OK, so thanks for the reviews and the encouragement, and whilst this is not the last chapter, it is definitely the second last. My next H&R fic is knocking at my writing door, and I'm looking forward to getting on with it.

oOo

A hotel in Suffolk – 20 days after the bombing, and 9 days after the kidnapping. 10.42am:

He stood under the hot shower, luxuriating in the almost-pain from the spears of water as they struck his skin, still sensitive from their love-making. He rubbed the shower gel over his shoulders, chest, and then between his legs. In that moment he felt he'd never again manage another erection, so complete had been their love-making. He had always dreamed of their first time being measured, careful and slow – oh-so-slow – and this morning, three weeks after their first time, they'd managed just that. His dream with her had come true, in a bed in a small hotel in rural Suffolk.

Ruth had woken first, and he'd been brought into the day by her fingers, feather light, caressing his chest and shoulders. He'd kept his eyes closed, enjoying her exploration of his body. She'd caressed him everywhere but there, and aware of his erection straining against the duvet, and his deepening breathing, she had continued to ignore him there. When she'd softly kissed his mouth, he opened his eyes to see her looking at him with what could only be described as absolute and unrestrained love and desire, a small smile playing around her lips. He'd put his arms around her and drawn her closer into a bear hug.

She'd pulled away from him and said, "This is to be our slow one, Harry. We have all morning." She was right, of course. They'd had enough fast fucks, brought about by events around them, like the night Towers had visited and Ruth had spent the evening knickerless. What man would not want to take advantage of a situation such as that? He now recognised that since Ruth had been kidnapped, he'd harboured the belief that she could be gone from him at any minute, so he'd better make the most of the time they had together, however brief that may be. He was still winding his head around the possibility that they may have a very long forever ahead of them, and he couldn't be more delighted.

He had come to the conclusion that a lot of what had been strained between them was a misunderstanding about how the other thought and communicated. When he detected her running away, it seemed to have been whenever he'd pushed too hard, or came on too strong, or suggested a course of action which she had barely begun to contemplate. In allowing her some freedom to determine the pace at which they travelled together, they had settled into a comfortable and natural communication. While he wanted to act immediately, she needed time to mull things over, and if they were to work as a couple, he would have to accommodate that. Ruth had a need for things to move more slowly.

So a slow session of love-making is what they had that morning, and it was even more powerful and memorable than he'd believed possible. He turned his face up and with eyes closed took the full force of the spray on his face. He then felt the air in the shower cubicle cool slightly as she joined him. He felt her body naked, her breasts pressed against his back, her stomach tucked beneath his buttocks, her knee caressing the back of his own knee. They even fitted together this way, as well as face-to-face.

"Good morning again," she said, her mouth kissing his shoulder.

"Yes, it is a good morning," he replied. He turned to face her, and in her face saw reflected the same post-loving wonderment he felt. "The best yet."

"With many more to come, I hope," she said, her hands against his stomach, her mouth kissing the hollow in his neck. Ruth's hands took a trip southwards, and with one hand she cupped his balls, while her thumb stroked the underside of his penis.

She looked up at him in surprise. "That's never happened in the three weeks we've been together," she commented.

"You've killed it," he said, looking down at her thumb still attempting to stroke some life back into his flaccid penis . "It's dead, and you killed it, Ruth."

She put both arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. "What will it take to revive it then?"

"My dick and I need rest. That's all. You're trying to revive a 57 year old penis, Ruth. I'm a limited man in ways other than emotionally." He kissed her back, then stepped away from her and out of the shower. "We have to be at the cottage in forty minutes."

He thought he heard her say, Bloody military men, but he couldn't be sure. He grabbed his towel and began drying off.

The cottage in Suffolk: 11.38am.

The estate agent had been ten minutes late in arriving to let them in to inspect the inside of the cottage. This gave them a chance to wander around the garden. It was overgrown, but held possibilities. An outdoor table in the back garden needed a coat or two of paint. They both imagined long summer afternoons and evenings sitting out there together over a glass of wine.

Caroline Baxter arrived flustered and apologetic.

"It's good to see you again, Ruth," she said, putting out her hand. "And I take it this is Mr Evershed."

"No, this is -"

"Harry Pearce," Harry interjected, holding his hand out to the estate agent, "I'm Ruth's partner, soon to be husband, I hope."

As he shook the woman's hand, he immediately regretted all the words he'd spoken after `partner'. They'd not discussed their future together, other than assuming they'd live together in his house in London, and in this cottage on the edge of a Suffolk village. Their future status as a couple had not been on the agenda – until now. He quickly glanced at Ruth, but she appeared not to have heard his little announcement.

The inside of the cottage was just as Ruth had described it to him. It would be the perfect weekend retreat, with retirement in mind further down the track. He had gradually come to accept that he should continue for a time as section head of counter terrorism at MI5. They had very slowly come around to liking the solutions which Towers had suggested. During the week they would live in London, and on weekends they would live in the cottage. If a perfect solution existed, this was it.

"It'll need a coat of paint," Harry suggested to Ruth as they walked down the lane and into the village.

"But it's only just been painted," she countered.

"The outside needs touching up."

"Oh, not the door. I like it how it is."

"OK, as long as you like it."

.

They took their time over lunch. The pub in the village was not busy, and so they chose to sit at a table which overlooked the high street. Expecting to have to eat a ploughman's lunch, they looked up at one another with a smile when they found the lunch menu to be as international and cosmopolitan as any pub in London.

"Chinese, Japanese or Indian?" Harry asked. "No Cambodian, I see. Pity."

"I'll have all of them. I'm starving."

"That's all that exercise we had this morning."

"Harry, how can you talk of exercise? All you had to do was lie there and enjoy yourself."

He smiled across at her, his bold Ruth, the woman who once blushed and baulked at any mention of sex. He would be happy until the day he died that he was the man she had chosen to open herself to.

"You did enjoy it, didn't you?" she asked.

"Immensely."

In the end, they each ordered curries.

"This is where we'll live out our later years, Harry," she said as they tucked into their lunch.

"Mmm, I know. It's strange, isn't it? I'd only ever seen myself living out my life in London until retirement, and then it was all a bit blank after that. I'd always hoped you'd be part of my life, but the harder I tried to draw you in, the faster you ran away."

"Oh, come on, Harry. You just asked the right questions at the wrong time."

"I never seem to know what is the right time. I just mention things when I think of them. Isn't that what you do?"

"Of course not," Ruth said. "I have to think about most things for weeks at a time. But I think I'm getting better."

"I think we both are." He took another mouthful and chewed before he continued. "Did you hear what I said this morning?"

"Before, during or after we made love?"

"Definitely after. When I introduced myself to the estate agent."

It was only then that Ruth looked up at him. He couldn't determine if the darkness in her blue eyes was from the dimmed light inside the bistro, sexual passion, or anger. There was something there, of that he was certain. She didn't answer immediately, and as much as this frustrated him, if he wanted to be with her for the long term – which he did – then he'd better accept her long silences.

"Maybe you didn't hear me," he said quietly, more to break the silence which had fallen between them.

"I heard you. Harry …... how come you mentioned wanting to marry me to the estate agent before you'd mentioned it to me?"

"Ruth, I might be a lot of things, but changeable isn't one of them. When I asked you to marry me ….. when was it?"

"After Ros's funeral, Harry. It was right after we'd buried Ros. Over a year ago."

"OK, so it wasn't the most finely timed proposal ever made, but I meant it then, and I still mean it. I haven't changed my mind, and I won't. And if you turn me down today I'll still mean it, next week, and all the next weeks we have in front of us." He put down his fork and reached across the table to grasp her hand in his. "Ruth, will you marry me? I just want to make you happy, that's all, and I think I may be the man to be able to do that."

He saw in her eyes a moment of anger, then she softened, and looked at their hands – his large and square hand holding her small and delicate fingers.

"Of course I'll marry you, Harry. I've just been waiting for you to ask me again. I regret turning you down at Ros's funeral. Badly timed or not, I wanted you then, and I still want you."

"You could have asked me, you know," he said, still grasping her hand across the table. "I hear that it's the modern thing to be doing."

"Oh, I don't think of myself as being terribly modern. I've read too many Regency novels to be able to accommodate asking you to marry me. What if you'd said no? I wouldn't have been able to bear it if you had."

"Ruth, I've wanted you for so long that I have no memory of a time when I didn't love you and want you. I'm sure there was a time, but it must have been prior to recorded time."

"You can't possibly have loved me for that long. We've only known one another -"

"Eight years, Ruth. We met eight years ago, but I've been waiting for you all my life."

"That's rather corny, Harry."

"The corniest of lines are always based in truth."

They sat for a while holding hands across the table. Their food had gone cold, and the waitress came to ask them was the meal to their liking before they realised they'd been simply sitting and looking at one another for over fifteen minutes. They both nodded at her, and she walked away wondering whether, like her nan, they were both in the early stages of dementia. People that age surely couldn't be in love. Could they? To her, the idea was little short of being obscene!

The hotel in Suffolk – later that same day: 4:12pm

They'd walked hand-in-hand around the village, and so by the time they reached the Range Rover and drove back to their hotel, most of the day was behind them. They each knew there was still a lot they had to talk about, to arrange, to agree upon, but they had another twelve days of leave in which to do that.

"I need to ring my daughter," Harry said suddenly as he unlocked their hotel room door to let Ruth in before him. "I haven't talked to her since just after the bombing."

"What will you tell her?"

"What do you think I should tell her?"

"Perhaps letting her know of my existence would be a good start. The rest can come later. After all, she probably thinks you're still a grumpy old bachelor."

"Grumpy? I'm not grumpy."

"Not now, you're not, but you used to be quite -"

"Grumpy?"

"Unbearable is the word I'd use."

"That's harsh, Ruth."

"Maybe, but it's also true. You had a way of scaring the younger women who worked for you."

"So, how come I didn't scare you?"

"I could see through your grumpy act. There was a sad and lonely man hiding inside you. And I also found you to be quite sexy when you were grumpy."

Harry stopped searching for his phone, and stepped across to where Ruth stood, and kissed her tenderly and lovingly. "I love you, Ruth Evershed," he said, before he kissed her again. "Now, when I find my phone, I'll ring Catherine."

"Don't forget to mention me, Harry," Ruth said before she pulled off her boots and lay on top of the duvet, curling her feet up beneath her. "My feet are killing me," she added.

Harry found his phone in the pocket of his overcoat. He dialled Catherine's number.

"Catherine. Hi, it's Dad. I just wanted to check in with you, and also I have some quite momentous news for you. I hope you'll be pleased for me. Do you remember me mentioning Ruth?"

Harry looked across at Ruth and winked at her before he told his daughter about the changes which had flowed through his life during the previous three weeks.