Two:
Sentimentality

They returned after Portia's clarinet lesson and Ruth scooped some ice cream out into a bowl for her daughter. "You've done really well with your practicing," she praised. "You'll be playing in march time in no time if you keep it up, love."

Portia nodded and dug into her ice cream. "Do you know Harry, mom?"

"Who, love?" Ruth asked, trying to forestall the inevitable.

"Cate's dad," Portia said. "You looked at him like you know him."

"You're entirely too observant for your own good," Ruth sighed, ruffling Portia's flame-red curls. She had no idea, honestly, where her daughter's hair had come from – it must have been from Harry's side of the family. "I used to know him."

"He called you Ruth."

Ruth paused, then nodded. "I was called Ruth, once." She took a deep breath and murmured, "We're going to have to move again."

Portia's face fell. "What? NO! Mom, you said – you said we wouldn't have to move again," she protested, starting to cry. "I want to stay here!"

"Well, we don't always get what we want," Ruth said, her voice choking her. "I have to protect you and keep you safe, Portia – that's my job."

"I hate you," Portia hissed. "I hate you and if I have to move, I want to go live with my dad – wouldn't he love to have me with him, mom? Since you hate me so much!"

"Stop," Ruth said very softly but firmly. "You stop it right now, Portia."

The doorbell rang. Ruth and Portia sat across the table from one another, not moving. The doorbell rang again.

Ruth got up and went to the door; whomever she thought it might be on the other side of the door, she hadn't expected a delivery man with a huge arrangement of flowers in his arms. "Hello," Ruth said.

"Sign here," the deliveryman said. She did as he asked, then he passed her the vase. She went inside and carried the vase into the kitchen.

Portia's lip curled in derision. "Are those from Iain?" she asked. "He's trying too hard."

"I don't know who they're from," Ruth sighed, setting the vase on the counter. "Finish your dessert, please." She opened the card and felt the blood drain from her face. Quos amor versus tenuit tenebit. Tiger lilies, white carnations and red roses.

"Are they from Iain?" Portia persisted.

"No," Ruth said very softly. "They're… they're from… someone else."

Portia sighed. "I don't like Iain. Not after what he said last week on the phone when you were in the bathroom getting ready. He was talking to somebody and said he's just sleeping with you because you're the best at your job and you can get him a better gig."

Ruth felt her cheeks flush; her ten year old didn't need to know that much about her sex life. "Yes, well, Iain is a prat," Ruth snapped. "And I won't be seeing him again. Personally or professionally."

Portia's face lit up. "Good!" She paused. "Mom, I – I don't hate you. Not really."

"Even if you're mad at someone," Ruth said softly, "you should never tell them that you hate them." She paused. "But we do need to move. We've been in one place too long –"

"Why do we always have to move?" Portia whined. "I hate moving."

Ruth cupped her daughter's face in her hands and whispered, "So do I, love – so do I. But I have to do what I can in order to keep you safe. Do you understand? People who know me from before you were born… they're dangerous, Portia. I will do anything to keep you safe from them."

Portia frowned, her eyes filling with tears. "But – mom – "

Ruth sighed and pulled her daughter into her lap for a hug. "I wish things were different," she whispered. "I wish so much every day that I could take you home and we could be a family with your dad, love. But when I left… I knew it would never happen. That I'd always be on the move. And then I found out I was pregnant with you, and everything changed." She held the little girl and sighed. "I'm sorry, love. I am so sorry. I never should have dragged you into the world like this – it wasn't fair of me to be so selfish and want you so much."

"Tell me about my dad," Portia whispered.

"He was a very important man," Ruth said softly. "He kept London safe from people who would do bad things like explode bombs and kill other people because of their religion. He was a very good man, Portia, and I love him. Still, after all this time apart, I love him." She hugged the little girl and smiled. "And he would love you desperately, Portia."

Portia sighed. "I'm never gonna meet him, am I?"

"Maybe someday," Ruth murmured. "When the danger is past us."

Portia sighed and snuggled up. "Who sent the flowers? They're pretty."

"Mmm, the network sent them," Ruth said cheerfully. "Your mum managed to get them out of a scrape again, and they sent flowers."

Portia looked at her doubtfully. "Oh," she said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

"Now, it's time for you to go take a shower and get ready for bed," Ruth encouraged gently. "We're going to the Zoo with Cate tomorrow, remember?"

"Is Harry coming, too?" Portia asked. "I like him – he's nice."

Ruth hadn't been expecting that. "I'm sure he's coming, too, as Charlie and Gracie are the reason he's visiting," she said. "And I'm glad he meets with your approval."

Portia got off Ruth's lap and scampered out of sight, yelling, "I wish he was my grandpa!"

It was two o'clock in the morning when Ruth gave up on sleep. She got up and made a pot of coffee, then went to sit on the back patio with her Kindle and her thermos. She didn't want to disturb Portia's rest; the poor girl slept fitfully enough to begin with, rolling all over the bed, crying out violently with the force of her dreams, more often than not ending up on the floor when she woke up than actually in her bed.

The outside light at Catherine's came on as someone came outside. It was Harry, clearly suffering from time change issues, with a mug of coffee and an iPad in hand. He glanced over at her, clearly alerted to her presence by the light of her screen. "Hello," he called, waving a little – as much as he could manage by lifting his mug in acknowledgement.

"Hello," Ruth replied, her voice stuck in her throat. "You didn't have to send flowers. It was excessive."

"Excessive is the price I paid to have them delivered by the time you got home," Harry said with a rueful smile on his lips. "You deserve flowers."

She suddenly wished that there was a fence separating the yards, rather than a communal backyard. He was too close, too near, yet so very far away. She wanted him, had missed him so much that having him so close was the very worst kind of torture, but she couldn't ask him to come closer.

"You shouldn't have bought me flowers," Ruth said. "You're here to spoil your grandchildren. I shouldn't even be in the picture, Harry."

He took a swig of coffee, then set the mug and the tablet down before crossing the property line with a strength of purpose that she'd only seen once before; when he'd thrown his phone down the corridor at Havensworth and followed her into her room.

"Don't," Ruth warned, stopping him in his tracks when he was merely an arm's reach away from her. "You're the great Harry Pearce of Section D," she reminded him. "If it were ever to come out that you'd found me… that you'd come after me…"

"Ruth, please don't –"

"Janet," she corrected him sharply. "I'm not Ruth. Not anymore."

"I didn't come looking for you," he said angrily, gruffly, "but since I've found you, you've been nothing but rude and –"

"I have a life, Harry," Ruth said. "A good life. I have Portia and a good job and a nice house and a car that doesn't make dreadful clunking noises when I slam on the brakes on the freeway. I've built all that up from nothing – I cannot let you tear it all down."

"I'm not asking you to –"

"Shut up and listen to me," she hissed. "The last time we moved, it was across the Valley, okay? Before that, we were moving every month or two because I saw Oliver Mace. I saw him, Harry. He saw me. I've never in my life been so fucking scared."

"Oliver Mace is dead," Harry said. "He died six months ago in a clandestine op gone wrong. He can't come after you again, Ruth – and no one else will."

"You don't know that," she hissed.

"I do," he said quietly, "because I got your name cleared – your real name. Ruth Evershed was posthumously exonerated of any wrong-doing she was accused of. I just… I couldn't find you to tell you."

"I don't believe you," Ruth said. "I don't – I can't."

Harry jerked his thumb toward her house, then said, "Well, if you don't believe me, we should talk about your daughter, then."

She blanched; did he suspect? Of course he did – he was the head spook. She couldn't hide anything from him, could she? Fuck a duck. "What do you want to know about her?" Ruth asked.

"How old is she?"

"Ten."

He inhaled and nodded. "Okay," Harry said, exhaling a sigh. "Well, that changes everything, doesn't it? Did you know you were pregnant when you left?"

"No, of course not," she whispered. "God, Harry, how could you think I'd walk away from you if I'd known I was pregnant with your child?" And that's when she realized he'd baited her right into the trap of admitting Portia's parentage. "Oh – Harry, I –"

"You sent me a postcard from Milan," he said.

She nodded, ashamed for still feeling so much for him. "Just to let you know I was all right. Then I flew to New York. It was easier to hide in America than Europe – Mace mostly annoyed the Cousins, so I figured they'd be less inclined to help him find me." She swallowed hard. "Portia was born in Omaha."

Harry paused, then said, "I don't even know where that is."

"Nebraska," she replied automatically. "It's one of the middle states. I got stranded on my way through because of an early snowstorm that dropped two feet of snow on top of an inch of ice… And then I went into labor. It was the most terrified I've ever been in my life; the ambulance nearly slid off the road. I thought we were both going to die." She looked up at him for the first time, really, and saw his concern mirrored on his face for all and sundry to see. "Harry… I can't do this."

"You're seeing someone?" Harry asked, his heart dropping.

"No," Ruth said quickly. "Well, yes, but – it's complicated and it's over because he's a piece of shit. So, no, I'm not – but –"

"I've missed you, Ruth. Badly."

When he looked at her like that, it was just like nothing had ever changed between them. Like she hadn't been away for eleven years, running from anyone that could possibly do her or Portia harm. His eyes were so expressive and all she could see in them was burning want.

"Harry…" she breathed. "I – I can't – I can't do this." She was flying desperately in the face of everything she'd ever wanted, but Portia was her first, nay her only, concern.

He only hesitated for a brief second before he leaned in and kissed her. It was the same way he'd kissed her after their one (and only) date; the way that made her drag him inside, kicking off her shoes and fumbling with his tie as they barely made it to the couch. It was the same way he'd kissed her the day after their date, after she'd told him they couldn't go out to dinner again because it undermined his authority. He'd turned up on her doorstep with a litany of reasons why she shouldn't care what others thought of her – and then he'd kissed her. That time, they'd made it up to her bed, but the headboard had come loose during their enthusiastic fucking.

And then Havensworth…

Dear god, the man could kiss. Her body was screaming with desire, a want that she'd never come close to feeling with anyone but him. She broke away and whispered, "Harry…"

"I never forgot," he rasped, his voice low and full of emotion. "I never forgot the way we were together. I can't just walk away." He took a deep breath. "And you've got Portia… our daughter."

Ruth's face contorted in dismay. "Harry… you can't just swoop in and scoop her up and call her yours," she protested. "If I'd have thought it was safe to tell you about her, I would have –"

"Where did her name come from?" he asked softly. "She looks like my mum, but Portia…?"

"My aunt," Ruth said quietly. "I named her after my aunt. Portia Eloise Williams."

Harry's brow creased. Ruth pulled further away from him, but he reached over and pulled her back, kissing her with all the tenderness of a lover. "She's perfect," he said, simply.

"Harry, it's half past the arsecrack of dawn," she pointed out.

"If I were home, I'd be up and taking my morning constitutional to the news stand," he said. "I'm out of place and out of time –"

She didn't hesitate, just acted on how she felt. Ruth crashed their lips together, moaning softly when he deepened the kiss, his tongue joining hers in soft reverence. It didn't take long before his hands were under her camisole and hers were in his track pants. It took even less time before they were darting inside her house, seeking a soft surface. They made it to the office, collapsing onto the futon and stripping one another down to naked skin between hungry kisses.

Their bodies still fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle carved only to fit together, and she exhaled a low, soft moan of bliss as his pelvis met hers and he was nestled completely inside her. They were both sweating and entirely too eager to find this kind of pleasure again; it was over very quickly. The pleasure was high, intense, a gossamer thread that might just blow away in the wind… but god, while it lasted, it was the most beautiful thing they'd ever experienced.

Harry collapsed against her and Ruth stroked his back, listening to the soft noise he made at her gentle touch. "Harry," she whispered, "I'm sorry. If I mistreated you before… if I –"

"No," he breathed. "Don't apologize. You're right. You and Portia have a life. I have no right to just… overturn the apple cart, as it were."

"You already have," she murmured. She didn't mean it to sound accusatory, but how else could it sound? "Harry… I've missed you, too."

She drifted to sleep, but she swore that as she hovered somewhere between awake and asleep, he said, "I love you, Ruth."

END PART TWO