A/N: Thank you to those who have read the first chapter of this fic, and especially to reviewers, who took the time out to leave their thoughts.

"Say that again, Malcolm."

"Ruth can now come home."

"What if she doesn't want to come home?"

"I can assure you that she does."

"You're in touch with her?"

Malcolm nodded, finding it difficult to make eye contact with Harry. Harry, on the other hand, looked angry – he felt angry – and he took a few deep breaths before he spoke.

"You've known all along where she is?" Harry's voice was louder than he'd intended, so he sat back after he'd spoken, knowing that Malcolm would not honour him with a reply until he'd calmed down.

"Not exactly, but after she'd been gone around 2 years I did a search, using the names on the passports she took with her. I found her in Cyprus, living with a doctor and his son in Polis. I made contact through a protected email account I set up for her before she left. I told her the day before she left that I would use it only if necessary, and that I'd respect her wishes should she wish to not reply."

"She replied?"

"Yes. Almost immediately. She was rather unhappy, and wanted to come home. I had to delete her emails for her safety, otherwise I'd show them to you. She missed you, Harry. She missed us all, and her relationship with the doctor was beginning to crumble. I told her that it was still not safe for her to return to the UK. At that time, Mace was still sniffing around Whitehall. So I found her a flat in Paris, and she kept that flat while she moved around Europe, mainly doing translation work for a contact of mine."

Harry sat back in his chair, and thought about what Malcolm had just told him. He was angry, while at the same time he was relieved. Ruth was wanting to come home. He wanted her to come home. To him.

"Is she …...?"

"With anyone?"

Harry nodded, amazed at Malcolm's ability to pre-empt his question.

"No. She told me it's easier to be single when moving around as she has had to. Besides …... and I shouldn't really be telling you this, Harry …... she still has feelings for you. She hasn't come out and said it openly to me. That's not Ruth's way. It's just that every time I've made contact with her, she's asked after you."

This small snippet of news warmed Harry, but it was too early for such indulgences. "Does she know about those who have died since she left?"

"Yes. I told her the circumstances of each of the deaths, and that apart from you, there has been a total turnover of personnel in Section D. I think we have to be mindful that she has had to deal with this news on her own. It can't have been easy for her. She was especially cut up over Jo's death."

Harry nodded, taking it all in. Privately he was pleased that Ruth had asked after him, but he was nursing a kernel of irritation that Malcolm had kept his communications with Ruth a secret. Again, Malcolm seemed to read his mind.

"Harry …... I'm not sure why, but Ruth asked me specifically to not tell you anything about where she was living, and that she was in touch with me. It's been hard for me to keep all this to myself, especially knowing how you each feel about one another. I need to tell you that only a few months ago, I told Ruth that I thought you may have been moving on. It was then that she began to talk of coming back home."

"I hadn't moved on, Malcolm. Carol …... Stephanie …... was a distraction, nothing more. She couldn't take Ruth's place. No-one could."

Harry began to feel a surge of emotion, and so he stopped speaking, and concentrated on the amber liquid in his glass.

"You will find her changed, Harry. She's had to fend for herself for some time now. She'll need a job, but she may not need a boyfriend."

Harry felt it rising from his gut into his mouth …... the pain, the hurt, the rage at the injustice of it all. "The bathroom, Malcolm. Where is it?"

Malcolm could see the emotion Harry was holding in, and he directed him to the passageway, at the end of which was the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, Harry closed the door behind him, and then lay his arms along the sides of the hand basin and allowed the tears to flow. Tears ran down his cheeks and fell from his face into the hand basin, from where they dripped down the porcelain and into the drain. He cried until he had no more tears left. His exhaustion led him to sitting on the cold tiled floor, his back against the tiled wall. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. A few sobs escaped him, as he allowed himself to feel what he'd held inside himself for over four years. He'd spilled himself into the body of Carol/Stephanie in order to offload his pain, but it had not worked for him. He'd growled disapproval and occasionally shouted at both Lucas North and Alec White, and he'd still felt pain. He'd drunk more whiskey than was good for him, frequently falling asleep drunk, but he invariably awoke with a knot of pain still deep in his gut. It hurt. Living for over four years not knowing if Ruth was alive or dead, happy or unhappy, safe or abused, had taken its toll on Harry.

There was a light tapping on the door. "Harry, are you alright? You've been in there a while."

"Yes," Harry replied, his voice croaky. "I'll be out in a minute."

He stood up, and crossed the room. He ran water in the sink, splashing his face with the water, and rinsed out his mouth. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he looked red-eyed and drained. He looked how he felt – sad and angry and grief-stricken, and totally exhausted from holding inside himself the pain of missing Ruth, all the time not knowing whether she was dead or alive. At least he'd not have to explain any of this to Malcolm.

Back in his den, Malcolm had arranged some plates of food on the coffee table, and a pot of fresh tea stood on a large cork coaster. There were sandwiches and biscuits and slices of cake.

"Malcolm, you shouldn't have," Harry said, hoping his friend could read the jape in his voice.

"Apart from the sandwiches, the rest is from the market. I know your eating habits, Harry. I imagine you haven't eaten since this morning."

"That's true, and thank you. I could do with some sustenance."

The two men ate in silence. The sandwiches were roast chicken with mayonnaise and lettuce, and Harry discovered he was ravenous. He knew he looked terrible, and that he'd been in the bathroom for almost half an hour, and that his eyes were puffy from crying, but neither man mentioned it. Malcolm was the essence of discretion, which was one of the features Harry valued in his friend.

"How soon can she come home?" Harry asked at last.

"As soon as she's packed and ready, and as soon as we have somewhere safe for her to live."

"I'll sort out a flat for her," Harry said quickly.

"You're not thinking of taking her home to your place?"

"No. As much as I might like that as an idea, I don't think she'd appreciate it. I'll try to find her a comfortable one-bedroom flat not too far from my place. I have one or two people who owe me favours. Leave it with me."

Ruth arrived back in London two days after Lucas North's body was found in the Forest of Dean, a little outside Yorkley in Gloucestershire. He had a bullet hole between his eyes, and another in his chest. The police had traced the gun to the Chinese mafia. Lucas had been playing in a very dirty pond indeed. Lucas' attempts to procure a Chinese-made weapon of mass destruction had resulted in his sudden death. He had stepped into a negotiation between a Triad boss and two former members of SAVAK, the former intelligence service in Iran, known for its methods of torture, and for executing people without trial. There were some for whom SAVAK still represented a way of life, despite it having been officially disbanded 30 years earlier. There was a ripple of gossip amongst some at Thames House that Lucas had sacrificed himself, thrown his life away. No-one knew the truth, nor would they ever know.

Harry had little time to mourn the loss of his section chief before he was faced with having to settle Ruth into her flat. The day after he had met Malcolm, Harry had rung Melvyn Grayson, a former friend from the army. Melvyn had made a killing in real estate during the 1980's, buying and selling with remarkable intuitive knowledge of the vicissitudes of the real estate market.

"I have two flats which fit that criteria, Harry. Both are less than three miles from your house. I'd recommend the one which is only just over a mile from you. My tenant skipped two weeks ago, leaving rent arrears, so I'll be happy to re-tenant it ASAP. It needs a coat of paint inside, and a repair or two, but I can let you have it for a good price."

Harry knew that the rent Melvyn had asked was well below the current market level, so he paid the bond and the first three months rent himself. The first thing he did was to have a security system installed. The flat was clean, and freshly painted, and furnished. It had a cosy feel to it, and Harry was sure that Ruth would like it.

He waited at the flat while Malcolm drove to the airport to collect Ruth. She had flown from Athens, having let her flat in Paris go some months before. Malcolm had suggested to Harry that he accompany him to the airport, but Harry wanted to greet Ruth alone. He wanted no prying eyes, even Malcolm's, whose eyes were the least prying of anyone he knew. Harry had bought fresh flowers from the market, and placed them in vases in the sitting room, and in the bedroom. He had filled her cupboards and refrigerator with as much food as he could cram in. He had purchased soaps and lotions, shampoos and shower gel, and left them in the bathroom for Ruth. He had bought some bath towels of Egyptian cotton, and left those in the bathroom also. He had bought a new duvet and cover and pillows and pillow cases for Ruth's bed, hoping that his choice – flowery, but quirky/artistic - was to her liking, and that he'd not stepped over any kind of personal boundary. He was dealing with a new Ruth, a different Ruth, a more independent Ruth, one who may not appreciate his clumsy attempts at welcoming her back home.

It had only been two weeks previously that he had visited Malcolm, and discovered what had happened to Ruth during her exile. That evening, just before he'd left to go home, Harry had written a brief email to Ruth using Malcolm's encrypted email program. Malcolm had discreetly left the den to wash their dishes, leaving Harry alone to compose an email to Ruth, their first communication in four years. Harry had struggled to find the right words to convey what he wanted to say to her, and in the end had chosen to keep it brief and simple.

Dear Ruth,

Today Malcolm shared with me your desire to come home to London. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you will soon be here. I have missed you, and look forward to seeing you again. If you need work, for the past four years I have been short a really good intelligence analyst, so if you wish to step into the shoes of that brilliant analyst who worked with me back then (and whom I have missed more than words can convey), you will be most welcome.

We have a lot to talk about, so I'll leave that until we meet again.

Harry.

He had wanted to put an `x' after his name, but didn't want to push his luck. It was enough that she was coming home. Ruth had replied to Malcolm, but had not sent a personal reply to Harry, but he was not concerned about that. After all, Malcolm would read her reply first, so any reply she sent would not be very personal.

Harry heard the banging of car doors, and looking out the sitting room window, he saw Malcolm's car, with Malcolm hauling two suitcases out of the boot. Standing on the pavement waiting for Malcolm was a slightly built woman with shoulder-length brown hair. His heart began pounding rapidly in his chest.

Ruth was home. Harry was scared and ecstatic all at the same time.