SERIES 10 SPOILERS
Did you see it? Did you see that coat in the hallway?
She has been dealing with the aftermath of the bomb attack. Press release after press release; reassuring the cabinet; advising the Prime Minister's office as well as the Home Secretary's; liaising with the police and MI5. All the time a drum has been beating away inside her chest: I lost the laptop, I lost the laptop, I lost the laptop. What is on it? What is on it? What is on it?
Just as she is shutting down her computer and putting her coat on, she hears a troubled murmur wafting over from the far corner of the office. She wanders over, casually checking her handbag and patting her hair down. Clearly on her way home, but still helpful if needed.
'Is anything wrong?'
Her colleague looks up with a worried frown. He's the Home Office Advisor on border control, and he is a very clever man indeed. 'We've had an extradition request through. It's for a member of the security services.'
'From?'
'The States.'
It is for Harry, of course. A CIA deputy director dead in Harry's custody, his laptop stolen from the US Embassy, it couldn't be for anyone else. In the circumstances, it's a request that is virtually impossible to decline. To do so would result in the expulsion of every known MI6 employee from America, and an unprecedented chilling of diplomatic relations. The Russian talks have even provided the perfect cover story for such a thing.
She pulls a face at her colleague. 'The bomb means we can delay until morning. Better make sure Towers sees it first thing, though.'
o0o
By the time she arrives, Ilya Gavrik has gone. He left the vodka behind him with a magnanimous smile. The KGB is behind me. I am a politician now. I am happy. I am free. I have a wife, and a son, and a sodding tortoise in the sodding garden. Harry wanted to smack him with the vodka bottle, pour the contents over his head and bellow, "He's my son, and I found love too! And in our case, the feeling is actually mutual! So there!"
He says as much to Ruth, who pours him another whiskey and pours the vodka down the sink (knowing Harry has taught her a thing or two about accepting bottles of alcohol from enemies).
'I stopped at Waitrose and bought fillet steak,' she tells him, steadfastly sticking to the rule they set two months ago: no talking about work in either of their homes. 'I'll cook. Go and get changed.'
The evening is short but blessedly peaceful. They go to bed early, and make quiet love. It is their first night together since the Gavriks arrived in London, and both of them are profoundly happy to have found each other again. The aftermath dissolves into a bout of determinedly sarcastic "no, no, I wuv you more" mutual ridicule, which lasts until Harry falls asleep with a smile on his face.
Ruth does not sleep well. She slips out of bed at dawn and leaves the room with a murmured excuse about needing to get to work early. On his way out of the house three hours later, Harry pauses in the hallway, looks at her coat hanging by the door and retraces his steps to the kitchen. He pours away the last of the milk and chucks the bottle in the recycling. It's a simple message: I don't think I'm coming back. If you hear I've gone missing, wait three weeks and then check our prearranged email address.