never been very good at letting people in, had always preferred the quiet of a small, isolated life to sharing the broken pieces of herself. The people she was close to had a way of leaving her, right when she needed them most, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing another friend.

The doctor was looking at her oddly, and Ruth realized she hadn't answered the question.

"It's been about six weeks, maybe eight," she said. Doctor Peters raised an eyebrow, so Ruth gave her the dates, explaining that it would have to have been some time during those two weeks. The doctor didn't need to know what had precipitated that fortnight of madness, didn't need to know how grief and pain had broken through Ruth's steely resolve, crumbling her defenses and leaving her vulnerable, weak and helpless in the face of damning love.

"Right," Doctor Peters said, scribbling some notes on the chart she clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. "We'll take a urine sample today, and I've got some literature here for you, foods to avoid, suggestions for baby friendly exercises, directions on what supplements you should take, that sort of thing."

Ruth nodded dumbly, but before she could speak, Beth chimed in, catching her off guard. Funny that, she thought, biting back a small smile. Beth had been supportive and kind and not at all judgmental, and here she was, asking questions, trying to shoulder some of Ruth's burden.

"Will you do a scan, today?" Beth asked curiously.

The doctor shook her head. "We normally wait until the three month appointment to do the scan. The baby's still quite tiny, not much to see yet."

But it's there, Ruth thought, still shocked by the very idea. It's there somewhere, this tiny little thing.

"That does bring me to something else we need to discuss, Louisa," Doctor Peters continued in an almost patronizing sort of tone. "We consider any mother over thirty-five to be high risk. I have to ask, do you have any history of miscarriage or other reproductive issues?"

Ruth felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs, and she struggled for a moment to center herself, to find a sense of calm as her heart thundered against her chest.

No, God, no, don't ask me that, don't make me say it, please.

It wasn't just that Beth was there, though she certainly didn't want to discuss this with the girl; it was that Ruth had never said the words aloud, not even on that awful night in the hospital with Jo sitting right beside her, carrying her through. If she said it, if she gave voice to that awful, unbearable secret, somehow that made it real. And if it was real she could not hide from it, could not pretend it had never happened, could not go on being the woman she had been, before.

The doctor wore a sympathetic expression; perhaps Ruth's pain was too obvious to be missed, the answer writ large across her face, but still the doctor did not speak, waiting for Ruth's answer.

Say it.

"Once," Ruth said softly, hardly able to hear her own voice. "Last year. I was only about nine weeks gone. Stress-induced, they said."


Shit, Beth thought.

This was supposed to be fun, just two friends, out on a bit of an adventure, checking up on the baby and making plans for the future. Whatever she'd expected, it certainly wasn't this, wasn't the haunted look on Ruth's face or the soft, broken sound of her voice as she revealed her grief to the doctor. There was a moment, just an instant when Doctor Peters's face showed her surprise, at the words stress-induced, and Beth could almost hear the unspoken question. What the hell kind of stress had Ruth endured, that it could inflict such devastation?

Rather than ask so bluntly, the doctor approached the question obliquely. "What is it you do for work, Louisa?" Likely she had intended to sound kind, reassuring, but her words came off strangely intrusive. Beth felt her anger rise, on Ruth's behalf, but Ruth just hugged herself tightly and answered the question, her eyes trained on the floor.

"I'm a PA, at the Home Office. It wasn't work," she continued, her voice strangely distant, as if it were some other person speaking, relaying the information third-hand. "My husband, he…he died, rather unexpectedly."

Likely that was more information than the doctor needed, and certainly more information than Beth needed, but it seemed Ruth couldn't stop herself, like the words just kept coming out of her, and no way to stop them.

Is that true? Beth asked herself desperately. Look at her face. Is it true?

She stole a glance at Ruth, but her face was blank and unreadable. It might have been true, and if it was, it certainly explained some things, not least of all her hesitation to give into whatever feelings she harbored for Harry. But Ruth had never mentioned anything, and there was no sign that anyone else had ever lived in that little flat, had ever shared her life in that way. Was it just part of the legend, a cover for something even more insidious? What hadn't Ruth lost, in the name of the Service?

"I'm sorry to hear that Louisa, really I am. But that's helpful for us to know. So far, you appear to be perfectly healthy, and we'll do everything we can to make sure you stay that way," Doctor Peters said finally. "There's just one last thing. As I said, your age does put you at risk, and when dealing with mothers over a certain age, it's common practice to preform an amniocentesis, usually around 14 to 16 weeks in, to test for any abnormalities."

"Is that the one with the bloody big needle?" Beth asked before she could stop herself. Beside her, Ruth laughed, just a tiny little chuckle really, but it was enough to let Beth know that she hadn't overstepped, and that Ruth wasn't in danger of falling apart the way she had the night before.

The doctor gave her a small, indulgent smile. "Yes, it does involve a needle. The test is completely optional, but we do recommend it. It's the best way for us to make sure that everything is as it should be."

"14 to 16 weeks," Ruth said aloud.

"Right. So you've got plenty of time to think it over, and when you come back in a few weeks for your three month check, you can let us know what you've decided."

Ruth nodded, and did not speak again.


On the bus back to Thames House Ruth stowed the paperwork and the little bottle of vitamins the doctor had given her in the depths of her handbag, and mulled over everything she'd been told today. She made a mental note to do some research on the procedure the doctor had explained to her, determine if it was truly safe or truly necessary. The thought of a needle anywhere her stomach and the little person growing inside it repulsed her on a fundamental level, and that sharp, instinctual disgust gave her pause. Already, she felt so possessive of this little thing; Doctor Peters said it was probably not even two centimeters long, right now, barely the size of a peanut. Which of course, had led to Beth christening the baby "peanut"; she had insisted with almost childlike glee that they had to call the baby something, that they couldn't keep referring to it as "it". Her enthusiasm was infectious, and sustaining, in its own way. If Beth could be excited about this, could be hopeful for the future, then maybe Ruth could be, too.

Hello, peanut, Ruth thought, leaning back against the bus seat and gently resting her hand against her stomach, underneath the fold of her coat. I know you're in there. We're going to get through this, you and me.


Ruth was trying to be discrete about it, but Beth could see that the other woman was resting her hand lightly on her stomach, a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips as they rode along in silence, making their way back to Thames House.

That's good, Beth thought, relieved. Be happy, Ruth. It's not the end of the world.