Breathe. Just breathe. Everything is fine. Just breathe.

Ruth repeated the words over and over again as she walked slowly through the clinic, a mantra to slow the frantic stuttering of her heart in her chest. Before she'd left Thames House Tariq had fitted her with a button cam and a mic and an earpiece and wished her good luck as he sent her on her way. That meant that in the forgery suite he could see and hear everything she could, but she took little comfort in that fact. She knew Harry had to be sitting beside Tariq now, listening to the feeds from all the coms; ordinarily, he would have sequestered himself in his office, but she was the one in the field today, and she knew that he would be more watchful because of it. There was no buzzing in her ear at the moment, however; Ruth had requested radio silence on her end, not wanting the chatter between Lucas and Beth and Dimitri and Tariq to distract her.

Most likely Medea was nowhere near this clinic. There were three possible targets, circled on the map Beth had found in the woman's home, and there was always a chance that Medea had simply fled, once she realized she'd been found out. Their suspect could be halfway to freedom, by now, running hard and fast, and all their efforts could be for naught.

Or she could be here, hiding just around that corner, a small, terrified voice whispered in the back of Ruth's mind as she walked.

Tariq had promised to inform her, if any of the other teams found Medea before she did, and so far, there had been no word from him.

So still, she walked.

It was funny, how easily she could blend into a crowd. Fading from sight had always been a special skill of hers, and she'd honed it over time. No one took notice of her, anymore; she was just a slight woman in dark clothes, a woman who wore almost no jewelry, and no make-up, and nothing about her appearance would stick in anyone's mind, after she was gone. Ruth had left the chunky necklaces and bright lipsticks of her youth far behind her, fully embracing her role as a spook, a walking shadow, and she was grateful for it now. She kept her head down, watching the clinic pass by her through thick eyelashes, clocking every face and breathing a small sigh of relief every time she registered someone other than Hannah McCallister.

Volunteering to come out to this clinic had perhaps been a bit foolish, but she truly believed she had to go. Tariq was needed on the Grid, to monitor the tech and direct traffic. Beth and the rest of the field spooks were already out in the city, checking other possible locations. Someone had to confirm that this clinic was not the target, and it needed to be done sooner rather than later. With everyone else gone, Ruth was the senior officer on the Grid, and she knew the task fell to her. That didn't mean she was happy about it; putting herself in danger was one thing, but she had taken the peanut along for the ride, and the knowledge that she was willingly putting him at risk made her uneasy. What kind of mother would do that to her child? She asked herself.

She'd reached the end of a long hall; a door barred her path, the words employees only marked on it in heavy black letters. This wasn't the way to the examination rooms, she knew; those were far behind her, and she had already verified that Medea wasn't there. A break room, perhaps?

No one else had come this way, and Ruth supposed whatever was on the other side of that door wasn't a popular destination, inside the clinic. As she drew level with the door she saw the security on it was minimal; no pin-pad or ID card scanner, here, just a good old fashioned lock.

A lock that someone else had already picked, she realized. The door was open, just a crack, but open nonetheless.

Here we go, she thought grimly.

As quietly as she could, Ruth pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

She found herself in another short, deserted corridor, turning sharply to the left just ahead. There were no doors leading off the hall, and she had no choice but to continue on. Tariq was watching, she knew, and Harry, too; Lucas was on his way, would be here any minute. All she had to do was walk, and then run, if she saw anything conspicuous.

Two more steps, and she rounded the corner. There were a few doors here, leading off to the left and the right, but only one was open. The hall was eerily silent; even her own footsteps made no noise as she approached that open door. A small sign hung on the door, bearing the word Security.

Fantastic, Ruth thought, her heart beating even more quickly now as she fought the urge to turn tail and run. Keep going, she told herself, you always wanted to be a proper spy.

As carefully as she could, Ruth moved through the open doorway, trying not to make a sound.

There was a bank of monitors across the room from her, each of them running a black and white video feed, presumably from the security cameras upstairs. Ruth took another step, her eyes going to the corners of the room, searching for movement, some sign that she was not alone. She found none.

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief, and lowered her head, her lips parting as she prepared herself to give Tariq the all-clear.

Before she ever got the chance, the door slammed shut behind her.

Shit, she thought.


"Shit!" Tariq swore as the sound of the door closing echoed through the speakers and Ruth spun around, the button cam he'd fastened to her coat going fuzzy for a moment before it refocused on the image of Hannah McCallister, their Medea, with a trigger clutched in her hand and an expression of unhinged fury coloring her features.

Beth had only just come skidding into the forgery suite, returning to Thames House on Harry's orders after leaving a contingent of plainclothes police officers in charge of searching the clinic she'd originally intended to visit herself. Harry had been insistent that she return; you wanted to run this op, he'd said, and I need a field agent on the Grid, in case things go south. Lucas is on his way to meet up with Ruth; you come back to base. Now.

So she had, though in her heart she feared that Ruth needed her, that she ought to be the one walking alone through that clinic in Whitfield, not Ruth. Now was not the time for questioning Harry's orders, though, when Beth was the one who'd lost the mark, the one who had failed to obtain any useful information about the potential threat in the first place. Perhaps this was Harry's way of punishing her, forcing her to sit idle and watch while her friends risked their lives, their safety compromised because of her, because of her failures.

Harry was seated next to Tariq, and the moment Medea's face came into view he tensed, his whole body suddenly tight and immobile.

"Put your hands above your head," Medea said in a quiet voice.

The camera didn't afford them the luxury of seeing Ruth's face; all they saw was Medea, and the trigger she held, thrust out in front of her as if it were a gun. The mic, on the other hand, brought them perfect surround sound; they heard the rustling of fabric, as Ruth followed her captor's orders, and raised her hands.

"I'm unarmed," Ruth said in an unsteady voice.

Beth curled her fingers around the back of Tariq's chair, shocked into silence as horror rose in her throat.

Not Ruth, please not Ruth, she was so happy, she couldn't stop looking at that stupid bloody scan…

Tariq was speaking quietly to Lucas and Dimitri, ordering bomb disposal and as many CO-19 officers as they could get their hands on down to the Whitfield Street clinic.

"Take off your coat," Medea said, and Ruth did as ordered. The video shuddered for a moment, as Ruth removed her coat and Medea took it, hanging it up neatly on a peg beside the door. Their perspective shifted, able to take in the sight of both women, Ruth pale but resolved as she stood very still in the center of the room with her hands raised up high, Medea furious but calm as she kept her finger much too close to the trip switch for Beth's liking.

"What are you? Police?" Medea sneered. It was clear she thought she had the upper hand, and, for the moment, Beth had to agree with her.

"No. Security Services. My name is Louisa Ramsay," Ruth answered.

"You're a spook?" Medea seemed impressed, that she warranted that kind of attention.

Ruth nodded. "Can I put my hands down, now?" she asked.

"Sit, there. And be quiet." Medea gestured towards an empty chair in front of the monitors, and Ruth crossed the room, folding herself into the chair and wrapping her arms around her middle.

She's waiting for something, Beth realized, watching the way Medea's eyes kept flickering to the screens in the back of the room. Whatever signal was coming, Beth hoped it could be delayed by ten minutes. Ten minutes was all they needed, to get armed officers into that clinic, and then they could-

"The minute I see one of your people come through that door, I'm blowing us all to hell," Medea said quietly.

"I have absolutely no way of telling them that," Ruth said. "My mobile's in my coat pocket, and I didn't have time to put on a mic before I left."

Smart girl, Beth thought, even as she trembled with fear. It was a good plan; it would make Medea think they were completely alone, make her think that Ruth was completely vulnerable, and maybe, just maybe, it would give the rest of them a chance to think of a new approach.

Harry leaned forward, and spoke to Lucas briefly, asking him if there were any women amongst the various field officers and plods he'd managed to collect on his whirlwind jaunt around the city. A woman entering the clinic alone, or in the company of one man, would raise far less suspicion than Lucas storming in there by himself. They had to get to Ruth, they had to.

"How did you get so lucky, sent down here all by yourself?" Medea asked, leaning back against the door and checking her watch. She seemed remarkably calm, for a woman who was about to kill herself and forty or so other people.

Ruth shrugged. "There was no one else. I'm just an analyst, I'm not even supposed to be here. But someone had to come."

Lucas reported back to Harry- they were still ten minutes out, slowed by traffic (even though they were running straight through every light on the way), and there wasn't a single woman on his team.

"I really shouldn't be here," Ruth said, a slight note of panic in her voice. Beth couldn't be sure if that fear was real or feigned, if Ruth was really losing her grip or if she was just playing for time.

"Yeah, well-"

"No, you don't understand." There was something about Ruth's eyes, about the way they shone when her emotions were high; no one, not even Medea, could look away when Ruth turned that pleading gaze on them. "I'm pregnant."

Shit.

Harry drew in a sharp breath, rising from his chair then sitting back down again abruptly, clenching and unclenching his fists as if his brain had just short-circuited and he suddenly didn't know what to do with his body. His eyes were trained on Ruth's face, grainy on the video screen. Tariq spun around in his chair and shot Beth a confused look; for her part, Beth just shrugged, and held her breath.

Medea laughed. "You really think I'm going to believe that?"

"Look in my coat pocket. The left side. Please."

The plan was clear to Beth now; tell Medea the whole sad story, pique her interest, keep her talking, and pray for a miracle.

For a moment their suspect did not move; from this angle only her profile was visible, but it was clear her eyes were fixed on Ruth, evaluating, considering, plotting. Believe her, Beth prayed, believe her, it's the bloody truth, just believe her!

Ever so slowly, never once taking her eyes from Ruth's face, Medea edged along the wall, her body obstructing their view for a moment as she dug through Ruth's coat pocket.

"I only just had my first scan a few days ago," Ruth continued in that same small, terrified voice. "I've kept the picture in my pocket ever since. I still can't quite believe it's real."

It was Harry's turn to spin around in his chair and fix Beth with a piercing stare. Harry knew there had been no time before Ruth left to come up with this plan, no time to get their hands on a fake scan for her take with her. Harry knew that scan was in her pocket all along. Harry knew she was telling the truth, and based on the way he was looking at her now, Beth could only assume that he knew the role Beth had played, in keeping that truth from him.

"Harry," Beth said softly, trying very hard not to cry. He blinked once, and turned back to the screens.

"You could have picked this up anywhere," Medea said slowly, her gaze flickering from the scan to Ruth and then back again.

Ruth lifted her hands, and rose slowly from her chair. "Look," she said, lifting up her loose, flowing shirt, turning in profile so Medea (and Harry) could see the curve of her stomach, just beginning to show. "It's early days, yet, but none of my clothes fit anymore."

Silence fell again, and Beth worried she might pass out from lack of oxygen as she struggled to breathe and to keep her fears to herself. Harry never should have found out this way, she thought sadly. God, please let Lucas get there, please let Ruth get out of this alive.

Medea put the scan back in Ruth's coat pocket, and crossed the room to examine the monitors again. "What the hell are you doing here, then? You must know what I'm about to do. How could you possibly put yourself in danger like this?" Medea's tone was deeply accusatory, and it sent a chill straight through Beth's heart.

Ruth shrugged. "It's my job," she said in a soft little voice, adjusting her shirt and dropping back into her chair. "It's my job to keep this country safe, not just for my child, but for all the children. For everyone."

"Yes, well, that's very noble of you. Pity you won't be saving anyone today. Now shut up, I'm trying to look for something."

Ruth held her silence, and Beth watched Lucas's progress on a little monitor off to the side of the main array; he was still eight minutes out.

"You could let me leave," Ruth said after a moment; Beth had to give it to her, she really sounded like she was on the verge of tears. In front of Beth Harry sat leaned forward in his chair, hardly blinking as he watched the two women on the screen.

"We both know I can't do that," Medea said without even glancing at her. "You'll try to evacuate the building on your way out, and that's not part of the plan."

Ruth gave a little gasp, sounding for all the world as if she were fighting back a sob. "Then could I call my husband, at least? I'd like to say goodbye to him."

"Your husband?" Medea asked spitefully. "You're not wearing a ring."

Ruth leaned back against her chair, arms still wrapped tightly around her, as if she were trying to shield the peanut from this wretched woman and the horror she was about to inflict. "I never do, at work. None of us do. His name's Harry," she added. There was something almost hopeful in her voice, something innocent and sweet, like a little girl, clinging to some sliver of faith, however small. "My husband. He's a very important man, my Harry," she continued in that same gentle, vaguely optimistic voice. "A knight of the realm, and everything."

"Does that make you Lady Louisa Ramsay?" Medea asked. Something about her had changed, in the last minute or so; she was leaning slightly towards Ruth, her gaze focused on the security camera feeds but her head cocked to the side like a cat that's just heard a strange noise. Ruth had captured her interest, Beth realized, feeling a wild surge of hope course through her.

"It does. I haven't told my Harry about the baby, yet. We're neither one of us young, any more, and after I miscarried last year we…we'd given up hope, you see. We thought children just weren't in the cards for us. I didn't want to tell him too soon; he'd be devastated if we lost this baby, too. I was going to tell him on Friday night. I was going to cook him his favorite supper, and I was going to give him that picture, of the scan. He'd be so happy," her voice broke on the word happy, and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she wept (or appeared to weep, Beth still couldn't quite tell).

"It's not my fault you're down here," Medea said, trying and failing to sound stern. That's it Ruth, you're getting there, Beth silently encouraged her friend.

"What do you think is going to happen, when this all over?" Ruth asked her.

"People will have to face the reality of what they're doing, in places like this. People will stop and ask themselves why they're continuing to allow these atrocities to happen, every day. Your baby will die, but think of the thousands of babies that will be saved, when people band together to put an end to this genocide." There was a fanatical gleam in Medea's eyes, and the hope withered in Beth's chest. Harry was barely breathing, still hunched forward, and Dimitri and Lucas had gone silent as well, listening from their cars as the dreadful clash of wills continued.

"Are you sure?" Ruth asked. Carefully, now, carefully… "I told you, my Harry is a very important man. What do you think will happen, when word gets out that I died here today? The news won't report me as a member of the security services; we die all the time, there's nothing special about one more dead spook. Maybe they'll say I was a nurse, like you, a poor, pregnant nurse who died trying to stop you from hurting all these people. And then my Harry will go on the telly – he looks quite good in a suit, you know – and he'll weep for the wife you murdered, the baby you murdered, the future you stole from him. And then they'll parade all the other husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters of all your other victims, they'll splash their pictures all over every newspaper-"

"Stop it," Medea said quietly, but Ruth carried on, relentless.

"You won't be remembered as a hero, Hannah, you'll be crucified. You'll be the villain of the story. People will curse your name, and try to put as much distance between you and them as they can. My Harry will make sure of it. He will take apart everything you've built, brick by bloody brick." It was a brilliant speech, really it was; Ruth's voice rose and fell in just the right cadence, quivering with emotion, and the skillfulness of it made Beth want to cheer.

Perhaps the reason Ruth sounded so certain, so completely genuine, was that she wasn't exactly lying, Beth realized. If Ruth did die, today, if Hannah McCallister and A Better Choice were responsible for taking Ruth and the peanut away from him, Harry would not rest until every single one of them was destroyed. He would turn Medea's legacy to ash and ruins.

"And what happens to me if I walk out of here with you, exactly?" Medea's voice wavered slightly, as if she were frightened by the sudden vehemence of Ruth's tone, but not once did the woman look away from the security camera feeds, still on high alert, waiting for her signal.

"If you kill all those people upstairs, you'll never have a chance to change their minds. You'll never have a chance to talk those mothers out of killing their babies. Those children will die, because of you. But if you live - if you show the world you were willing to die for your cause, and then commit your life to it – imagine how inspiring your story could become. If you die today, your legacy dies with you. If you live…you can write whatever story you want for yourself."

"And what about Doctor Harrison? What happens to him? Who holds him accountable for what he's done?"

Tariq leaned forward, whispering quietly to Ruth, "Harrison was Medea's doctor, eight years ago. She was pregnant, lost the baby, blames him. He left his practice, and has been working for this clinic ever since."

When did we find that out? Beth wondered, her thoughts dazed and unfocused. How did we miss that? Why didn't we know?

Tariq turned away from the speakers to address a thunderstruck Beth. "We found out about him while you were on your way back. It solidified the link between Medea and this clinic. That's why we sent Lucas to Whitfield, as backup."

At the mention of Lucas's name Beth's eyes flickered back to the screen where they were monitoring his progress via GPS. He was still two minutes away.

Harrison must be the signal, Beth realized; Medea was waiting for him to arrive; she wanted to be sure that when she blew up the clinic, Harrison was inside.

"Doctor Harrison isn't coming to work today, Hannah," Ruth said quietly. "We thought you might be after him, and we told him to stay home." One look at Tariq's face told Beth the truth; Ruth was just making this up as she went, and if Beth hadn't been so terrified, she would have been bloody proud. She's a hell of a spook, Beth thought.

Medea let forth a wail of pain and anger, turning sharply away in frustration and grief, and in that moment, Ruth struck.

It wasn't a particularly heavy blow; Ruth had never been properly trained in hand-to-hand combat, but this wasn't an ordinary fight. This was a fight for her life, for her baby's life, and it only took one punch. Medea collapsed back against the monitors, momentarily stunned, and the trigger fell from her grip. There was a mad scramble, as the pair of them clawed at one another and fell to the floor together, dropping out of the frame. Through the mic, still securely fastened to Ruth's blouse, they could hear curses and the thud of blows and kicks, but a moment later Ruth emerged into sight victorious, her lip bleeding and the trigger clutched tight in her hands.

Medea's attention was all on Ruth, she wasn't watching the monitors-

"Now, Lucas, now!" Harry barked, the fury in his voice causing Beth to take a step back, away from him.

"It didn't have to be like this," Ruth said softly. "You could have-"

"What could I have done?" Medea shrieked. "He's a killer, he killed my baby, you know what that's like, you-"

The door burst open behind Ruth, and Medea sagged in defeat as Lucas led the armed team into the room, two CO-19 officers quickly taking hold of her, one on either side.

"Target has been neutralized," Lucas said in his calm, deep voice.

For a moment, silence reined, both on the grid and in that little room, buried at the heart of the Whitfield clinic. Ruth handed the trigger to Lucas, her breathing sharp and unsteady. The CO-19 officers started to lead Medea out the door, and as she passed Ruth she asked in a dead little voice, "Was any of it true?"

Ruth did not answer her. Instead, she pulled out her earpiece, retrieved her coat and removed the button cam. The monitor went dark, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Through Ruth's mic they heard the sound of footsteps, and then she spoke again.

"I'm giving my kit to Lucas, Harry," she said softly. "And I'm going home."

After that, there was only silence, again.

Back in the forgery suite, Beth was shaking so badly she had to lean against the wall for some support, and she felt herself in danger of collapsing onto the floor, the way Ruth had done so many weeks before. She's ok, Beth reminded herself, she's ok, the peanut's ok, everything is ok.

Without a sound, Harry rose from his chair, and turned to face her. His eyes were black with rage, a vein throbbing in his neck, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He walked right up to Beth, kept walking until his face was only an inch or two away from hers, and she blanched, trying to draw back from him, terrified of what he would say, now that he knew the truth, now that he knew exactly what Beth had risked with this op gone so horribly wrong.

The recrimination never came, however. He seemed to deflate before her very eyes, his shoulders sagging as he took a step back from her. Maybe he'd seen the fear on her face, or maybe he'd realized that his chances of holding his child in his arms were greatly diminished if he murdered one of his officers in the forgery suite. Whatever the reason, he turned from her, and left the room, marching straight across the Grid and out through the pods without ever looking back.

Well, he knew the truth, now. Harry knew Ruth, knew her intimately, knew her better than anyone else, and he knew the difference between truth and lie, coming from her lips. Ruth was not a consummate liar; the act she'd put on today only worked because so much of what she said had been absolute fact. He knew now, that she was pregnant, knew that it was his child, and if Lucas and Dimitri and Tariq had been really listening, they would know it, too.

What happens next? Beth wondered dully. Where do we go from here?

"Where's Harry gone?" Tariq asked, his face a picture of worry and concern.

"Where do you think?" Beth answered shortly, turning away from him.

She was willing to bet every penny she'd ever earned that Harry was, at this very moment, driving madly through London, running every light between Thames House and Ruth's flat.