Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It means a lot, so thank you. Anyway, this is only the epilogue to tie up loose ends. Enjoy!

Apologies for the slight delay in getting this story finished but, regardless, here it is.

Chapter Twelve: Albatross

"The self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea."

(Rime of the Ancient Mariner – Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

"A prominent dissident Republican from West Belfast was found dead in the early hours of this morning. Early reports suggest that fifty-four year old Brendan McLoan died of a heart attack…"

The newsreader's voice filled the kitchen as Ruth waited for the kettle to boil. She reached down to pick up the cat and whispered in his ear: 'bullshit'. Unless it was the world's biggest coincidence and McLoan really had dropped down dead just as Harry had gone out there to even their old score. In which case, she realised, she would have been somewhat disappointed.

Either way, she finally breathed easily knowing that Harry was safe. As promised, he had sent her a message that simply read: 'it's done'. But hearing it on the news, even in its cryptic form, had made the deed real. This game was done. There were no winners; there never could be. But the score was even and now all sides could beat an honourable retreat. Just as the kettle boiled and a cloud of steam caught the broad morning sun her phoned bleeped again to mark the arrival of another text. 'On the tarmac, about to take off. Put the kettle on!'

A smile played at the corners of her lip as she dropped the cat and grabbed her car keys.

Barely an hour and a half later and he was back in her arms. The two of them standing entwined in the middle of the airport while Will veered sharply round them to give them privacy, hauling his suitcase behind him. But Ruth paid him little mind. She had Harry back and in more ways than just the one. Now it was over; now they could start again.

When they drew apart, their eyes still locked into each other. After all that arguing and shouting the last week had brought, very little now needed to be said. The three of them headed outside, dodging the influx of passengers making their way to check in, flight terminals and departure gates. The spy in her clocked every face that passed, finding some strange romance in the knowledge that every soul in that building at that moment would be scattered across the whole globe within a few hours. So many leaves on an autumn breeze.

To prevent them being pulled apart, Harry grasped her hand until they made it out of the door and into the open. Will veered off again, dragging his suitcase over to the taxi stand and digging for his wallet with his free hand. At which point, Ruth grabbed him.

"Come back with us," she said.

He looked as though he was about to politely decline, until Harry took command of the situation.

"He'd love to."

Augmenting this statement by taking command of Will's suitcase, the younger man gave in and thanked Ruth as he got in the back of the car. Once home, they shared a pot of tea and sandwiches, talking easily with none of the tension that had so dominated recent events. It was as though a storm had finally passed and cleared the air between them. In its place, a timid semblance of reality.

Only that night, once they were alone and had been fed and washed, did Harry mention it. They were lying in bed, still warm and breathless from making love for the first time since the trouble began. Not in the least bit tired but still in need of that physical proximity, they lay in each other's arms and savoured the post coital come down.

"I shot him in the thigh," he confessed. "Then I shot him in the head."

They were back on an even enough keel for him to let his timing revert to its usual state of terrible. Something Ruth seemed to have gained a deeper understanding of as she no longer saw fit to even mention it.

"So, it really is over now?" she asked, rolling over to face him.

"It's over," he confirmed. "Not Bill. There will always be a space there, where he should be. There will always be someone … missing."

He had never said it before. But it was only as the second bullet smashed through McLoan's skull that Harry realised Will wasn't the only one who had become fixated on Bill Crombie's death and let his life fall by the wayside. Not only had he let the murder eclipse the man, but he had let it dominate his life and cloud his judgements. He had carried the guilt so long he had forgotten what they once meant to one another. Instead of treasuring those memories he had allowed it to become his own personal albatross; a curse he was doomed to relive wherever he went.

"That's understandable," Ruth replied. "People like that, they don't just slip in and out of our lives without leaving some trace."

The last thing Harry wanted to do was sound trite. But he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.

Although Will returned to an empty flat, his isolation wasn't permanent. The weekend following his return from Belfast saw him once more on the road, heading north to the place where his father grew up. Catherine came with him, reading directions off a scrap of paper her father passed to her. Despite several diversions, they made it in good time. Harry and Ruth were already at the spot, waiting for them.

The town was still small. Quaint, with its cobbled streets and grey stone walls. A river flowed through the middle of the main town. While the sun was out, it was idyllic. They passed his old school, Harry filling him in on the facts as they all gravitated towards the nearest pub. Probably the same one that was there when they were kids.

No, it was no substitute for his father telling him all this in person. Nothing ever would be. But he no longer felt like he was completely alone in his search for the truth. He knew he probably never was truly alone in that. It was difficult for him to articulate. But the sense of absence has eased off; something inside him had let go. As they sat at the wooden table outside the pub, basking in the warm summer air, he looked around at each of them in turn. Nothing could feel the same now that he had been led into this fold.

Someone took a hold of his hand. He turned round to see Catherine smiling at him.

"Come with me," she said, standing up.

"Where?" he asked.

She was already on her feet, stepping out from behind the bench with her hand still in his.

"Just follow," she replied.

And so he did. Wherever she was leading him.

Thanks again for reading. Apologies for the lacklustre ending, but this was more difficult than I thought it would be. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.

I'll be totally honest and admit that I have precisely zero ideas for any future fics, but I daresay I'll be returning at some point. Thank you again!