A/N: This chapter takes place at the end of episode 9.5. I have once again slipped into Harry's mind for a bit here. Also, I'm playing around with dates a bit, I hope you don't mind. On an unrelated note, I realized, perhaps too late, that there was a typo in a previous chapter, which referred to the amnio as taking place at the end of the fourth month of Ruth's pregnancy. This is incorrect; the procedure took place at the beginning of the fourth month, as it's typically performed at around 14-16 weeks. I apologize for the inconsistency, and have now corrected it, so perhaps any future readers will be spared the confusion.


It's all right, Harry. I'm with my daughter.

Levi Cohen had been a friend of Harry's for many years, and yet, in all that time, they had never spoken of this, this one great and terrible sin they shared in common. They had both of them deserted their daughters, when their girls most needed a father. To be fair, Catherine had not been kidnapped and tortured by Harry's enemies, as had Levi's poor Anna, but Harry had abandoned her, all the same. He'd abandoned her long before the divorce, when he'd fallen into Juliet's bed, when he'd allowed himself to be blinded by duty, when he'd held himself aloof from the family that needed his strength, his affection, his time.

Catherine had always possessed a depth of compassion, of empathy, that never failed to surprise her father, and never failed to terrify him. How can I protect her, he worried, when she insists on putting herself in harm's way? He understood the hypocrisy of that, that a man who devoted his life to the defense of the realm should be so horrified that his daughter might share his desire to help those in need. It didn't change the way he felt about it, though. He had tried, rather ham-handedly, to discourage her tendency to get involved in other people's righteous causes, not because he did not share her concern, but because he wanted her safe, and well, and whole. He had seen what devotion to a cause could do; he lived that brokenness every day. This attempt at protection had only served to confuse her, to wound her, to push her further away from him, and it had taken years for their relationship to reach the point of occasional emails.

As he watched Levi Cohen, kneeling at his daughter's feet, holding her hand in his own as the life faded from her, the weight of his mistakes with Catherine came crashing down on him. She needed what Anna had needed; she needed someone to be there for her, someone to come when she called, someone to heal her hurts, and not admonish her for receiving them in the first place.

In just a few days, Catherine would be back in the country, and he had arranged a tentative visit. I'm really busy, dad, she'd written in an email, that most impersonal form of communication his only connection to his eldest child. I might have time for a coffee.

He'd written back as enthusiastically as he could manage, forcing himself to be as close to effusive as he had ever been with his daughter.

That would be fine. I just want to see you, Catherine. I've missed you terribly, and I would very much like to speak with you, in person, for whatever length of time you can manage.

His fingers had hovered over the keys, sitting there in his office on a Monday night when everyone else but Ruth had gone home for the day. For a moment he glanced away from his message, and as always his gaze went straight to her. She was nibbling on the end of her pen, a phone caught between her ear and her shoulder, her left hand pecking away at her keyboard. Harry smiled, despite himself; how typically Ruth, doing a million different things at once, and most likely excelling at all of them. From this distance he could not see the rise of her stomach; nearly eighteen weeks gone, and she was barely showing, but it was there, he knew, their little peanut, growing like a weed, safe and sound within the shelter of her body.

Their peanut; his daughter, too, as much as Catherine.

Things were different, this time around. He was older, wiser, sadder, than he had been thirty years before when Jane had first told him she was expecting Catherine. At that time, having a baby seemed to be what was expected of him, the next thing on the list marked becoming an adult, but he'd assumed (wrongly) that it was more to do with Jane than with him, and he'd steered well clear of it. There had been no sitting in examination rooms, listening with bated breath to the sound of his child's heartbeat, no picture tucked away in the breast-pocket of his jacket; hell, he hadn't even been in the hospital when Catherine was born. At the time, he hadn't realized quite how much he was missing, and it was only as his children grew older, and grew farther away from him, that he realized what a fool he'd been.

Fatherhood was a wonderful thing, and precious, and he had squandered every opportunity he ever had to be a good father to his children when they were young. Headstrong and foolish, he had tried to put his down and barrel through every problem like an angry bull, rather than taking a moment to remind himself that they were young, and that it was his job to teach them kindly, as much as to reprimand them. Strangely, his years of shepherding young field agents through dangerous operations had taught him more about being a father, more about keeping a steady-hand and an even temper, than the years he'd spent with his own children.

Now that Ruth was expecting, he was determined to apply the lessons he'd learned to his approach to the role of fatherhood. It was surprising, how easy it became to express his emotions, at least to Ruth. This thing they shared, though so unexpected, had bound them together, had given them a way to slowly begin to let the affection they'd always felt for one another show. Somehow that affection was easier to bear, when they centered it around their daughter. Ruth was less reticent, when he touched her now; when they discovered that she would be having a girl, she had let him hold her, as they shared their joy. Just the other day, she'd felt the peanut kicking, and had taken his hand and pressed it flat to her stomach, under her shirt, in the hopes that he could feel it, too. He couldn't, but he treasured that moment of openness between them. Her natural hesitance where he was concerned was tempered somewhat by the thought that these displays were for the benefit of the baby, and not for her.

So yes, he would be a better father than he had been in the past, but Catherine and Graham deserved to reap the benefits of his experience as much as the peanut did. So he would see Catherine, for five minutes, or ten, or however many she would give him, and he would try to let her know that he was a better man now than he had been before.


Ruth made the trip down to see her mother alone, in the end. It might have been nice, to have Harry by her side, even if he only identified himself as her boss, but there were some things she felt she needed to do alone, and this was one of them. Not telling her mother had been a mistake of the highest order, and bringing Harry along as back up would only serve to put more distance between herself and Elizabeth.

She pulled her little blue car to a stop in front of the house her mother shared with David, and took a long, unsteady breath. When she dressed this morning, she'd chosen a particularly loose blouse; she planned to tell her mother and step-father about the baby, but she wanted to do that in her own time, and she didn't want to draw any speculation before she was ready.

What will they say? She wondered. After all, they both thought she'd been dead these last three years. A cover story had been concocted, and Harry had even procured documents to back it up, should it come to that. Ruth would say that she had witnessed a violent crime, and had been forced to go into witness protection until the matter was settled. It was close enough to the truth, and spared her having to say things like I'm sorry, that's classified. They didn't know what she did for a living, and if she had her way, they never would. There are some burdens no parent needs to carry, and the fear that came from knowing one's child faces mortal peril with an alarming frequency was one hard truth she could spare them.

Before she could get her thoughts in order, she saw David walking round the corner of the house, a set of pruning shears in his hand. He always did love the garden, she thought numbly. He'd stopped in the middle of the grass, staring at her car, but she wasn't sure if he could make out her face from this distance. Even if he couldn't, it wouldn't do to keep him waiting.

She opened the door, and stepped out of the car.

As she closed the car door behind her, David dropped the shears to the ground.

One foot in front of the other. Just go to him.

She took one step, and then another. David matched her, his pace as cautious and uncertain as hers, and eventually, they met in the middle.

"Ruth?" he breathed, his face a study in confusion.

"Hello, David," she answered, surprised by how shaky her own voice sounded.

And then, rather suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him tightly, his body shaking with barely suppressed emotion.

David Shaw had always been kind to Ruth. Even when things were bad, really bad, between David and Elizabeth, he had always had a soft, quiet word for her. Every time he went round to the shops, he'd stop and pick her up a book from the library, trying to connect with her the way her own father had done. His overtures were awkward, and occasionally bordered on the hilarious, but he had always tried. When she was young, Ruth had resented him, for usurping her father's place. As she grew older, though, she understood how lonely they had been, David and Elizabeth, both of them with a dead spouse and a child to raise, and she came to appreciate him so much more. Peter had driven a wedge between them, as he and Ruth grew into adulthood and tried to avoid each other as much as possible, resulting in cancelled Christmas plans and promises to ring never honored. But still, David had never given up, and in a way, Ruth loved him for it. Not as she'd loved her own father, perhaps, but still.

"I can't believe it's really you," David said, his breath ruffling her hair as he moved back a bit, to get a look at her.

Ruth was surprised to find her vision blurred by unshed tears.

"Some days, I can't believe it either," she told him. He laughed at that, a slightly hysterical laugh that died quickly on his lips.

He just looked at her, taking in the lines of her face, three years older and a hundred times more sad.

"Come on, then," he said gruffly, taking a step back and clearing his throat. "Come have a cuppa."

She nodded, and followed him into the house.


"I'm sorry dad, I haven't got long," Catherine said breathlessly as she flung herself into a seat across the table from him. Ruth had gone down to visit her mother, and Harry had been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes outside a stylish little café, his coffee gone cold and untouched as he worried that perhaps his daughter wasn't coming at all.

"That's all right," he said. Catherine look surprised, that he should take her tardiness and her hurried attitude so in stride. Truth was, he felt a bit angry with her, for making him wait, but his anger was nothing compared to his relief, at seeing his daughter alive and well. "It's wonderful to see you. You look great."

"Who are you and what have you done with my father?" she asked suspiciously, sounding so much like her mother that Harry just had to laugh.

"I mean it, Catherine. I am glad to see you. How was Israel?"

"Hot," she answered tersely.

Harry hummed, reached for his coffee, realized it was too cold to be palatable, and returned the cup to the table.

"And Fabian?"

"What's this about, dad?" she sighed.

His open-hearted little girl had grown into a distrustful young woman, and Harry supposed he had no one to blame but himself. He kept a tight rein on his tongue, and tried to maintain an even keel. He tried to imagine he was talking to Zoe Reynolds, instead.

"There is something I need to tell you, but I would like to catch up first."

"Just tell me. I'd rather hear it now, then spend the next ten minutes worrying about it."

Harry took a deep breath. How the hell do I explain this? Start at the beginning. "There's a woman. Ruth."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at him. They had never, ever discussed his personal relationships, with the exception of a few occasions when Catherine had been shouting at him and the word whore had been bandied about.

"We work together. We've been through rather a lot, these last seven years."

"You've been seeing this woman for seven years?" Catherine's voice rose several octaves in righteous indignation.

"No, no, we've worked together for seven years. We're not seeing each other, not properly."

"Oh." She leaned back in her chair, wrapping both her hands around her mug.

Harry floundered, unsure of how to continue. What could he say, that would not send her running from the table in a fury?

"Go on, then. What about Ruth?"

"About four months ago, we lost a colleague. A friend. It was a…difficult time, for both of us, and we've always been close."

"So you slept with her," Catherine supplied for him, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, yes, but it wasn't like what you're thinking. Ruth is very important to me, she always has been," Harry protested. It wouldn't do, to have Catherine thinking it was just some sort of mindless fuck, born only out of grief. There was something else between them, something wonderful; there always had been.

"And yet, you're not seeing her properly."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "That's not entirely my doing. Ruth has been through a lot and she finds it difficult, sometimes, to be…well…" he trailed off, not sure how to continue. Catherine had a sort of shocked expression on her face; this was more emotion than she'd ever seen from her father, this conversation more personal than any they'd ever had. Likely she'd believed Harry to be just as cruel, just as heartless as Jane had always said he was.

"So what about Ruth? If you're not seeing her-"

"Ruth's pregnant." He said it quickly, before he completely lost his nerve.

His daughter flinched as if he'd struck her, horror dawning in her eyes.

"You can't be serious," she hissed, leaning towards him, anger rolling off of her in waves. "For Christ's sake, dad, you'll be fifty-seven in November. What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"We weren't," he answered honestly. "As I said, it was a difficult time for both of us."

"And how old is she?"

"Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine, the end of this month."

"Jesus, dad." Catherine sounded completely disgusted with him, and Harry's heart was heavy in his chest.

"I know. It's not ideal. But we're going to make the best of it. She's very important to me, Catherine. And so are you, which is why I'm telling you now."

For a long moment Catherine sat in silence, glaring daggers at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Harry felt rather like crying himself; he had hoped that this might be an opportunity for them to draw closer together, but all he could see was her pulling back, shutting herself off from him. It's no more than you deserve, he thought glumly.

"It's a girl. The baby, I mean," he volunteered eventually, trying to draw her back out.

"I'm going to have a little sister," Catherine said faintly.


"Where's mum?" Ruth asked as David handed her a cup of tea.

He sighed, and ran his fingers through his ruffled grey hair.

"She's not well, your mum," he said sadly.

"Not well?" Ruth's heart sat heavy in her chest like a stone. In all the time she'd kept herself away, she'd never really considered the possibility that her mother wouldn't be home, when she came to call.

"Elizabeth has always been a bit…fragile, and losing you was hard for her to bear. She started going downhill not long after you…left. Alzheimer's, they said."

Alzheimer's.

Elizabeth was losing her memory, and Ruth couldn't help but feel it was entirely her fault. How could I have done this? She thought miserably. How could I have hurt her this way?

"It's not your fault, Ruth," David said in a comforting sort of voice, reaching out to pat her hand lightly with his own. "These things happen."

"How is she?" Ruth demanded, her throat tight with guilt and grief.

David shrugged. "She has good days and bad. On good days, she's the same as she ever was. On bad days, she can be moody, and violent. She'd try to drive the car, and then forget where she was going. Once she wound up going the wrong way down a one-way, nearly ran right into another car. Or she'd forget that she was cooking, walk away and leave the stove on. I can't watch her every minute, so I had to move her into a home. For her sake. I'm so sorry, Ruth," he said, and at those words, she began to cry in earnest.

David rose from his chair, and came to sit beside her, drawing her against him and running a soothing hand up and down her back. He let her cry, and held her close, and never once accused her.

You did this, Ruth thought. You did this to her.


"Yes," Harry sighed. "You're going to have a little sister."

"Will I get to meet her? This Ruth?" Catherine asked.

That surprised him a bit; he'd fully expected her to have walked away by now, and the fact that she was expressing any interest at all in meeting Ruth seemed to him to be a good thing.

"I would like that, very much. She's visiting family in Exeter today, but perhaps later, if you've the time, we could all share a meal."

Catherine nodded. "I think I'd like that. I've got to say, I'm terribly curious. That doesn't mean I'm happy, dad. I'm so mad at you I can hardly think, right now."

"I know. You've every right to be cross with me."

Catherine glanced at her watch, and rose from the table in one fluid movement. "I'm sorry, I've got to go. I'll ring you, about dinner."

Harry rose as well, wishing he could hug her, knowing she wouldn't let him.

"All right. Thank you for meeting me today."

She started to walk away without another word, but Harry couldn't let her go without saying softly, "I love you."

Catherine turned, and shot him a sad smile over her shoulder.

"'Bye, dad."


"I'm pregnant," Ruth said, when the tears finally stopped and she found her voice. David released his hold on her, his expression an equal mix of surprise and happiness.

"Oh, Ruth, that's wonderful. Congratulations." He leaned forward, and kissed her cheek.

Ruth shook her head sadly. "But what about mum? She's never going to know her grandchild, and it's all my fault."

"You can't think like that, Ruth," David said sternly. "Like I said, she has good days and bad. I'll talk to the doctors about when would be the best time for you to go and see her, so she doesn't get too much of a shock. When the baby's born, you can introduce them, and we'll put up pictures in her room, to help her remember. On the good days she'll know, and that's all that matters."

"You're a good man, David," Ruth said quietly.

"And you're a good woman, Ruth. We've always been so proud, Elizabeth and I, of the person you've become, despite our mistakes. Now, tell me where you've been."