A/N: Hey guys. Thanks again for the reviews for the last chapter. Glad you're on board with the direction of this. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I'd alienate some readers by keeping Ruth alive. This is the final chapter - hope it meets with your approval. Please leave a review an let me know. Anonymous reviews are welcome, so don't worry about having to have an account.

Chapter 3

It's a few weeks before the doctors declare Ruth fit enough to be discharged, and even then she is to take it easy. Harry has visited every day and their relationship is progressing. Not so much in a physical sense, although there have been a few light kisses and caresses, but on an emotional level. They have talked, really talked – probably more than they ever have before – and have gotten to know one another. Properly this time. No more secrets. Well, apart from the two Harry is keeping right now. He hopes she will understand.

"Ready to go Ruth?" he asks, picking up her bag from the end of the bed.

She has one last check around the sparse hospital room before replying. "Yes. Yes I am. Get me out of here Harry."

He chuckles, she's been anxious to leave since about two days after waking but the doctors had been insistent that she stay, even when he offered to care for her full time at home. "Come on then. Let's get you home."

Luckily, Ruth falls asleep almost as soon as the car starts moving; the walk to the car-park having tired her out. Harry wonders for a moment if she really is well enough to be going home, but decides that that doctors must know what they are talking about so he should trust their judgement. Her exhaustion is a blessing in one respect though; it saves him from having to explain why he's driving in the opposite direction to either of their houses.

It's over two hours before they arrive, and Ruth sleeps the whole way. He pulls the car to a stop and leans over to her. "Ruth. Wake up Ruth. We're here."

Her eyes flutter open and Harry thinks that a just woken Ruth is one of the most beautiful sights he has ever seen, and one that he hopes he'll see every day for the rest of his life, if she is willing. She stretches and glances round at their location, realisation dawning.

"This isn't my flat. Nor is it your house," she observes. She spots something she recognises and turns back to Harry. "How long was I asleep?"

"A couple of hours," he admits. "You must have needed it."

Ruth gets out of the car and her eyes sweep the surrounding area, looking to confirm her suspicions. "Harry, this is…my house. I mean, the one I was going to…How did you…"

"I'm a Spook, Ruth," he tells her as if it should be obvious, joining her on the gravel driveway. He takes a breath then, steeling himself to make his first confession. "Or at least I was."

Ruth is so occupied looking at the house that it takes a moment for his words to register with her. "What do you mean, was?"

"I've left the Service Ruth."

"Ha…" she begins but he doesn't let her get any further. He's on a roll now.

"And…I've bought this house. For you. For us. To live in…together. If you'd like to, that is."

Ruth gazes at him for what seems like a lifetime, trying to think of an appropriate response to this wonderful man standing before her. He begins to worry at her silence, has he pushed too far, too quickly? Soon, much to his relief, a small smile appears on her face. "That's a bit presumptuous of you," she teases, echoing her words of five years previously. "I might have said no."

"Well, I'll live in it anyway," he retorts, smiling as he remembers their conversation on the roof.

"I don't recall any Charlie Chaplin characters doing that," Ruth points out as she steps into him. Looking deep into his eyes, she finally gives him an answer. "I would love to live here with you, Harry." He wraps his arms delicately around her and she lifts her lips to capture his. The kiss is exquisite, full of love and promise. It's starts gently, but they quickly become absorbed in each other, letting the world around them fall away. Harry's tongue sweeps across her lips, demanding entrance. She complies, her mouth falling open to accept it and their tongues dance, sending shivers down Ruth's spine. When they pull apart they're wearing matching smiles.

"We should get you inside. You're supposed to be resting."

"I'll be fine," protests Ruth even as a long yawn escapes. Harry raises an eyebrow and fixes her with a pointed look before leading her into their house; his hand on the small of her back. He guides her through to the lounge,

"Oh! Harry!" she gasps as her eyes fall on the room. It's full of all her furniture and all belongings, the floor to ceiling book cases filled with her numerous volumes of Homer and other Greek classics. "You've certainly been busy whilst I've been in hospital."

"I had help; Dimitri and Callum did most of the heavy lifting."

"I must remember to thank them," she muses as she sits on her sofa, but then the reality of the situation dawns on her. "Well, I would if I was ever going to see them again. Now that you've retired, that's not likely to happen is it?"

"I think that as the new section head, Erin will obey that rule about as much as I did."

Ruth smiles knowingly. "Ah yes. How is Malcolm?"

"He's fine. Sends his love. Says we must arrange to meet when you're feeling up to it."

"I'd like that," Ruth says, stifling another yawn.

"You really should be in bed," Harry reminds her.

"I'm fine," she protests, her eyes slipping closed as she does so. "I'll just rest here for a while."

It's not long before she's asleep again. Harry manoeuvres her into a more comfortable position on the couch and steps into the kitchen to make a start on a meal for them both.

He's stirring a simple carbonara when he senses her presence behind him. He glances at her, leaning against the door frame with her hair all tousled from sleep, and flashes her a small smile. "Hi."

"Hi," she replies, slipping into the kitchen and taking a seat at table.

"I was about to come and wake you, it's nearly ready."

"It smells heavenly."

"I won't take that as too much of a compliment considering you've been eating hospital food for the past three weeks." He chuckles as he pours the pasta into the dishes and carries them to the table. They eat in relative silence, just enjoying each other's presence.

They're not eating her chilli con carne at a candlelit table with Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata flowing through the air. She's yet to stand on a step-ladder and hang a picture, or to sit in their bed and read Persuasion, and as they've not consummated their relationship yet, she's hard pushed to be standing over a crib, soothing their child. But, he muses as he watches her eat, she's alive, she's here and they're together; which is more than he ever dared to hope for. Their future lies ahead of them, just waiting to be fulfilled.