A/N: This is the final installment. Some of this strays into M rating, so be warned.

Thanks to reviewers. Some reviewers mentioned feeling sorry for Alison, which is fine. I do also.

Harry spent the first two weeks after Ruth's return to London trying to not think of her, partly because of the gas crisis, and partly because to do so had the tendency to paralyse him with guilt and grief. She'd been married - a common law marriage – and his own decision had resulted in her husband's murder. He could not regret his decision, but it may have destroyed forever any chance he may have had to win back her regard, and especially her love. His dream of seeing her again had been answered, but the dream had been tainted by tragedy, and Harry hadn't know what to do to heal the rift between he and Ruth.

It had been Jo who had convinced Ruth to come back to work on the Grid, picking up where she'd left off two years and nine months earlier. The tragic death of Jo on Ruth's first day back at work had been shattering for Ruth, and Harry had not known how best to comfort her …... so he chose to avoid the issue. How to comfort a woman whose husband had died due to a decision he'd made, and then whose friend had died – also as a result of a split-second decision he'd made. He was surprised she even spoke to him.

So it was with tightly withheld joy that he'd agreed to go for a drink with her when she'd asked. That had been about the last thing he'd expected, guilty as he still felt about the deaths of George and Jo. Circumstances conspired to prevent them going for that drink, and so ten days later, they still hadn't been. Harry left work quite late, noticing that Ruth had also gone home. As he drove out of the underground carpark of Thames House, he headed towards Alison's house. He wasn't sure why he was going there. He'd only spoken to her by phone a few times, and hadn't seen her since before he'd been abducted by Sarkisiian. If he was being honest, he wanted sex. Sometimes, that was the only thing which could cast out the demons of doubt, guilt and self-hatred, even if only temporarily.

"If you're here for sex, then I'm no longer on the menu," Alison said, rather coldly as she stood in the doorway, holding open the door. "It's been over three months, and now you turn up at 9.30, looking bedraggled and worn, and needy." Alison led him into her sitting room. "I know that Ruth is back."

He stopped in the doorway, shocked by her words. "How did you know?"

"Malcolm and I keep in touch. We really like one another. And before you ask, I'm not seeing him in that way, but I am seeing someone, and that someone values me in a way you never did."

"Did Malcolm tell you …... what happened?"

"That he'd retired, yes. That you had to make a difficult decision? He also told me about that. He suggested that I'd most likely never hear from you again."

Harry looked down at the floor, suddenly shamed - shamed that he'd strung this woman along, shamed that he'd used her for sex, shamed that he'd not been honest with her from the beginning, shamed that he hadn't had the decency to finish it with her long ago. "I'm really sorry," he said, looking across the room at her. "I was a bastard, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were. Just a piece of advice, Harry. If you want your Ruth to love you, don't treat her the way you've treated me."

Harry was standing at his front door, about to pass the keycard through the slot, when he felt, rather than saw a figure to the left of him. A small figure – perhaps a woman, most definitely not a man – emerged from the shadows. He turned suddenly to come face to face with Ruth. The first thing he noticed was that she was drenched.

"You'd better come inside and get out of those wet things," he said.

Inside the house, he led her into the sitting room, and turned the gas heater on full. It must have rained while he was at Alison's house. He couldn't remember it having rained. For the first time that evening, he looked into Ruth's eyes. As well as being wet, she looked forlorn and sad. He fought an urge to wrap her in his arms, and hold her close to him. Instead, he led her upstairs to the spare bedroom, and showed her the drawers where Catherine had left some of her clothes – just a couple of pairs of track pants, some t-shirts and jumpers. He also gave her two fresh towels, and a spare bathrobe of his own. He was aware that he had no spare women's underwear for Ruth, but didn't know how to address that without embarrassing them both.

"The bathroom is next door. A shower might warm you up. I'll be downstairs warming up some soup for dinner." And then he left her to it.

If he was being honest, having Ruth under his roof under these circumstances was a dream come true. He also knew that he had to tread carefully with her. It was Friday night, and Ruth wasn't needed on the Grid next day, although he had a lot of paperwork pending, and he really needed to be back there bright and early.

The soup was ready to eat, and he'd even heated some bread rolls in the oven when Ruth came downstairs after her shower. She looked very young, her hair pushed back behind her ears, and wearing a pair of track pants and a jumper belonging to Catherine.

"Have you anything I can wear on my feet, Harry? My feet are freezing."

"Sit down and tuck into the soup," he said, before disappearing upstairs.

A few minutes later, he entered the kitchen with some fluffy socks in his hand. "A well meaning Christmas gift," he explained, pulling the socks apart. "Here, let me."

Without thinking about how Ruth might respond, Harry knelt by her chair, and took one of her bare feet between his hands. Noting how cold her foot was, he rubbed his palms across her foot, both the top, and the sole. When he looked up at Ruth, her eyes were wide and bright.

"I'm sorry," he said, and was about to drop her foot, when she touched his shoulder with her hand, and her thumb rested on the skin of his neck, sending shivers through him.

"I like that, Harry. Please don't stop."

He continued rubbing her foot, and when it felt warm under his touch, he slipped one of the socks – gaily embroidered with reindeer – on to her foot, and pulled it up so that it almost reached her knee, and then picked up her other foot, and gave it similar attention. He'd finished rubbing her foot until it was warm, and then he bent his head, and kissed the skin of her inner ankle. He felt Ruth move her hand from his shoulder to his neck, and the movement of her body towards him led him to lifting his head to receive her kiss. Ruth's hands slid around his neck and drew his face closer to hers. Harry let go of her foot, and slid his arms around her waist. He shuffled closer to her, until he was kneeling between her knees. Ruth was in charge of the kiss, and it was wonderful. He had not been kissed like this in such a long time. He wanted to laugh, cry, and call out all at once. When they pulled out of the kiss in order to breathe, neither wanted to end their embrace, but Ruth still had one cold foot, and the soup was cooling quickly.

"We can continue this later," she whispered against his cheek. Harry nodded, and then realised he still held one sock between his fingers, so he grasped her foot, and quickly slipped on the sock.

Not a lot was said while they ate their soup and bread rolls. One would look up at the other, and then quickly look down when they noticed the other was also looking. This is like the old days on the Grid, they each thought.

Harry opened a bottle of light red wine, and they sat over that, sipping it slowly.

"What changed your mind?" Harry said at last.

"You're assuming my mind has been changed," Ruth answered enigmatically.

"Something's changed. It seems like only yesterday you could barely tolerate my presence."

"I had to be angry at someone, Harry, and you were the one who'd called the shots that day, so I blamed you. The responsibility for George's death remains with me."

"You're being rather hard on yourself, Ruth."

"I don't think so. That day I was brought in to sit opposite you in that building, you asked me did I love George -"

"And you avoided answering the question."

"Deliberately, too. I didn't want to discuss my feelings for George with you. I think I was so angry with you because it was clear you still loved me as much as …..." Her words faded, as she remembered that horrible day. "I still miss him, you know, but we were not meant to remain together." Ruth took another sip of wine, while Harry waited for her to continue. He could barely breathe. "Around a month ago I had a dream. I was in this open field where there was grass and flowers, and the wind was blowing. I was sitting on the grass, enjoying the sunshine, when I heard George's voice speaking to me. Do you know what he said?"

Harry slowly shook his head, still barely breathing, the moment like crystal - fragile and so easily shattered.

"He told me that he had to die when he did so that I could be free to love you again. He said that his job had been to protect me and to look after me, but he was never meant to fall in love with me, nor I him."

"And did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you fall in love with him?"

Ruth took such a long time to answer that Harry thought perhaps she didn't want to answer that question. After all, he'd asked that question before.

"No," she said quietly, "and part of my guilt over his death is because of that. Had I loved him, at least he would have died for a reason – for love."

They sat across from one another and continued to sip their wine. It was several minutes before Harry spoke.

"I am also carrying some guilt towards a woman I was seeing for over six months. I didn't love her, either, and somehow that makes everything worse."

"You slept with her?"

"Of course. I just couldn't love her. I tried to, but how could I love her when I already loved another?"

"So you understand my guilt over George."

"I believe I do, yes."

"And when you said you loved another, you mean …..."

"I mean you, Ruth. It's always been you."

Blue eyes held hazel eyes for a very long moment. They were each waiting for the other to speak. Harry sighed, hoping she knew what was on his mind. Ruth watched him, hoping he would speak the thoughts she was having.

"I'd like to stay, Harry," she said at last, "and I'm not planning to sleep in the spare room."

Ruth had settled under the duvet while Harry showered and changed for bed. Wearing only a clean pair of black trunks and a grey t-shirt, he slid into bed, and once he was lying under the duvet, Ruth moved across the mattress to lie beside him, her hip against his side, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"We don't have to act on our feelings tonight, Ruth. If you want to wait a little while."

"Are you tired, Harry?"

"A little, and I'm also rather …... nervous." Harry turned to look at her, fearing she might laugh at him, but she was gazing at him with unconcealed adoration.

Ruth lifted herself on one albow, and reached across to draw his face closer to her own. She leaned towards him, and kissed him, pouring all her love for him into that kiss. She felt his arms reach out and slide around her, drawing her close to him. Ruth tucked her hands around his neck, and turned towards him so that her body pressed against his. As the kiss became more intense, more passionate, they each allowed their bodies to meld, one into the other. Neither was sure where one of them ended, and the other began.

The kiss continued while clothing was discarded, and skin was explored with fingers, and ultimately with lips, tongues, and even teeth. Ruth begged him to push himself inside her, her breasts and belly tight with arousal, just as he appeared to her to be at bursting point. When they joined, it felt timely and right, like they had each been wandering in the wilderness for years, searching for the other.

They moved together, slowly at first, and then with more energy, and even a sense of urgency. When they came, Harry spoke her name freely and with joy, and Ruth's eyes filled with tears as she whispered his name close to his ear. They lay in one another's arms, wordless, for there were no words to describe what they had done together, where they had been, and how unlikely this coming together had seemed only a month earlier.

"I need to ask you, Ruth …... why did you come around here tonight?"

"Because I thought it was time."

"Time?"

"For us to be honest with one another. For us to move beyond denial. For us to grow up. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do."

Harry pulled her against him firmly. Never again would he let her go.

8 weeks later:

Harry was standing at what he considered to be a reasonable distance from the entrance to the ladies toilets in a side alley in the shopping centre. He contemplated for a moment the sheer domestic simplicity of shopping together for a new duvet and duvet cover, something he'd not done with any woman he'd loved before Ruth. He liked plain colours, while she preferred something chaotic and coloured. Harry was prepared to accept stripes or checks, but he drew the line at yellow, orange, blue and green swirls and blotches. Ruth had said he'd get used to it. Somehow, he knew she'd get her way, no matter what his preferences.

"Harry? Is that you?"

He turned to see a tall, elegant woman approaching, followed by an even taller man with short grey hair.

Harry smiled. "Alison. How lovely to see you."

"You look like you're waiting for someone."

"I am. She's taking her time."

"Harry. This is Jonathan Wright. I told you about him last time we saw one another."

Harry shook the hand of this man who had treated Alison so much better than he had. For a moment he felt ashamed – of his behaviour towards her, as well as his disregard for himself. Suddenly, Ruth appeared beside him, and looked at each of the strangers. Harry introduced Alison and Jonathan as `an old friend of mine, and her partner.' He introduced Ruth as, `this is Ruth'. Alison knew the rest.

They exchanged a few more sentences, and then Harry said that he and Ruth still had some turbo-shopping to do, and then they went their separate ways.

"Was that her, Harry?"

"Her?"

"The one you didn't love."

"Yes, it was."

Ruth was silent for a time, as they negotiated the crowds. Harry had to hold her hand lest he lose her in the throng. He just couldn't bear to lose her. Not now.

"I'm glad," she said, once they'd entered another shop which sold bedding and soft furnishings.

"Glad?" Harry stopped, and turned her towards him, his hand still holding hers.

"She seemed rather nice. I thought that if I ever met the woman you saw for all those months, I'd hate her on sight, but I didn't. But I'm relieved you didn't love her."

"So am I, Ruth. Can we crack on? We still have to reach a decision on whether we wish to spend the rest of our lives sleeping under purple, yellow or green, or a combination of all three." Harry wandered further into the shop, and then pointed to a display on a bed, saying, "Something like that. What do you think?"

"That's almost identical to the duvet cover we already have …... the one you've slept under for the past …... how many years is it?"

"It's a good, practical, no-nonsense colour."

"It's navy blue, Harry."

"There's nothing wrong with navy blue."

"Not unless you're a fourteen-year-old, sleeping in a public school dormitory."

"Are we arguing, Ruth? We never argue."

"I prefer to call it a fiery discussion."

They stood in the shop, facing one another, smiling. It was during moments like these that they inwardly pinched themselves. Were they actually together at last? Yes, they were, and wasn't it wonderful. Harry reached down and placed a kiss on Ruth's lips. She kissed him back, smiling.

"It won't work, Harry. I'm not sleeping under checks, stripes, or navy blue."

"You must understand, then Ruth, that there is only one solution available to us."

"Which is?"

"Separate beds."

"I could get used to stripes. Yes, I think I could."

"Liar," Harry said, his mouth against her ear. "What if we call it a night and go for coffee?"

"Good idea. What about our duvet and duvet cover?"

"You choose. I'm obviously not skilled with soft furnishings."

"Okay. What about you? What will you do while I shop?"

"I'll stay on the Grid, and boss people around. I'm good at that."

Ruth planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Yes, my love. You are."

Fin