Author's note: Firstly, thank you for the lovely, encouraging reviews. This was originally intended to be just a one-shot, but you guys convinced me otherwise! As a consequence, I'm not sure where this is going, but here goes! Part of this chapter was co-opted from another unfinished angsty fic fragment – I think it works here better instead…Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Her knuckles hurt. She had been too flustered and angry to notice it before, but now they were throbbing insistently. It didn't help matters that she had been writing in her journal for the better part of an hour. The journal was an exercise given to her by her therapist. It had taken a lot of work, but with a bit of help from an old contact at GCHQ, Ruth had found a therapist who was familiar with the Service but not a part of it. So, twice a week, as far as anyone else knew Ruth had a meeting with one of Towers' undersecretaries and no one, including Harry's frightened and ineffectual temporary replacement, had bothered to double-check. She had originally balked at the journal assignment, but there was something vaguely reassuring about putting her thoughts in a concrete form, although the spook in her was terrified at the prospect of it falling into the wrong hands. She was about to go to bed when she received an unexpected phone call.

"Home Secretary?"

"Ms. Evershed. Ruth. I need to meet with you tomorrow, first thing."

"Of course."

"Good. I'll see you at 7:00," and he rang off before she could reply.

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Towers had never met Ruth in person; their interactions had always been over the phone. Although he conceded that she was very intelligent and seemed pretty enough based on her photographs in her personnel file, he never did quite understand Harry's inclination, for lack of a better word. She was early for their meeting, and as they talked, William Towers' opinion shifted markedly.

"Is this about Harry?" Her concern was apparent, he found himself wishing he could give her better news.

"I do not like the way this inquiry is going, frankly. The longer it goes on the worse it is for everyone involved, but particularly for Harry."

"How is he?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. I'm afraid he's given up."

She said nothing, but fidgeted with a delicate chain around her neck.

"I can't do anything. I'm supposed to be impartial in this nonsense. The last thing I need, this country needs is for Harry Pearce to be decommissioned or in prison…"

"Prison?" Fear gripped her heart. She had been naïve enough to think that not being able to see Harry everyday would be the worst that could happen.

"Oh, yes. Rather drastic, I agree but entirely possible. Now if either of those things happens, you and I both know that we are sunk. I don't have a suitable replacement that's half the spook that Harry is. Mind you, he's a pig-headed, arrogant bastard most of the time, but at least he knows what he's doing. Our lives are going to get a lot more complicated if this doesn't turn out well."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come up with something to get Harry, and us, out of this mess. Hobble the panel. Whatever you have to do, just do it…but keep me out of it."

"Of course."

They had been walking, and appearing just then at the other end of the corridor were Harry and a young man Ruth took as Harry's solicitor.

"Ah, Phelps, there you are! Can I have a word?" the Home Secretary buttonholed Harry's companion and before Ruth or Harry knew what had happened they were alone.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He just looked at her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, as she tried to think of something to say and was failing miserably. She had come forward a few more steps and he had to remind himself to breathe.

"You're looking well."

"I wish I could say the same of you, Harry." She smiled, and he grinned back. In reality, worry gripped her. He seemed thinner and grayer and she wasn't used to this aura of defeat that seemed to cling to him. He noticed her notice the thin pink lines around his wrists.

"Handcuffs," he said it so matter-of-factly, and she's instantly angry.

"Harry…"

"It's OK." Before she can protest anymore, he took her hands in his and whispered,

"It's alright, Ruth."

It doesn't take long for him to notice her still swollen and red knuckles, and even shorter still for his brain to put the pieces together. He suddenly stiffened and she knows that he's figured out what happened between her and Ellis. His initial reaction is pure, unadulterated fury. He's sure in that moment that if Michael Ellis appeared in front of him, he'd gladly rip his throat out. But just as suddenly, he's remorseful for putting her in this predicament in the first place, and then he can't help but be proud and slightly amused. That's my girl.

"Painful?"

"A bit."

"If it makes you feel any better, he looks worse."

She laughed, and he felt twenty years younger.

They were silent for awhile, basking in the others' presence. Both knew that their time must be up soon, and there was little likelihood of another "chance" meeting.

"What will you do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, I could finally form that rock band I always wanted to," she laughed again, and a glint has come back into his eyes as well.

"Harry, promise me something."

"I'm not sure I'm in the position to…"

"Promise me that you will fight this."

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Towers looked at his watch. He was taking a risk arranging this meeting, and he didn't want to press his luck by having someone on the panel find out that Harry had been in contact with someone from his section, especially Ruth. Another minute or two more was the most that they could risk.

"What is the purpose of this, Home Secretary?" Phelps was a brilliant legal mind, but, in Towers opinion, lacked subtlety.

"Seeing each other will motivate those two to get us out of this mess, Phelps. Martyrdom is no help to anybody. Alright, I think time's just about up."

Ruth was so silent on the way out that the Home Secretary was less sure of his scheme than previously. He had pinned his hopes on Harry and Ruth's feelings for each other and their mutual stubbornness and initiative to get this inquiry business over with so he could have a relatively quiet last few years before retirement. Before getting into the cab, Ruth put her hand on Towers' arm.

"Thank you."

If I had to look into those eyes nearly every day for years, I'd probably commit treason for her too, he thought suddenly.

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