Harry woke slowly, well before the alarm, uncertain as to what exactly had pulled him out of his dreams. Beside him Ruth was sleeping peacefully, lying on her back, her dark haired splayed out across his white pillowcases. It created a halo of sorts for her sweet face, the lines of worry and pain that often framed her features smoothed and almost invisible as she rested. He was lying half on his side, his left hand resting on the swell of her stomach beneath the duvet, where it had apparently been for most of the night.

For so many months he had dreamt of this, of waking up beside her again, and for so many months he had told himself that it was foolish to even hope for such a thing. Yet here she was, in his bed, and he was already half-hard just remembering the way they'd come together the night before. As he watched her sleeping, he smiled just a little, and words came to him unbidden, a memory surfacing from the recesses of his mind.

"Favorite work by Shakespeare?" she asked him as they lay together in his bed, her eyes trained on their fingers, intertwined and resting against the smooth skin of her bare stomach. As she waited for his answer she released her grip on him, and traced each of his fingers with the tips of her own.

"The Tempest," he answered, leaning forward to brush a kiss against her temple.

"Yours?"

She shook her head, blushing. How she could still manage to blush, when she was lying in his bed with his seed drying slowly on her thighs, he would never know.

"You'll laugh," she said.

"Tell me," he insisted, shifting their hands so he was gripping her tightly, smiling encouragingly at her all the while.

For a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer, that she had once again retreated so far inside herself that he would never find her again.

"Much Ado," she told him in a little voice.

"I do love nothing in the world so well as you," he murmured softly now, as he had wanted to do then. "Is that not strange?"

Ruth's eyes were still closed, her breathing still soft and even, and yet, apparently, she was not so deeply asleep as he'd thought. She raised one hand, to cover his own where it rested protectively around her bump.

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest," she replied in a voice low and thick from sleep.

Harry's heart was pounding madly in his chest; for years he'd wanted to tell her how he felt, had struggled to find the right moment, the right words, and now he had apparently gone and done it quite by accident. That she had repeated the sentiment seemed no less miraculous, yet still he doubted; they were only quoting lines from the Bard at one another, reenacting her favorite scene from her favorite play in the pre-dawn darkness, and she looked to be half-asleep still. Was this moment everything he hoped it was, or just another opportunity for miscommunication between the pair of them?

They were both of them saved from the agony of having to explain themselves by the timely intervention of the peanut. Beneath their joined hands, their daughter gave a tremulous little kick, and all of Harry's doubts vanished in an instant, to be replaced only by wonder.

"Did you feel it?" Ruth asked him, turning her head on the pillow to fix him with an excited, affectionate gaze.

Harry nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

The peanut kicked again, and Harry held his breath, spellbound. There was a baby in there, sheltered in the warmth and quiet of Ruth's body, and the reality of that never ceased to astound and humble him. They were two broken, burnt-out spooks, world-weary and distrusting of everyone and everything, sometimes even each other, and yet somehow, they had managed to come together and create this new life between them. This small, fragile thing, their little peanut, binding them together, forcing them to push past the horrible things they'd done to each other, for each other.

"She really needs a name, you know," he said, just to have something to say; the weight of the moment had grown too much to bear. Waking to find her in his bed, his unintentional declaration of love, the peanut's reassertion that she really was there, after all; it was more than he thought either of them could take, just now.

"I know," Ruth sighed. Still her fingers danced with his, beneath the duvet, and Harry was enchanted by her, lying beside him calm and still, for once. "There are just too many options."

"I quite like Sophia," he mused, brushing her skin with the tips of his fingers.

"It wasn't originally a name, did you know that?" Ruth asked him, her eyes far away as she recalled something from her studies long ago. "Sophia, I mean. It's a noun, the idea of wisdom. In some early texts it's used to refer specifically to the wisdom of God, an all-encompassing, all-knowing attribute beyond what man can achieve on his own. Hagia Sophia, for example, literally means Holy Wisdom; the church was dedicated to Logos, one of the pillars of the Holy Trinity."

Harry's head was spinning, slightly.

"So does that mean you like it?" he asked, confused and utterly enchanted by her. Was there nothing this woman didn't know?

"I'm not sure," she answered, and she sound so genuinely befuddled that he laughed aloud.

"We'll come up with something," he said.

He leaned over and kissed her then, his left hand still tangled with hers, his right hand cradling the back of her head. Ruth responded to him enthusiastically, her tongue dancing with his as the passion that had swept them away the night before rebounded between them. For a long time, he lost himself in the warmth of her body and the stillness of the morning, and when they came together again, she sighed his name in bliss, and his heart sang to hear it.


Everything all right?

Ruth frowned down at her phone, reading the text Beth had sent her late last night. She'd never thought to warn Beth that she wasn't coming back, and she didn't really know how to respond now that she'd left the message unanswered for all this time. Beth knew where she'd gone, and she probably knew exactly why Ruth hadn't come home, but this was all so new to Ruth and she wasn't sure of the etiquette involved. It had been a long, long time since she'd had a friend, and longer still since she'd had one she was comfortable talking to about things like this, personal things. Relationship things.

Fine. Didn't mean to worry you, she texted back, before quickly dropping her phone back in her purse, and wandering off to join Harry in the kitchen. As she walked she fancied she could still feel him on her skin, could identify every place where he had touched her, and she treasured that feeling, that tangible reminder of everything that had passed between them, last night and then again this morning.

"There's some toast on the table," he said, never turning his attention away from the stove. She thought she'd been quiet, but Harry had been a spook much longer than she had; perhaps he had other ways of sensing when someone was near. "And there will be bacon, too, in just a few minutes."

"And you've made tea," she said, smiling as she discovered a mug of her favorite herbal tea sitting on the table, ready and waiting for her. She took a sip of tea, and a bite of toast, and still her smile did not dim. So far they had spent a lovely, lazy Sunday morning in one another's company, and Ruth found there was nowhere else she wished to be, just now.

I do love nothing in the world so well as you.

The words echoed in her mind, Harry's voice so warm and kind as he spoke to her. She wasn't entirely sure what happened in that moment, as she'd drifted quietly somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, Harry's hands gentle on her skin and words of love falling from his lips. Had he meant it? She wasn't sure. Did I mean it, when I replied? That question at least she had the answer to. Yes, she loved him, with her whole heart, more than she could stand. Does he know that? She still wasn't sure, and she had no idea how to find out.

"Here you are," Harry said, sliding a few slices of bacon out of the hot pan and directly onto her plate, startling her out of her reverie.

"This looks wonderful, Harry, thank you," she told him, taking another bite of toast before tucking into the bacon with a will. She was always hungry, these days.

"I thought it was my turn, to cook you breakfast," he answered.

Ruth almost choked on her bacon.

There had only been a handful mornings, before, when they'd woken with enough time to eat a proper breakfast in one another's company, and each time, Ruth had cooked, delighting in the normalcy of it and in the way Harry's hungry gaze would follow her as she flounced around his kitchen in his shirt. Right this moment she was once again wearing one of his shirts, unwilling to slide back into all the layers she'd been wearing when she arrived the night before. The shirt didn't hang quite as loosely on her now as it had done before, but she still saw appreciation in his eyes when he looked at her, and she still faintly glowed at the thought that he wanted her, after everything, after all this time. That he would bring up those precious moments they'd spent together before shocked her; she thought that they had decided to ignore their previous attempt at romance, and thus skirt around the devastation that was their falling out. Yet he had not flinched from it, had been nonchalant as he brought up this heavy, unspoken thing between them, and Ruth had no idea how to respond.

"If you're feeling up to it," Harry said, carrying on as if nothing happened, "I thought we might pop round to the shops today. Maybe we won't pick up any furniture, yet, but we can buy a few other little things. The more we do now, the less we have to do later."

Ruth nodded, still thrown by his earlier comment, still trying to navigate the murky waters of their relationship that threatened to capsize her at every turn.

"I think that would be nice," she said.


When Ruth came home, it was half-past seven, and she looked dead on her feet. She collapsed on the couch beside Beth, propping her feet up on the coffee table and leaning back against the cushions, closing her eyes and sighing in relief.

"All right, there?" Beth asked, not even trying to hide her amusement. When she'd woken this morning to discover that Ruth hadn't made it home, she'd felt a triumphant sort of exultation. There was only one reason she could think of, for Ruth to go off to dinner with Harry and not come home again, and as much as she didn't want to even attempt to contemplate the specifics of what may or may not have happened between them, Beth was overjoyed on Ruth's behalf. As far as she was concerned, they deserved to be happy, and it seemed to her that the best way to make Harry and Ruth happy was to put them together, and let them be. So she had not pushed for details; she had asked for confirmation that Ruth was all right, she had received it, and she had left them to go about their lives in peace.

Now Ruth was home, and it was apparent that she was both exhausted (ew) and happy (thank God). It was almost enough to distract Beth from the unpleasantness of the conversation she knew she'd have to have with Harry tomorrow.

"We bought some things, for the peanut," Ruth said, her eyes still closed as she rested. "Little clothes, and a car seat. And a pram."

"That's exciting," Beth said, just to have something to say. Beth herself had picked up a few things as well; she gone round to M & S a few weeks before, and somehow she'd wound up leaving with a sweet little outfit, and a soft fleecy blanket, and a tiny stuffed elephant. She'd tucked the baby things away in the closet, beside the boxes of Ruth's former life, having determined to wait to give them to Ruth until just before the baby came. Beth hadn't forgotten Ruth's earlier terror, about the baby she'd lost, and she had adopted some of that fear as her own. What would they do, if something happened to the peanut? It didn't bear thinking about, and so the gift would wait.

"There's so much still to do," Ruth mused. "But it feels good to have at least some of the shopping done. Even if we don't have any idea what to call her."

"Hmm," Beth mused. "Call her Elizabeth," she suggested after a moment with a playful grin. Her attempt at levity failed rather spectacularly; Ruth's eyes flew open, but she did not turn to look at Beth. She looked rather sad, staring down at her hands clasped together in her lap.

"That's my mother's name," she said quietly.

God, Bailey, you are such an arse, Beth admonished herself. Only a few weeks ago Ruth had gone down to see her mother, and come back in tears, having learned that her mother was slowly losing her memories, and that the time for a true reconciliation may well have passed them by. And Beth had gone and brought it up, right when things were starting to look up for Ruth.

"I think I'll make some tea," Ruth said, mostly to herself, and with that she heaved herself up and off the couch, leaving a very contrite Beth kicking herself on the couch.


"Harry? Do you have a moment?" Beth leaned around the corner of his door, her heart hammering in her chest. The time had come to have what promised to be an incredibly uncomfortable conversation, but Ruth had given her a little nudge and an encouraging smile, and there was nothing left to do but just get on with it.

"For you, Miss Bailey, I have two," Harry answered in a whimsical tone of voice. He'd been in a fantastic mood today, but for once that didn't offer Beth any sort of reassurance. She was certain that he was happy because Ruth had stayed the night with him on Saturday, happy that they had gone and done couple-y things together on Sunday, and she knew with equal certainty that what she was about to say would spell the end of any residual joviality he might be feeling.

As she slid the door closed behind her Harry's eyes narrowed somewhat; no doubt he could sense that she was not the bearer of glad tidings.

"I have some concerns," Beth said slowly, "about Lucas."

Harry did not answer. He steepled his fingers together on his desk-top, and fixed her with a steely gaze.

"He's been acting strangely, the last few weeks. He's not answering calls, he's ducking out at all hours and refuses to tell me where he's gone, and…and Ruth believes he's been submitting false reports."

"Does she?" Harry asked in a soft, cold voice. Beth realized too late that she'd made a grave error, in mentioning Ruth's concerns. The whole point of her bringing this to Harry's attention was to keep Ruth out of it, to keep Harry's head level, and she'd buggered it up at the first hurdle.

"There are several instances of his GPS not matching up with the location he's given in his reports," Beth answered, tucking her trembling hands in her pockets to hide her nerves.

"And why is it you're telling me this, instead of Ruth?"

"Because I'm worried, Harry. He hasn't been himself lately. He's been evasive, and cold-"

"You're forgetting, Miss Bailey, that Lucas is your Section Chief, and as such, he does not answer to you." Harry was one of those rare men who could be more terrifying when they were calm than when they were in a rage. His steady, steely voice sent shivers down Beth's spine, and she was sharply reminded of just how little she knew about him, and what he was capable of. Perhaps seeing him behave so gently toward Ruth had blinded Beth to the fierce reality of him, but she saw the reality now, saw his ruthlessness, and she was suddenly afraid.

Afraid, and furious, that he would doubt her, that he wasn't even willing to consider the truth of her words.

"But he does answer to you," Beth pressed, her anger making her careless. "Something's not right with him, and you're the only person who can find out what it is."

For a moment there was only silence, as Harry surveyed her and her doubts grew.

Finally, he spoke. "That will be all, Miss Bailey," he said curtly, cutting short any further explanations she might have given him. Beth was fuming, but it was clear that Harry would allow no further arguments from her. She nodded, turned on her heel, and stormed away, leaving Harry staring darkly after her.

"That was quick," Ruth said in surprise as Beth approached her desk. Beth threw herself down into her chair, not wanting to risk a glance at Ruth, knowing the confusion, the worry she'd find there, and knowing it would be enough to send her off into a rant. She could not find the words to explain what had just happened; she could only hope that Ruth would recognize her fury, and understand its cause.