Ruth's anxiety had been growing steadily all day, as Harry sequestered himself in his office and Beth pouted behind her desk. Neither of them had spoken to her about what had transpired during their earlier meeting, but the outcome of that little conference was readily apparent to Ruth, who knew them both so well. Before now, she'd truly believed that having Beth deliver the news would be the best course of action, but it was plain that Harry had responded to her concerns with nothing but contempt. And now it seemed that it would fall to Ruth to smooth his ruffled feathers, yet again.

Ordinarily, she could calm Harry with a look, a touch, a murmur of his name; she would reach out to him, and he would immediately relax, taking a moment to reconsider whatever rash action he'd been planning. With stunning clarity she recalled the night of the bombing, when just the pressure of her hand on his shoulder had been enough to storm the hurricane of turmoil he'd lost himself inside. She wasn't sure it would be that simple, this time.

This morning she had woken full of a guarded sort of hope, feeling as if she finally knew where she stood with Harry, as if they finally had a chance to be together, properly. And this afternoon she was afraid again, glancing toward his office and finding only drawn blinds and a towering wall of resentment. Did he know the part she'd played, in sending Beth to talk to him? Would he be furious with her, for not coming to him sooner? Would he ever be able to look past his own guilt and consider the matter of Lucas objectively? She didn't know, and she was running out of time.

With a deep breath, she rose from her desk, and made her way over to Harry's office. She hesitated by the door; should she knock? Ordinarily the thought wouldn't even cross her mind. She'd enjoyed the privilege of storming into his office uninvited for years, much to the consternation and confusion of the junior officers who couldn't even begin to understand everything that had passed between her and Harry. If she knocked now, it would feel almost like an admission of guilt on her part, would only serve to put up defenses between them before she'd ever even spoken, and she couldn't bear the thought of distancing herself from him when she'd only just rediscovered the intimacy of his embrace. On the other hand, she had no idea what she'd find, once she opened that door, and she was frightened of the possibilities.

Don't do this, she told herself, and without further consideration she slid the door open, stepped into his office, and closed it again.

Harry was seated behind his desk; he jumped, at the sound of the door opening, but whatever obscenity he'd been about to shout died on his lips when he caught sight of her. He fairly vibrated with anger, and Ruth stayed well away from him, her back pressed against the door for much needed support.

"I suppose you've come to tell me to keep a level head, then," Harry said coolly, his eyes flinty and harder than she had seen them for quite some time.

"Not exactly," she answered carefully.

"Christ, Ruth, what were you thinking? Sending that girl in here to do your dirty work-"

"That girl is an experienced operative and a member of your team," Ruth bit back. "She has genuine concerns, and the least you can do is listen to her."

"I did listen to her," Harry answered, his anger only growing. "She talked, I listened, end of story."

"Harry-"

"Do you really have so little faith in me, Ruth? She told me you think Lucas has been submitting falsified reports. Why am I only hearing this now, and from Beth of all people?"

Damn it, Beth, Ruth thought glumly. She couldn't help feeling a little resentment toward her flatmate just then, for dragging her name into this before she was ready to face him. It passed quickly however; this wasn't Beth's fault, and Ruth knew it.

"You need to know it's not just me who's worried, Harry," Ruth insisted. "Lucas is-"

"Lucas is none of your concern," he cut her off, turning away from her in a silent gesture of dismissal.

And damn you, too, Harry.

"It is my concern," she spat, pushing off from the door and crossing the room to stand in front of his desk. She would not be cast aside so easily; who did he think she was?

"Lucas has proven his loyalty, time and time again," Harry said, still doggedly refusing to look at her.

"If he's so bloody loyal, then surely he'll have a good explanation when you ask him what he's been up to."

Harry stood up, fury etched across his face, but she barreled on, heedless.

"What about Tessa, Harry? Or Connie James? Juliet?"

"Don't you mention that bloody woman to me!" He all but shouted. Ruth blanched; she was fairly certain that the team could hear him through the thin walls of his office.

"Something is wrong, Harry," she said, deliberately lowering her voice, hoping he would moderate his own in turn.

"And what would you have me do, Ruth?" Her ploy worked; he was still seething, but at least he wasn't shouting. "Spy on him? That man spent eight years in a Russian cell, and I did nothing-"

"You got him out," she protested.

"Eight years too late. Do you know the first thing he wanted to do, when I brought him home? He wanted fish and chips. He didn't want a shower, or fresh clothes, or a real bed to sleep in. He wanted fish and chips." His voice was soft now, soft and sad and contemplative, and she knew what he was trying to say. That in this one request, he had sensed just how homesick Lucas had been, had absorbed some of the man's pain as his own.

"And you made sure he got them, Harry," she replied. Ruth knew the story well; he'd told her one night while he rested within the circle of her arms, safe in the quiet of his bedroom. "We don't know what's happening now, but we can't afford to sit idly by while he-"

"While he what, Ruth? What is it you think he's doing?"

For a long moment she did not speak. She thought about a junior analyst called Steven Owen, currently rotting away at Her Majesty's pleasure, and she remembered Lucas's strange, frigid reaction to the news. She thought about strained conversations and a questioning gaze held a moment too long. She thought about Harry, flagellating himself for eight years over a mistake that was beyond his own control.

"I don't know, Harry, and that scares me."

It was his turn to ruminate for a while. She watched the play of emotions across his face, watched the doubt and the self-loathing and the grief wash over him in turns. Though he would never express his feelings in this way, it had always seemed to Ruth that Harry was something of a father-figure to his team; their safety, their very survival depended on him, and he took full responsibility for each of them. Every injury, every betrayal, every loss was a blow to him, though some stung more deeply than others. He thought he'd finally made things right, with Lucas, and now here came Ruth, upsetting the apple-cart, warning him that his prodigal son might well be a wolf in sheep's clothing.

You're mixing your metaphors, she chided herself.

"What would you have me do, Ruth?" Harry asked finally. This time his question wasn't rhetorical; he was genuinely asking for her opinion, and she was tremendously grateful.

"Put a keystroke-logger on his computer," she answered immediately. "Don't approach him right away, not until we have a better idea what we're dealing with. If there's something bigger going on, Lucas may not be the only one involved, and we don't want to poke the hornets' nest until we're ready."

Harry sighed, and sat back down at his desk. "Can you do that without involving any other members of the team?"

Ruth nodded.

"Can you do it today?"

"I can. He's in the field until tomorrow."

"All right, then." Harry's shoulders had slumped in defeat, and Ruth sensed that what he needed most now was a moment to himself. She would leave him to his thoughts, but there was something she needed to ask him first.

"Harry?" she said in a quiet voice.

He looked up, the pain in his eyes palpable.

"Have dinner with me tonight?"

For a moment she thought he might refuse. She'd been thinking about it since she'd left his home on Sunday evening; this thing between them was growing, shifting, solidifying into something real, and she wanted to pursue it. They had done well so far, during the time they'd spent together off the Grid, but she was preparing to move into his house, and she wanted to see more of him, not just on weekends when the pressure of work was lessened, but during the week, too. She wanted to know that they could survive, together, even when their lives interfered. And she very much wanted to fall asleep in his arms again, sooner rather than later.

"I'd like that," he said. He didn't smile; she wasn't sure he could, just now. But he had agreed, and that was enough for her. She reached out, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before making her departure.


Beth flinched, when she heard Harry shouting at Ruth. She hated the part she had played in their falling out, and her mind was awash with a million consequences of her rash words. But Harry's voice had faded, and moments later Ruth had appeared, and Beth could have sworn her flatmate was smiling, just a little. Ruth did not speak to Beth about what had transpired in Harry's office, and the not knowing was eating away at her. Were they going to do anything about Lucas? Was Harry going to give her the sack (again)?

No answers were forthcoming from Ruth. She fiddled around with Lucas's computer for a few minutes, and then went back to her own desk. What are you up to? Beth wondered. She dared not ask; if Ruth wanted her to know, she would have said something herself.

The last thirty minutes of the day dragged by, curiosity and anxiety gnawing away at Beth as she stared unseeing at her computer screen. And then something rather odd happened.

Harry stepped out from inside his office for the first time all day, and, like always, Ruth's head jerked up as if she'd sensed his presence on the Grid. Ruth had an uncanny knack for turning to Harry, wherever he was, whatever she was doing, and Beth always chuckled a little to herself every time it happened. This time, though, Harry stopped for a moment by the pods, and Ruth caught her lip between her teeth. She shut down her computer, gathered up her things, and murmured, "I'll see you later," to Beth. And just like that, she and Harry left the Grid. Together.

Thank God, Beth thought.