Disclaimer: Even after all this time, they're still not mine...

Author's Note: This is the final chapter. Really, it is.

Acknowledgements: My thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this fic - you make it all worthwhile. Thanks also to the POGs and NOGs for their enthusiasm, encouragement, help and support. Oh, and for pestering – in a good way, of course.

Thanks, Em and Kate ;)

Chapter 13

There was a long silence that Harry finally broke.

"OK." He spoke quietly. "Just in case you ever need the original documents, they are in a bank in Lugano. That's why I was in Switzerland. Sorting out somewhere safe for them and," he moved his hand to the laptop screen and tapped his finger against it, "the manuscript for this."

Ruth opened the folder he had indicated. It contained a scanned copy of Clive McTaggart's memoirs.

"There's still plenty of stuff that can be used," Harry hesitated, "if required."

"Sounds intriguing, I shall have to read them." She sounded more like her old self and the tension between them eased.

"You might be shocked by some of it."

"Oh, I don't know. You wouldn't believe some of the stories Zaf told me." Her eyes shone with good humour and Harry finally relaxed.

"I don't think I want to know."

"So, what's this last folder then?"

He moved closer to her. "They're my holiday photos. Would you like to see them?"

"Would I like to see your holiday photos?" Her face was incredulous. "I thought the line was 'would you like to see my etchings'?"

Harry chuckled. "I think you've already given those a thorough examination," he whispered in her ear, before continuing in a more conversational tone, "anyway, these are holiday photos, more or less."

Ruth shook her head at him and turned her attention back to the laptop. She stared at the screen in disbelief as a picture of a blonde girl and a dark-haired man appeared. They were sitting on a bench with a little girl between them.

"It's Zoë…and Will! I can't believe it; you've been to Chile."

"I thought I should go and see them. Make sure they're alright."

"Who is the little girl?"

"Their daughter, Emma."

"Daughter?"

"Yes. She's two, nearly three, and she's gorgeous."

"And has you completely wrapped round her little finger by the look of it." Ruth was gazing at a picture of Harry holding Emma and a feeling of longing gripped her heart; a feeling she usually managed to suppress.

"You've missed out on so much." It was as if he'd read her mind.

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Anyway, I think it's a bit late for all that."

"Well, you never know."

She looked at him, questioningly.

"It's up to you. If you want to…"

Ruth gave him a dazzling smile before returning her attention to the rest of the pictures. She stopped as a thought occurred to her. "The scar on your jaw – that was from Will wasn't it?"

Harry rubbed his hand over the mark and smiled ruefully. "He punched me. Well, obviously it was a bit of a shock for them, me turning up unexpectedly. I told you I deserved it."

"What about Zoë? What was her reaction?"

"The same as yours, well, not quite the same. She skipped the pinning me to the kitchen floor bit."

"Glad to hear it. I think Will might have done more than punch you."

They spent the next hour discussing Harry's trip to South America and Ruth made him tell her everything he could remember. Eventually he held his hands up:

"That's it, Ruth. I promise you. Come on, it's your turn. Tell me what you've been doing with your time."

She took a few moments to collect her thoughts. "Well, I went to The Netherlands first." Harry noted her careful choice of words as she declined to say 'after I left London' or 'left you'.

"I spent a month there and then I moved on to France for a while. I managed to find a bit of research work to do, it kept me out of mischief." She gave him a half-smile. "Don't worry; it wasn't anything to do with the Security Services."

"That's reassuring. I hate to think the DGSE might have been making use of your talents."

"Or the Americans."

"Even worse. So, did you come here when you left France?"

"No. I went to Spain, to Barcelona. I was there for about six months. I-I enjoyed it, I suppose…in a way."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper and Harry had to lean closer to hear her. It was almost as if she was embarrassed or ashamed of having taken pleasure in something she had done over the last two years.

"It's OK, you know, to have…well, to not have been miserable all the time." He couldn't decide if he'd said it to assuage her guilt or his own. The thought of Ruth alone and lonely, drifting through life, had plagued him frequently. If she had found some contentment, that was, at least, a small comfort to him.

Her eyes drifted over his face, taking in every detail. "I never forgot about you and I never stopped thinking about you." She kissed him. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," he squeezed her hand. "Come on, you haven't finished telling me what you've been doing. How long have you been in Italy?"

Her brow furrowed. "Um, just over a year. I spent a bit of time in Switzerland before I came here."

"You like it here, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And Claudia's been a good friend to me." A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "She even tried to fix me up with her cousin."

"Her cousin?"

"Yes, Patrizio." Ruth pronounced the name in a perfect Italian accent.

"What's he like?"

"Oh, you know, tall, dark and handsome."

"I see. Young as well, I suppose." Harry couldn't hide the jealousy in his voice.

"He's thirty-five," she paused. "And madly in love with his personal assistant, so you have nothing to worry about."

He gave a wry laugh. "Sorry. But why has Claudia been trying to match make, then, if he's involved with someone else?"

"Ah, she doesn't know about that; Patrizio is keeping it quiet. He only told me because he didn't want me to have any, well, false hopes, I suppose. And I didn't have any hopes where he was concerned, before you ask."

"It's OK; I'm convinced."

Ruth stretched and rolled her shoulders to relieve the stiffness that had set in. "Come on, you haven't seen the rest of the garden." As she stood up, she grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him out of his seat.

He followed her willingly and listened patiently as she pointed out the different plants and explained what did and didn't fair well in the northern Italian climate.

"I presume you haven't spent all your time gardening."

They had stopped at the top terrace and were sitting on a small wooden bench, which couldn't be seen from the house.

"No, I've been doing some research work and a bit of writing. I've even been helping out at the local school."

"Doing what? Teaching?"

"No. Five year olds tend not to have a lot of interest in the Classics."

"Five year olds?" Harry made no effort to hide his surprise.

"Yes. Well, I did work for you, it's not that dissimilar. Moody, bad-tempered, prone to throwing things if they don't get their own way…" She burst out laughing at the indignant look on his face.

Harry started to laugh as well. "Bloody cheek! I'll make you pay for that remark."

"Is that a promise?"

"Most definitely."

He caught her lips in a passionate kiss and lost himself in the now familiar taste.

"Talking of paying for things," he murmured when he eventually released her mouth. "Have you been alright for money?"

Ruth looked taken aback at the sudden concern over her financial situation. "Yes, fine. Malcolm had sorted out a decent-sized, untraceable lump sum for me and I've supplemented that as and when I can."

"Good." He slid his arm round her as she rested her head against his shoulder. "It's only recently that I've come to fully appreciate Malcolm's talent for larceny."

"I think it's called 'being resourceful', Harry."

"He certainly got very resourceful on our behalf."

"We should find a way to say thank you."

"Yes, we should."

They lapsed into a contented silence, watching the ferries and the pleasure boats on the lake in the distance.

"You picked a good spot. Close to the borders of several countries; good transport links and a constant stream of tourists you can blend in with."

"And there I was thinking you were going to say something about the wonderful view." She nudged him good-naturedly. "I thought I was the one without any romantic spirit."

"Sorry; you can take the man out of the spying game…"

She laughed and pressed herself more firmly against his side.

"Do you think we'll be safe, if we stay here?"

Harry considered her question. "I'm not sure anywhere would be 100 percent safe. But, if we stick to our legends, check in with Malcolm from time to time and look after each other, I think we'll be relatively safe here."

It was as good an answer as she could hope for.

"Shall we go for a boat ride on the lake tomorrow?" Dusk had fallen and they were walking back down the garden, towards the house.

"I like the sound of that idea."

Ruth smiled at him. "It will be nice to do something normal and touristy with you."

"So what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?"

Her arms slipped round his waist and she pulled him close. "I thought we could work on that suggestion of yours." At his puzzled expression she continued, "You did say it might not be too late, after all."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

One week later

"Good joke, Malcolm? Perhaps you'd like to share it?"

The technician jumped as his colleague suddenly loomed over his shoulder. "No joke, Zaf, just a ghost in the machine." He logged off from his computer and stood up. "Come on, otherwise we'll be late."

Zaf sighed. "Do you have any idea why Adam wants to drag us all the way over to West London for a drink? What's wrong with The George?"

"Change of scene, that's what he said."

Forty-five minutes later they were settled in The Swan, enjoying the view of the river and the warm summer's evening. Adam appeared with a tray of drinks. "All set, Malcolm?" he said as he set them down on the table.

"Yes."

"What exactly is this all about, Adam?" The congenial atmosphere and decent beer hadn't totally eradicated Zaf's irritated mood.

"You'll see, mate."

"Right." Malcolm produced a PDA. "I have something to show you but I think Adam wants to say a few words first."

"I certainly do." The blonde officer scanned the surrounding tables to ensure no one was taking an interest in their small group.

"As you know, there has never been an official memorial service for either Ruth or Harry and I am aware this caused some bad feeling."

"Why won't you pursue it with the DG? I know in Ruth's case, there's not a hope, not that she really needs a memorial service," Zaf said quietly, although the anger he felt was still discernable in his voice. "But for Harry?"

"I'm not pursuing it because," Adam took a breath and looked at Malcolm, "he doesn't need a memorial service. Neither of them do."

There was long silence as his colleagues digested Adam's words.

"You mean Harry's still alive?" Jo whispered.

"Show them the picture, Malcolm."

The PDA was handed across the table and a dark head and a blonde head almost touched as they leant over the small screen and studied the photo of a happy couple, arms wrapped round each other, enjoying a boat trip.

When Zaf looked up, his was grinning broadly. "See? I told you those two would always end up together."

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