Author's Note: thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply, I own nothing. Thank you again for reading.

Chapter Fourteen: Something Wonderful

Ruth slid down from the examination table and balanced herself precariously on her new crutches. Her foot had been bound tightly, the sprain made worse by her exertions back in Famagusta. Crutches that proved all the more useful because of the wooziness from the painkillers she had recently been dosed with. After an encouraging nod from the Nurse at her side, Ruth began her hobbling advance through the A&E ward, to where Harry was waiting by the Nurse's station. His jacket was slung casually over one arm, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the knot of his tie hanging loose from his collar. She saw past the fact that his shirt was still heavily stained by someone else's blood when he turned to her and smiled, that bright dazzling smile. After a pause to catch her breath and stem the tears that pricked her eyes, she return that smile as best she could. This would be their proper reunification.

He came up to meet her and laced one arm around her waist to help ease the weight off her feet. However well intended the gesture, it just didn't work with crutches getting in the way. Like so often in the past, their efforts resulted in an embarrassed laugh as they parted to carry on as before. Harry led her to a relatives room, where they could talk in peace away from the bustle of the main Hospital hub. But, at that hour, the crowds had been reduced to a trickle of drunks and sun-stroked tourists.

While Ruth settled herself on one of the stuffed sofa's inside, Harry fumbled with some loose change at the drinks machine. While he did that, Ruth looked out of the window, at the darkness outside. She had fallen asleep on the examination table and slept the rest of the day away after she had been patched up. George, in the meantime, had been assisting the other Doctors with Lucas. When Harry returned, he handed her a cup of lukewarm, grey tea.

"It tastes like ditch water," he warned, sitting down beside her. "But it's better than nothing."

She thanked him and took a sip, finding out for herself the truth of his words.

"How's Lucas?" she asked, recalling how pale he had become by the end of their frantic rush to Nicosia Hospital. He had not regained consciousness at all, sending Ros into a panic.

"He's stable; Ros is staying with him."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," she said, giving the contents of her cup a swirl. "Shame about Mace though, isn't it?"

Beside her, Harry suppressed a laugh. "Is it?"

On the surface of it, no. But all along Ruth had hoped, whether she openly acknowledged it or not, that keeping Mace alive would eventually result in him helping to clear her name. It was the reason she had so doggedly pursued him, despite the dangers.

"Yes, I think quite possibly it is," she countered. "The truth has died with him."

"That's not strictly true though, is it?" he asked, purely rhetorically. "The truth is, Mace had already been exposed as a rogue agent and utterly disgraced. Then, he turns up over here chasing up some very dodgy contacts at the behest of another rogue element. Who is the Home Secretary going to believe now? Me, or Mace?"

Harry made it sound so easy, he always did. But Ruth couldn't help the small short circuit of her impulses. A frisson of hope that she wouldn't forever be remembered as a killer conspirator.

"Do you really think it could happen?" she asked.

"I'll call the Home Secretary first thing; Blake will understand," he replied. "So, how come you're here? What happened after you left?"

A small smile played at her lips, masking the pain of the memory. It felt like it happened only yesterday, while all the good bits had receded into a distant past life. She could never quite get past the last time she saw Harry, being swallowed by the city river smog on a bitter winter's morning as she sailed down the Thames. For the last two years, she had relived that moment in her dreams, forever stuck there, being taken away eternally.

"It's a long story," she replied, once she'd gathered her thoughts. "We docked in Calais, then I went on to Paris and got a flight to Greece. I drifted for a few months, headed north through the Balkans but wound back south again. I didn't feel safe in Greece, it was like anyone could come along at any moment. Cyprus is small, closed off and you know you're relatively safe here. Or, at least it felt that way before Mace turned up."

"Are you happy?" he asked, sounding distant.

"Life here is simple and normal," she replied. "My job is straight forward. Uncomplicated. Safe."

The job was safe, but she never would be. Mace's reappearance had taught her that, as well.

"Do you love him?"

Harry turned to look at her; she could feel herself wilting under the intensity of his gaze. She knew the honest answer; Harry probably knew it, too.

"He's a good man, Harry," she replied, evasively. "I know that's not what you asked, but..."

Her words broke. Articulating her own feelings was like grasping at smoke: the direction changed all the time.

"But?" he asked, his tone soft and unhurried.

She wished she could give him something more. Something to hold on to. But with things as they were, she could not. Everything was a mess, despite the renewed surface calm.

"I don't know," she eventually replied. "I just don't know."

Ros found herself worrying again. Worrying that Lucas' nightmares would start in the middle of the ward. Worried that his IV line wasn't working. Worried in case the assassin brought his brother and his best mates along as back up. Worrying because she had nothing else to lavish her internal frustration on beside nebulous fears about things that didn't even matter. She heaved a sigh and sat back in her seat while Lucas slept on. He'd been given a blood transfusion; the damage caused by the bullet – which had passed clean through him – had been patched up. But he would always have a scar from the entry and exit points. There would always be a little pain from the irrevocably damaged tissue. Just a little to the left, or a little to the right, and it would have killed him outright.

Ros turned to watch the fluids drip slowly down the tubes, providing Lucas with precious hydration. He was no longer in intensive care, so that was one thing going in his favour. So were the first signs of stirring she noticed as she grew bored of watching his IV lines work their magic. At first, she thought she was only seeing the things she wanted to see. But the twitch in the hands became a full attempt at moving. His eyelids fluttered open as he tried to roll over, giving himself a shock of pain in the process. He coughed and choked through a parched throat.

"Lucas, shush," she soothed him as she hastily tipped iced water into a glass. "Drink this."

She held the glass to his mouth with one hand raised the bed into a sitting position with the other. Still dazed and wiped from the meds, he ended up spilling most of it, shivering badly as the water froze tracks down his neck and chest.

"Jesus!" he choked. "What's happened?"

Ros took a moment to top up his glass again and handed it over to him.

"You got shot, can you really not remember?"

His wits returned gradually, helped by the cool drink that managed to revive him somewhat.

"Was Connie's little helper killed too?" he asked, finally recalling what he could before the shooting broke out.

"Of course," she replied. "Harry got him; I think. Or was it Ruth? Could even have been me. You, Belling and Mr Hitman all seemed to get shot at once, if I'm honest."

He drained his water and lay back against the pillows banked up behind him. For a long moment, he looked at her with a shadow of that trademark smirk playing at his lips.

"Did you think I was dead?" he asked, holding her gaze in such a way she knew she would not be let off the hook. "Did you have an epiphany and realise what a great bloke I am and how you could never live without me? I hope my eulogy was going to be sufficiently gushing."

Her eyes narrowed as she let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'm so glad your sense of humour survived this near death experience," she returned. "I can sleep easier at nights knowing that even the darkest of Ops will be illuminated by the ethereal glow of your incandescent wit."

"Ethereal glow?" he repeated. "Must be the polonium they fed me in Russia, Anyway, who says I'm coming back? I might retire, here in the sun-"

"Of course you're coming back, you big drama queen," she cut over him.

Their banter melted away for a moment as they looked at each other. He was still too weak for her liking, too pale and frail voiced for all the front he put up.

"The Army are flying us all home the day after next," she informed him. "You're being airlifted home for treatment in London."

"Is Ruth coming with us? She and Harry still love each other."

"That's really not my concern," replied Ros.

"So, what is your concern?" he asked, moving his hand so it covered her own and gave it a feeble squeeze.

Ros lowered her gaze, to where their hands were now entwined on top of the counterpane quilt and returned the small pressure he exerted.

"I think you already know the answer to that," she replied, looking back into his eyes.

He managed to smile, despite his drooping eyelids and otherwise leaden manner.

"Yes, I think I do," he replied, before letting himself drift back to sleep.

George was still staying at the hotel, with Sophia and Nico. However, Ruth arranged to meet him in a café over the road. It had only been two weeks since she had spotted Oliver Mace walking these streets, but so much had changed in that time she could still only begin to comprehend it. So while she waited inside, she stirred at a hot coffee absent mindedly while she organised her thoughts and feelings into cohesive sentences.

All around her, the morning trade ebbed away as the last of the breakfast plates were gathered up. Waitresses slackened their pace accordingly, shooting her dark looks as she became the last customer as though she, personally, were standing in the way of their protracted break. However, she remained hunched over a slice of cold toast she no longer wanted and sipped at her coffee.

After another five minutes of private musing, George finally arrived. The bell above the door tinkled softly into the silence of the café, she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, looking around for her. Her table was at the beck and set into a crevice in the wall, so she waved to get his attention. He saw her and smiled, crossing over with just a short detour to order something to drink.

"How're you feeling now?" he asked, settling in the seat opposite hers.

"Fine," she replied. "Off the crutches, already."

Despite all that internal organising, she still didn't quite know what to say to him. She could never explain everything in just the short space of time they had left (that being the half an hour it would take for Harry and Ros to collect Lucas from the Hospital). George began toying with a condiment tray, as though distracting himself from the situation they found themselves in. But, after a minute, he finally started to talk.

"They never really came here for Mace, did they?" he asked. "They've come here for you. To bring you home."

"George, they didn't know I was here," she assured him.

He didn't sound angry or upset – just sad. But nonetheless, Ruth felt a surge of sorrow at the end of the life they had built together. He looked at her again, a wan smile on his face, a brave face being painted over a defeat.

"What I mean is, they only came after Mace because of what he did to you," he elaborated. "They want you back and you want to go back. I think you need to go back."

He was right. MI5 had been her life. For the last two years, it had followed her everywhere. From the emergency bag she kept packed in case of an emergency, to the handful of aliases and legends on permanent standby. She would never be free of MI5, even if she ran to the ends of the earth some spectre would be there waiting for her. She rubbed her tired eyes and dropped her gaze as she realised she also wanted to go back.

"You don't understand what you've given to me," she explained. "A year, more in fact, of something my colleagues can only dream of: a normal life, with a normal job and a normal home. A year of happiness, within touching distance of domesticity."

'My colleagues'. She meant MI5, not the Hospital staff. Already, it was like the years of exile had been a dream from which she was only just beginning to stir. Maybe it was a dream? Because it could never have lasted. It was never real. If Mace hadn't come along, someone else from the past would have. Something could well have happened to Harry, or Malcolm, and only she would be able to dig them out. This normality that George had given her was just a hiatus. She couldn't see it before because the way out was too heavily shrouded. Even looking back from the distance of a day, it all seemed so obvious to her.

"I'm sorry."

The words sounded lame, but she truly meant it.

"Don't be," he replied, smiling a little more lightly. "Don't be sorry."

"It's hard, but I'll try," Ruth replied. "You'll never see me again, but I'd like to hear from you. Let me know how it goes with Nico and Sofia, yeah?"

He nodded. "Of course. Good luck against the terrorists."

She would be needing that. However, it could wait. They finished their now cold drinks and George settled the bill himself, for the last time. Together, they walked out into the street and Ruth found herself savouring the warm morning sunshine that little bit more. Tomorrow, she would be waking to the pallid English dawn, heading into Thames House to meet up with old friends – or at least, those who had survived. They carried on walking, all the way back to the Turkish border, where Ros and Harry helped Lucas get out of the car so he could get some gentle exercise. The three of them stopped and turned to look at Ruth and George. In his turn, George nodded towards them.

"They're waiting for you," he said.

Ruth nodded. "This is it then."

They embraced for one last time, briefly before separating again and shuffling their feet awkwardly. Eventually, George looked towards Harry.

"Look after her," he said.

Harry smiled over at them, shielding his eyes from the sun. "I will; you have my word."

The two men gave each other a cordial nod before George turned away again. Ruth watched him until he vanished inside the hotel. After a deep breath she turned around again, to where Harry was waiting for her beside their car. Ros and Lucas were arm in arm, keeping a decent distance as she walked him around a nearby market stall.

"Ruth," said Harry, as he closed the gap between them. "Let's go home."

The last time she saw him, she told him not to speak. To leave it as something wonderful that went unsaid. Now, he'd said it and sent her spirits soaring.

"Yes," she agreed. "Let's go home."

AN: Only the epilogue left to go now, and hopefully it'll be up no later than tomorrow. Thanks again for reading!