It was late in the evening, and the Grid was all but deserted. As usual, Ruth was still working, but even she had to concede that it was time to go home. She was just tidying up her desk when a familiar voice called out of the shadows.

"Ruth."

Growing up, Ruth had never liked her name. It seemed to her more suited to an elderly woman who knitted while waiting for a bus than a bright, young girl who wanted so much out of her life. She gradually warmed to it, if for no other reason than her dear late father had chosen it. But there was always something in the way he said it that thrilled her. He was behind her now, so near she could feel his breath.

"Harry…"

Without a word, his hands are firmly on her waist. Another breath, and he's softly kissing her neck. She can't help but lean back into him, and if she was weary before, she certainly isn't now. She needs to see his eyes, and turns around to face him. As she moves away, a small sigh escapes him, head bowed. It's as if all the misery and disappointment of the world is heaped upon that head, and Ruth can't bear it any longer. Her hands move up to either side of his face, and she quells the disquiet in his eyes by kissing him, slowly at first. He's pressing her into the desk. Without conscious thought, she finds herself sliding his tie from the confines of his collar. Somewhere in the distance, something is beeping but neither cares.

"Ruth…Ruth!"

She sits bolt upright in bed, tangled in her duvet, and Beth is looking at her quizzically from the doorway.

"You must have been out, your alarm's been going off for five minutes."

The inquiry will probably end one way or the other today. She knows that they have done all they can – fake memos about the working Albany have been planted in the archives, and a few have been judiciously leaked to a Russian operative who Beth suspects also works for the Chinese. If all goes well, it won't take long for the word to spread that Albany does in fact still exist. Just for good measure, one of the leaked documents states that Albany has been moved and its location is only known by two people, one is fictitious and the other the conveniently dead former Home Secretary. She wasn't going to all this trouble to have Harry or anyone else tortured or kidnapped later.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Harry surprisingly finds himself lounging in a deep leather armchair, enjoying a very expensive scotch with the Home Secretary. Just that morning he was in handcuffs, and he is still a little out of sorts with the recent turn of events. He finds himself uneasy with so many people about, no doubt a reaction to his incarceration. What he really wants to do is go find Ruth, although he hasn't the faintest idea what he would say to her.

It was clear that Harry hadn't taken in a word he said since they sat down, and Towers would wager he knew whom he was thinking of.

"Harry?"

"Sorry, Home Secretary, I was miles away."

"I don't doubt it. Toddle off home, Harry. And give Ms. Evershed my regards when you get a chance."

Once Harry is back to work, there is a sense of relief, and closure, too. One of the first things Harry orders is that Ruth coordinate the rearrangement of desks – he's tired of seeing Lucas' empty workstation. He is irrationally happy when that is done, and Ruth is still within his line of sight. Two more field agents join the section, and it is busy getting them up to speed. Things between them are very stiff and awkward, but neither knows how to break the stalemate. Ever so slowly, the formality starts to chip away, and once in awhile a joke or glance passes between them. He starts to notice that she's smiling a little bit more and he is relieved. When chatter about Albany starts up again, he eventually works out how Ruth arranged it all; and the amount of work that it took to do astounds him. A stray remark from Beth leads him to suspect that Malcolm had a hand in it too, but he's learning to be very careful when it comes to asking Ruth questions. They have settled into a truce, albeit an unsatisfying one.

It was an achingly long day, but another terror cell was shut down, and for once the Americans were actually being helpful about it. He wasn't ready to go home just yet; his house was big and empty and he knew sleep was a long time coming, so Harry went up to the roof to clear his head.

Most of the others had headed of to the George for a celebratory drink, but Ruth wasn't much in the mood to celebrate. Although things between her and Harry were getting better, she was tired of the huge elephant in the room every time they were together. Even at home, Beth would be as if on eggshells anytime Harry was mentioned in passing, and Ruth was getting tired of it. If therapy was teaching her anything, it was that avoiding problems was no way to go through life. Once more unto the breach, she thought as she opened the door to the rooftop, with not an idea in her head how to say to him what she wanted to.

He was leaning on the rail with his back to her, and if had heard her approach, he didn't acknowledge it. It was an unusually mild night, and she was surprised by the fact that no matter how many times she saw the city at night like this, she was always struck by its beauty.

"Hi."

"Hi. I thought you'd go with the others."

"No. I can't keep up with them."

"Isn't it astonishing how young they are?"

"I suppose we were like that once…"

He chuckled.

"I'm sure entirely convinced of that."

They were silent for awhile, but the quiet was companionable. At last, he spoke very quietly,

"You made quite an impression on Catherine. I never had a chance to thank you properly for everything."

"It wasn't all my doing…"

"Nevertheless, thank you. I wasn't sure…" he trailed off, not sure how to finish his sentence.

"I was very angry, Harry. But then when I found out Albany didn't work…"

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you about that. I do understand, Ruth. I know a little bit about survivor guilt, even though I'm not allowed to show it."

They were silent again.

"I've been going to a therapist." Ruth's voice sounded sharper than she intended.

"I guessed as much."

She seemed disappointed that her great revelation wasn't.

"How?"

"Well, for starters, twice weekly seems a little excessive to be talking to an undersecretary. But you've seemed a lot…" Here he struggled with the right word, "…content recently. You've actually been smiling, and I distinctly remember you laughing at one of Tariq's awful jokes the other day...It's been nice."

"How do you know that I haven't been skipping out and meeting a lover?"

He considered her face, and his words very carefully.

"Because you're not cruel, Ruth. Breathtakingly, brutally honest, but not cruel for cruelty's sake. Even after having refused me, you'd still be writhing in guilt every time you looked in my direction if that had been the case."

"I suppose so. But still I'm a little hurt you didn't consider that as a possibility." There was a glimmer in her eyes; she was joking with him now.

"Well, maybe I just refused to consider the possibility, for obvious reasons. Although I have to say that regularly scheduled lovemaking seems very dreary. I put you down as more spontaneous than that."

She looked shocked, with good reason. He was suddenly afraid that he had gone too far with their newfound frankness. He shrugged, and continued,

"I had a lot of time on my hands in Bronzeville. You can't deny me my imagination at least."

Silence again.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Would you have dinner with me?"

"What did you have in mind?" She looked vaguely skeptical.

"I don't know. Whatever you're in the mood for. I'd rather not eat alone, and I'd like us to start again, as impossible as that sounds. Even if it's just as friends."