Naww thank you everyone :)

Letting all the pasts mistakes, angers and suppressed feelings settle and slowly begin to trickle away, they stand together like that for a sustained moment. She counts the firm beatings of his heart under her palm, finding something new and strangely comforting in the fact that each thump is for her. Leo waits patiently, eyeing these two with suspicion – their only witness.

Static, her hand remains on his chest when she pulls herself reluctantly from the imagined future she could take them into right now.

"Harry, you're not safe here."

He swallows and sighs, still towering over her small frame like a barrier, of sorts.

"I'm not safe anywhere." Flat toned he continues and the pressure of her hand weakens slightly. "Elena knows about us which means you're not safe either."

She'd never thought of it. Not like that.

"Elena?"

Suddenly for the first time in her life, she thinks she can see where the conversation will take them. He explains,

"She'll tell Ilya. Ilya will tell Sasha, if he wants, if he doesn't already know. Ilya can tell whoever he wants. A man of his status, with such knowledge, is a threat to us."

Her hand falls away and he steps backwards as their world becomes grey, and frightening once again. Leo leaves the table and disappears. After a pause, she looks him over meticulously – his bruising, the dry blood around his nose and on the lips she just kissed. She looks at his clothes. She looks at the clock. Half past ten.

She realises there stands one option and one option only. He knew what it was – probably from the moment he escaped – but would never voice it until she had realised and absorbed the ridiculous magnitude of the risk they knew was right. He saw everything he felt in her expression; dread, a crumbling denial. But most importantly he saw hope.

"Where," is all she says. But he can't answer immediately, for the most basic reason. "Harry if we're going to run..."

"I know," he closes his eyes to block the burning image of the anxiety in hers. "I know Ruth."

"What do you have?" she asks, snaps into motion and paces over to her dresser to pull open the furthest draw. He stays completely still. "I'm guessing you don't have your passport."

"I don't have anything but the clothes I stand in."

There's too much paperwork in the draw, and cards, and old mobile phones. Eventually though she finds the tattered burgundy booklet and places it on the table with her car keys and handbag. It's all going too fast but the chain of events has started and now he's suddenly awake, at her side, breathing quickly.

"Ruth are you sure?" he asks as if he's in more pain than she interpreted from his injuries. But what he expresses is little more than straightforward fear. So she turns to him, quashes the slight tremble in her throat and nods.

"I'm sure. Now, I'm going to pack a bag with a few essentials. While I do that you wash your face, bathroom's upstairs, and you leave your jacket behind. The cuts and bruises look suspicious enough without torn clothing."

As obediently as he ever has been, he follows her immediately upstairs. This is hardly what he wanted, he thinks. The amount of times he's pictured Ruth's house, her upstairs, her bedroom and why they'd be there yet this is how it arises – in preparation of escape. Now they're running.

"In there," she throws an arm in the direction of the bathroom and disappears into her bedroom.

He can hear her gathering clothes together in her room as the water splashes heavily into the sink. Knowing that she wont have need for it again, he takes her flannel, submerges it into the lukewarm water and lifts it to his forehead where there is the ever so slight residue of blood still dusted into the hairline. It's not until the droplets kiss the open cuts by his eye and lip does he snarl as the stinging ruthlessly invades his nerves. It hurts more than he thought it would but with clenched teeth he follows her logic until all the dry blood is clean from his face and the water at his hands is a pinkish red. On cue, she enters the bathroom and behind her in the landing he can see her bulging rucksack, ready to go.

"Food." She blurts.

"What?"

"Food. Mundane, but essential. You must be starving and we don't know when we'll be stopping for food next – when did you last eat?"

"Ruth we don't have time. And I'm not hungry."

"But – "

"Look, the boys who handled me in custody must have been close friends with Coaver, or they just naturally hated my guts – literally. Whatever the justification, they felt compelled to break a few ribs while they had the time, and I just feel sick, still. I can't eat. It'd be a waste of time trying. We need to leave now."

"Oh Harry... I didn't realise..."

"I know," he steps forward and envelops her warm hand with his own fresh and clean one. "I was concussed for a while. The treatment was... brutal, to say the least. But I'm alright Ruth. I'm breathing. And as long as I am, I can run." Her eyes fall to his chest again. How is it he can hide all this so effortlessly? Emotional torture as well as physical? Without another word they make for downstairs. She gathers her purse, passport, coat, phone and he abandons his blazer in her fire, setting light to it and making sure the remains are mixed with old ash before they leave. Leo – nowhere to be seen – is left fresh food. It's briefly distressing, but she knows he will be alright as all cats seemingly always are. In a quick moment she remembers Fidget.

She makes a point of being last out of the house, but is sure not to look back at it as they clamber into her car and leave the drive. They don't know where they're going. But they're going there together. The one look he shoots her as they leave the street forever tells her it will be ok.

I don't know where they're going either. ;)