"What are you working on?" Ruth asked curiously, leaning up against Beth's desk with a weary little smile on her face.

Ruth had been strangely at ease, the last few days, after the Paroxocybin incident. Not happy, exactly, but not as morose as she'd been before, either. It was almost as if she'd reached some sort of internal resolution with herself, some sort of decision regarding the baby and how she was going to handle it. At first, noting the change in Ruth's demeanor - from the mopey, sometimes bitter glances and long, uncomfortable silences back to gentle teasing and even the occasional smile, like the one she offered now - Beth assumed that Ruth had spoken to Harry about the baby. Now, though, she wasn't so sure; Harry offered Ruth no more attention than he had before; true, he was a bit less gruff, a bit more open with her than he had been, but still, he wasn't behaving the way Beth would have expected him to, had he known that Ruth was carrying his child.

This not knowing was driving her quite mad, if she were being honest. She couldn't come right out and ask Ruth if she'd told Harry, because Ruth had said she would wait and because Beth didn't want to admit that she was entertaining the notion that the pair of them had had some sort of illicit affair. She couldn't ask Harry, because she didn't know what he knew and Ruth would kill her if she opened her big mouth too soon. And she was absolutely certain that no one else on the Grid was aware of anything at all.

Stubborn as mules, the pair of them, she thought.

"I'm keeping an eye on Amri Hassan. Low level fixer, supplies trigger mechanisms and other parts for bombs. He's been trying to get his hands on a Seva Gola for a potential buyer, and last night, he succeeded."

Beth happened to glance from her computer screen to Ruth's face as she said the words Seva Gola, and she felt a twinge of fear at what she found there. Recognition, apprehension, regret; they mingled on Ruth's features, her face acting for just a moment as a kind of window into her emotions, before she clamped down tight and returned to her usual neutral expression.

"A sweet piece of kit," Ruth said softly. "That's what Malcolm would have called it. Any idea who the buyer is?"

Beth shook her head. "We're monitoring a few potential extremist groups he's had contact with recently, but they're more interested in remote detonators, using mobile phones and the like. I was speaking to Harry about it earlier, and he suggested it might be an insurgent Irish Republican group."

Ruth's expression grew grim. "I bet he did. As far as Harry's concerned, the Troubles never really ended. I'm not so sure. That's a very specific request. We need to find that buyer; whoever they are, they're serious about this attack."

Beth fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course they needed to find the buyer, that's what she was doing, monitoring Hassan's phone calls and emails and organizing round the clock surveillance on the man. Before she could say anything more to Ruth, however, their fearless leader appeared and summoned her to his office with a curt nod of his head. Ruth reached out and squeezed her arm once before trailing along after him.

With a sigh, Beth went back to her perusal of Hassan's internet history. Once more she was struck by just how well Ruth understood Harry, by her innate ability to read him like her favorite book. His comments about the potential of an Irish threat had seemed legitimate enough to Beth, though he'd offered no evidence for his suppositions; Ruth, being Ruth, seemed to know better. No doubt there was something ugly in Harry's past that as his most trusted – perhaps only – confidante only Ruth was privy to. It must be nice, Beth thought wistfully, to know a person that well, to be that confident in your understanding of their history and their motives. She'd never really had that connection with anyone before, and she couldn't imagine that she ever would, if she continued down this path. MI-5 was full of secrets, and so too were its agents, every one of them an enigma, a puzzle that would never be completed.

She reached for her tea, and continued to read.


A break in the case of the mystery bomb builder came late that night, while Beth was sitting in the Forgery Suite, watching the video feeds from the surveillance team she'd put in place to monitor Hassan. The man had slipped out of his home under cover of darkness, and taken a dizzying, intentionally bizarre route to a car park near Kensington Gardens, of all places. She ordered one of the obbo team to follow on foot, where a small camera hidden on his jacket transmitted the grainy image of Hassan handing a small package to a redheaded woman in a smart black trench coat. The pair did not speak as the exchange took place; as far as drops went, it was rather clumsy, but effective. She needed to continue the surveillance on Hassan, to determine whether the Seva Gola was in that package after all, but she also needed to follow the woman in order to determine who she was, and Beth simply didn't have the manpower for that.

"Alpha One, stay on the woman. See if you can get a clear view of her vehicle. Alpha Two, follow Hassan in the van. Let's see if he's got any more adventures planned for this evening."

That done, Beth sat back, watching the simultaneous feeds and swearing under her breath. The redheaded woman climbed into a sleek black Lexus and peeled off, and her number plate never came into view.

"Alpha One, return to base," she told the agent who'd followed the woman on foot. Now they'd just have to keep an eye on Hassan, and pray that the images they'd managed to capture of their buyer would twig something on Tariq's facial recognition software.


"You don't really think there's an Irish threat here, do you Harry?" Ruth asked, leaning back in her favorite armchair. It was late, far too late to be up and talking to Harry on the phone, but she found herself restless tonight, unable to sleep, and so had decided to wait up for Beth. She'd come to look forward to their little chats, after they came home from work; Beth was funny and clever and the only person in the world she could talk to about her…situation. Her three month appointment was coming up tomorrow, which meant she'd be having a scan and seeing the little peanut for the first time, and she was feeling anxious and delighted in almost equal measure.

Time was moving faster than she would have liked; she'd noticed her belly just beginning to fill out, her skirts suddenly tighter and her shirts more restrictive. None of her trousers fit, any more, but she hardly ever wore them anyway, preferring the comfort afforded by a long, loose skirt. After her return from Cyprus, Ruth had purchased an entirely new wardrobe, and for the first time she found herself missing her old, baggy, bohemian clothes. Some of those clothes were still packed in the boxes of her belongings she'd stashed in the closet of the spare room – Beth's room – but so far she'd had neither the time nor the inclination to go through those boxes. Those things belonged to someone else, and though it had been nearly a year and half since she'd returned, she'd never felt quite ready to face them.

"There's always an Irish threat," Harry grumbled on the other end of the line.

Of course, Ruth thought. She knew all about the time Harry had spent there, the lives lost there, the scars he carried with him to this day, but he so rarely mentioned it, keeping a tight rein on his emotions around everyone – except her. There was a part of her that reveled in that, in the trust he afforded her, but there was a part of her that was terrified by it, as well. Harry's burdens were many, and Ruth wasn't sure she had the strength to help him carry them. She had burdens of her own.

"It's the Seva Gola that worries me," Ruth admitted quietly, trying to push away the thoughts of Angela Wells that had been pestering her all day. "Nothing good can come of that."

"Beth will catch them," Harry said firmly, and for once Ruth accepted his reassurance without question. It was nice to have something to believe in, in this world so full of uncertainty, and Ruth had chosen to believe in Harry. Pactum Serva. Slowly, ever so slowly, she was coming around to the idea of brining him in on her little secret, of asking him for his opinion about how they should proceed, no matter how terrified she might be of his answer. He was Harry, her Harry, and he would know what to do.

She'd have to tell him soon; she'd decided it might be easier to talk about the baby with him if she had a copy of the scan in her hand, some piece of solid evidence she could cling to, pass over to him like a copy of the latest threat assessment.

"She's settling in quite well, isn't she?" Ruth asked. There was no need for the question; Ruth already knew Harry's feelings on the matter of Beth and her place on the team. But she'd asked anyway, because she keenly felt the need to hear his voice tonight, and the only subject they could converse about without falling completely to pieces was work.

Harry made a little humming sound, offering his agreement. "I think she's settling in just fine. In fact, just this morning I was talking to Lucas about getting Beth a flat of her own. I don't think we need you to keep an eye on her any longer."

Likely his words had been intended to comfort her; she hadn't been happy about taking Beth in, in the beginning, and likely Harry thought she would be pleased to be getting her flat back. In truth, though, she would be sad to see Beth go. It had been nice, having someone to come home to, even if that person wasn't a husband or a lover. It was nice to be able to talk about her day, to settle down in her armchair with her laptop and her cat and just chat, and for once not to feel totally alone. She didn't dread going home, any more, didn't fear the quiet. Beth had livened up her little flat, had made it feel more like a home than a hotel, and once the girl was gone, Ruth knew she would have to face the reality of the future that awaited her. A future with just her and the peanut, this little person who would depend on her for absolutely everything. How was she going to manage on her own? It didn't bear thinking about.

"I haven't exactly enjoyed spying on her," Ruth said after a time, "but I've grown rather fond of her. I'm sure she'd like to have her own place, but I won't kick her out."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, processing her words; Ruth could just picture him, the fingers of his right hand tapping out a little rhythm on the edge of his desk or maybe circling the rim of his whiskey glass, while his left hand cradled the phone and his lips turned down in that little pout she adored so much.

"I'm glad you've found a friend in her. It's nice to see you smile again," he said in a low voice, and Ruth felt her breath catch in her throat. They weren't supposed to do this any more; by his own admission, late night chats between the pair of them were out of bounds, yet here he was, ringing her up just before midnight, bringing the personal to the front once again.

Before Ruth could formulate an answer, she heard the sound of the key in the lock.

"Beth's just come home," she said softly.

"I won't keep you, then. Have a good night, Ruth."

"And you."

With that, Harry ended the call, and Ruth clutched her mobile to her chest, wondering what the hell had just happened.


"Any luck?" Ruth asked in a strange, falsely cheerful sort of voice as Beth stomped through the doorway, depositing her keys on the side table in the front hall.

"Hassan made the exchange tonight, but we've got no idea who his buyer is," Beth answered. As she made her way through to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine she explained the situation to Ruth; by the time she was done talking she was laid out on the sofa, while Ruth remained ensconced in her plush chair.

"Shouldn't you be asleep by now?" she asked, and Ruth smiled.

"What are you, my mother?"

Beth laughed and took another sip of her wine. It had become a little joke between them; Beth was constantly pestering Ruth about getting enough to eat, about going to bed at a decent hour, about not working too hard. The truth was, Beth felt that her friend could do with a mother, someone to remind her to take care of herself. Ruth so often forgot to look after her own needs, but now she had the peanut to worry about, as well.

"I've had terrible heartburn all bloody day," Ruth continued, "and now I've got this appointment tomorrow, and I just can't seem to close my eyes."

Oh shit, the scan, Beth thought. She'd originally intended to go along with Ruth for this appointment as well, and had quite been looking forward to seeing the baby for the first time. Ruth had been doing rather a lot of research on the subject of fetal development lately, and had informed her just this morning that the peanut was now no longer peanut-sized at all. He'd be about the size of a lime now, with a face and little fingers and little toes and everything. Beth had just laughed, and insisted that "lime" was a terrible name for a baby, and she was sticking with peanut, thank you very much.

"Depending on what we've twigged on this woman tonight, I may not be able to get away tomorrow," Beth told her, hating that she might have to back out. Ruth deserved to have someone with her, and while Beth believed that that someone really should be Harry, she was more than willing to take his place until Ruth was ready to come clean to him. Which, she realized, should be any day now. This could get interesting, she thought.

"It's all right, Beth, I do understand," Ruth said, and when Beth looked at her, she saw the truth of that statement in her friend's eyes. Of course Ruth understood; the details of their day-to-day lives were unimportant, compared to national security. No one knew that better than Ruth.

"Still, though. I'll try to make it."

Ruth just smiled, and thanked her in a quiet little voice.


A/N: I spent ages combing the internet trying to determine the correct spelling for "Seva Gola", and in the end I wound up purchasing the Diana episode on Amazon video so I could play it with the subtitles on and figure out what the hell Angela was calling the stupid thing ($2.00 well spent, I think). This is just to say that, if you disagree with the spelling I have chosen, please blame Amazon for that, and not me.