Harry stood by what had once been Lucas North's desk, speaking quietly to Beth and Dmitri. He kept his eyes trained on his office, where the medics were tending to Ruth and Emilia. Ruth had a hideous cut on her face, and Emilia was crying uncontrollably, but the pair of them were otherwise uninjured, blessedly, mercifully alive.

"I had to tell Towers what happened," Beth was saying, and with some difficulty Harry tried to keep his mind focused on her words. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, desperately needed a piss, and the last thing he wanted to do at this moment was deal with a bloody politician.

Harry grunted. "What exactly did you tell him?"

"That Lucas North is a traitor, that he kidnapped a little girl and you were going to get her back. I didn't mention Albany by name, and I didn't tell him that it was your daughter."

Harry felt the tiniest amount of relief at her words. He was glad that Towers didn't know about Emilia; one phone call would explain the Albany situation, and he was fairly confident that while he would certainly have to answer for the bloodbath in the factory, it seemed unlikely that anyone would label him a traitor. Not today, at any rate.

Dimitri had been on the phone with CO-19, but he ended the call and turned to them, his face grim. "Harry," he said, "it looks like two of the guards at the factory are going to make it. Once they're out of surgery, we'll bring them in for interrogation. We'll figure out who was behind this."

Harry nodded. It was something, at least.

"And Bateman?" he asked.

It was Tariq who answered him. The young man reached around to the printer behind his desk, and pulled out a stack of photographs, handing them over to Harry.

"We let Bateman and Maya leave the hotel. Didn't want to give Bateman the chance to call in a kill order. They made it as far as an airstrip just outside the city."

Harry stared at the photographs in his hands. The case that contained the fake Albany file lay shattered on the ground, and beside it were the bloody remains of John Bateman and Maya Lahan. It looked like Bateman's employers had been more thorough in their examination of the files. Harry felt a stab of pity for the woman; he didn't think she had been aware of exactly what her paramour was doing. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught up in events she had no way to understand.

Bateman, though. Bateman got what he deserved.

"I'll take care of Towers. You three should go home and rest."

Beth opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut across her. "I mean it. I'll handle the clean up. You've done more than enough for one day."

He watched the three of them slowly gather up their things while the events of the last eighteen hours played on a loop in his mind. They had been there for him, supported him, helped him, without question. They had proven themselves, at last, and he found a sort of affection for all three of them worming its way into his exhausted heart.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, and as one his team turned to gape at him. "Thank you all. It's because of your efforts that my daughter is still alive." He extended his hand to Dimitri, who stood nearest him, and tried not smile as the young man tentatively reached out and shook it, an almost comical expression of shock on his face. Dimitri turned and headed for the pods, and Harry shook Tariq's hand next.

And then he was alone with Beth. Beth, whose brief tenure at Thames House had so far been tempestuous, to say the least. Beth who presented him with a challenge at every turn. Beth who had known Lucas better than anyone else.

"Thank you, Beth," he said, and for a moment he was afraid the girl might burst into tears. He was absolute rubbish when it came to crying women, and he knew it.

Instead, she surprised him by suddenly wrapping her arms around him, hugging him briefly before kissing his cheek and disappearing through the pods. He watched her go, a bemused little smile tugging at his lips.

While Harry spoke to Towers Ruth helped Emilia take a bath and settled her into his spare bedroom. The sun was still out, but it had been a trying few days for the little girl, and some of the sedative remained in her system, leaving her exhausted and disoriented.

"It was an awfully bold move, Harry, going to meet Bateman," Towers said on the phone.

"It seemed the only option available to us," Harry explained, taking a sip of his tea. He'd gone straight for the whiskey, once they'd gotten in the house, but Ruth had leveled a reproachful look at him as she stood in the doorway, Emilia cradled in her arms, and he'd opted for starting the kettle, instead. "We needed time to find the girl, and we couldn't risk spooking him."

"That brings me to my next question," Towers continued. "Who exactly is this little girl? Miss Bailey was less than forthcoming."

Harry fought the urge to sigh. "Her mother is a former agent. Bateman knows that I hold every member of my team in high regard, and he knew that I would do whatever it took to bring her back safely to her mother."

Towers made a humming noise that set Harry's teeth on edge. "Anyone I know?" he asked.

"If you don't mind, Home Secretary, that's a conversation I'd prefer to have with you tomorrow. I have a request, as regards the girl's mother, but it's a delicate situation and my nerves are a bit frayed."

"Yes, well, shooting nine mercenaries in an abandoned factory will do that to a man," Towers answered. "Get some rest, Harry. You're on paid leave for the next few days, pending a formal inquiry, but I have every confidence that you will come out the other side. "

"Thank you, Home Secretary," Harry said. Towers hung up, politely, and Harry found himself alone in the kitchen with nothing but memories and the faint taste of blood in the back of his mouth.

Somehow, they'd made it through. Through the horror and the fear and the rain of bullets they survived and brought Emilia home, whole and relatively unscathed. Ruth had come back to him, and right this very moment she was upstairs in his house, with their daughter.

The thought brought a smile to his face. Carefully he emptied the rest of his tea into the sink, rinsed the mug, and headed off up the stairs.

Ruth lay on the bed in the spare room, curled protectively around her sleeping daughter. She had no tears left, and instead found herself overcome with a sort of bone-deep weariness that left her utterly unable to move. Her head rested on the pillow beside Emilia's, close enough to smell the damp, clean scent of her hair, and she smiled. She'd killed at least one man today, she knew, injured others, and tomorrow she might take the time to consider how she felt about that. Right now, though, all she could think was how grateful she was to be here, in this house, with her little girl sleeping peacefully, utterly unaware of the horrors her parents had endured, had inflicted, to bring her to this point.

Her parents.

That's what they were, weren't they? The two people who had brought her into this world, the two people who loved her and would do anything, anything to keep her safe. Emilia had two parents, now, instead of one. Surely that would be better for her, in the long run.

Things would be different after this, Ruth knew. There was no way Harry would let them disappear again, and Ruth found she didn't want to. Surely five years in exile was long enough. Surely there was something she could do, someone she could appeal to, someway she could bring Ruth Evershed back from the dead and claim some semblance of a normal life.

A life with Harry, maybe.

She'd thought about it more than she cared to admit, over the years. They'd only spent one night together, after all, and she knew that he said he loved her, but was that enough? Was a love five years gone enough to build a new life on? Was that love strong enough to see them through the future? Once more people found out Emilia, would that love put her in danger again?

From somewhere down the hall she heard Harry puttering around, running a bath by the sound of it, and she allowed herself a moment to wonder what that future might be like. What it would be like to live in this house, with him, to see him all the time. Would she go back to MI-5? Could she go back, after everything that had happened? Could she stand to do that to Emilia, to risk that her daughter might meet the same fate as Wes Carter, both of her parents dead and gone in service to a country that never knew their names? Then again, could she stand not to? She wondered what it might be like, kissing Harry good bye in the morning, never knowing if he was going to come back to her, never being able to share in his confidence again. It was the job that bound them, that showed them how well they worked together, how much they could depend on one another, and without that glue, what would they be?

She heard the sound of gentle footsteps, and looked up in time to see Harry leaning against the doorframe, smiling softly at her. He still wore the rumpled blue shirt Bateman had given him, unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. He looked careworn and exhausted, and she knew exactly how he felt.

"She's asleep," Ruth murmured, somewhat redundantly, and watched Harry's face as he gazed at them, the warmth in his eyes, the set of his shoulders, for once relaxed, almost happy.

"I've run a bath for you," he said after several moments of peaceful silence, and she couldn't help but smile up at him. Just like Harry, taking the time to think of her when he was just as exhausted, just as shattered, just as overwhelmed as she was. Ruth wanted to say no, wanted to say she was never, ever leaving her daughter's side again, but she knew she needed it. Needed to wash away everything that had happened over the last few days, needed something normal to remind her who she was.

Carefully, not wanting to disturb her sleeping child, Ruth rose to stand on unsteady legs. She was absolutely knackered, and her legs wobbled beneath her. Before she had taken a single step Harry was beside her again, a gentle arm wrapped around her waist, warm and supportive and so wonderfully alive that Ruth had to fight the urge to cry once more.

Harry led her towards the bathroom, feeling slightly bemused. She'd looked so wonderful, a little bloody and a lot exhausted but absolutely beautiful, laying there next to their daughter, that little smile playing across her face as she watched the girl sleep. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but he knew now was not the time. They'd gone through hell together, and there was nothing he could tell her that his actions had not already implied.

He'd intended to leave her to her bath alone, but she was shaking under his arm, and he wasn't all together confident in her abilities to get through this by herself.

"Ruth, I-"

"Stay with me, Harry," she murmured sleepily, turning in his arms to smile up at him. "I've already seen you undress once today," she added, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. He wasn't sure where they stood with one another, really, wasn't sure how she'd respond, but he could feel her smile against her lips, could feel her raise her arms and wrap them around his chest, and that was good enough for him.

They parted with a sigh, and he cupped her face in his hands, turning her head gently so he could get a better look at the cut on her face. The medics had cleaned and stitched the wound, but the sight of the angry red line across her pale skin made the rage well back up inside his chest. He'd come so close, so damnably close to losing her today. His only regret about the way Bateman had died was that he hadn't killed the man himself.

"Harry," she said warningly, and one glance at those familiar blue eyes told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He forced himself to smile and planted a soft kiss across the cut on her cheek.

Satisfied, her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, and he stood perfectly still, watching as she carefully unfastened them, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her eyes downcast, focused on the task at hand. She looked so serious, and he had to fight the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. He restrained himself, however, and let her take her time, until finally the last button was undone and she was pushing the shirt off his shoulders. The shirt was covered in blood and dirt, and he was thankful to be rid of it.

"My turn," he murmured gently, and turned his attention to the buttons of her blouse, glad that he wouldn't have to try to pull it over her head without hurting the cut on her cheek. She was so warm, so close, and when his fingers brushed against her skin he could feel her blood racing in her veins.

In this way, taking turns, piece by piece, they undressed each other, until they stood together, naked and shivering slightly by the bath. The time had changed them both, but Harry had to admit it had been kinder to Ruth than it had to him. Her hips were rounder, her breasts fuller, thanks to Emilia, and the little lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth only endeared her more to him. Her wrinkles were a testament to the fact that she had lived, still lived, was still here beside him after everything she'd gone through.

Harry clambered into the bath first. It was a big, roomy affair, more than suitable for two people to lie together comfortably. He held his arms out and Ruth eased into them, lying with her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder. The heat of the water seeped into their exhausted limbs, and with what little strength he had left Harry raised his arms to wrap around her, drawing her as close to him as possible. He clasped his hands together against her stomach, just beneath the swell of her breasts, and she sighed contentedly, covering his hands with her own.

For a time they simply laid there together, letting the water wash away their troubles and soothe their aching limbs, letting the warm feel of skin on skin soothe their aching hearts.

"I love you," Harry said, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until it was too late, tensing as he waited for the admonishment he was sure would follow, wishing he could see her face.

Ruth hummed, a sleepy, happy sort of sound. "I love you, too, you know," she answered.

Well, no, actually, he hadn't known, hadn't allowed himself to believe that it was possible that she might love him after everything that had happened. She'd said it so matter-of-factly though, with the same sort of conviction people used when they said "the grass is green" or "the sky is blue"; she said the words as if they were the most obvious thing in the world, and it was that tone of certainty that convinced him it was true. She was here, in his arms, and she loved him.

He leaned forward, and planted a soft kiss on the back of her neck. He was rewarded with a gentle sigh, and one of Ruth's hands rising up out of the water to cradle the back of his head, holding him closer to her as he kissed her again.

It felt so familiar, so almost moment-for-moment the same as that night they'd spent in an anonymous hotel, sweaty and naked and lost in each other, that he couldn't help but smile against her skin. She pressed back against him, the warm swell of her ass brushing against his semi-hard cock, her little gasp bringing him to full attention almost immediately.

Propriety demanded that he apologize, that he not take advantage of her when neither of them had slept in almost forty-eight hours and both of them were bruised and battered from their ordeal, but Ruth never gave him the chance. She turned in his arms, displacing a fair amount of water and fumbling a bit until she was straddling his hips, her fingers brushing through his hair as she brought her lips down on his in a searing kiss.

His hands moved of their own accord, one clutching her ass almost bruisingly tight, the other clasping the back of her neck, holding her to him as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, desperate to taste her, to feel her, to lose himself in her as he had so many years before.

She ground her hips down against him and whimpered when his hardness brushed against her; he could feel the heat of her, hotter than the water that surrounded them, now, but he wanted her to be in control of this, wanted her to decide when – if – she was ready to take that next step.

Ruth pulled away from him, flushed and panting, and he told himself to relax, that there would be other nights, better nights, another time when she was in a better place and they could come together. He had waited five years to have her in his arms again, he could wait a little while longer.

"Harry," she said, her voice soft and ragged. "I need you. Now."

Would wonders never cease?

He found he couldn't speak, could only stare at her in awe and desperate need. He nodded.

She kissed him again, supporting herself with one hand on the wide edge of the bathtub while the other went fishing around in the water between their bodies. He moaned into her mouth when he felt her small, warm hand wrap around him, and she broke away from him, laughing softly. "Shhhh," she said, an impish grin on her face. He just nodded inanely; the feel of her hand on him had wiped every thought from his mind.

Slowly, tortuously slowly, she lowered herself onto him, her head thrown back and her bottom lip caught once more between her teeth to keep herself from making a sound. He fought the urge to grab her by the hips and pull her down hard against him; he wanted her to set the pace, and if she wanted slow and steady, then by God he was going to give it to her.

She moved with a sinuous sort of grace, surprising in someone who was ordinarily so clumsy, raising herself up and down again with a gentle rocking motion, taking him further and further each time until with a final thrust he was sheathed fully inside her warmth. A whimper escaped her as he slid home, and he leaned forward, dragging her down to kiss him again as he thrust up against her, just a little, just enough to make her shiver.

They moved together almost silently, steadily, slowly, pushing each other higher and higher with each thrust of their hips. The water sloshed dangerously around them, but they were both too lost in each other to care.

With a hand pressed flat against her back Harry held her close to him, kissing his way down her neck, across her collarbone, heading for the warm sanctuary of her breasts. She gasped as she felt his lips wrap around one warm, dusky pink nipple, and Harry smiled against her skin. He was tempted to mark her again, to commemorate the occasion, but he knew he'd have to answer for it in the morning, and thus resisted the urge. He loved the little sounds she made, loved the feel of her tight and warm and perfect around him, loved the way her skin tasted. He never wanted to leave this bath.

Ruth began to move faster, pushing herself down against him harder, and Harry, sensing the end was near, wedged a hand between them, brushing through the soaking curls at her center until he found what he was looking for. He kept his mouth on her breast as rubbed the tips of his fingers against her clit in a rhythm he remembered she liked, trying to meet her thrust for thrust until with a strangled groan she toppled over the edge, clenching him tight inside her until he had no choice but to follow suit.

She collapsed against him, her breathing labored, and he held her close, wanting to stay like this, with her, in her, forever.

"I love you," she panted against his shoulder. "I love you."

By the time they were done the water had gone cold, so they gave each other only a cursory wash, both eager to touch one another as much possible, and eager to get the hell out of the cold bath and into a warm bed. Harry helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in a fluffy towel, trying to tamp down the surge of pride he felt when he saw how unsteady she was on her feet. She's exhausted, he reminded himself. That's not thanks to you.

While Ruth dried herself off Harry found a towel for himself, brushing off the last of the freezing water. He found he couldn't take his eyes off her. She was lovely, soaking wet and bedraggled though she may be.

Ruth tried not to blush under Harry's frank stare. Naked together for the second time today, albeit under much better circumstances, and still his gaze was enough to heat her through to the core. She couldn't believe they'd just done that, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it, either. She loved Harry, loved him like she'd never loved anyone in her entire life, and it felt right, to be with him again. If she were being honest, she never wanted to leave him.

Real life broke in as soon as she was dry, however; she had nothing to wear, and she staunchly refused to dress in the same clothes she'd been wearing before. She fully intended to burn them.

"Could I borrow a shirt, or something?" she asked timidly, and was rewarded with a soft smile. God, she loved it when he smiled at her like that.

"Of course," he answered, taking her by the hand and leading her back to his bedroom.

He pulled a faded black t-shirt from one of his dresser drawers, watching with an amused expression on his face as she tugged it on. It drowned her completely, but he was looking at her like she was most the beautiful thing in the world, and if she hadn't been so bloody tired that look alone would have been enough to have her falling back into bed with him.

Harry started dressing for bed, and Ruth realized with a start that he probably expected her to sleep with him. And while the thought of spending a whole blissful, uninterrupted night with him was deeply appealing, she knew she couldn't.

"I'm going to sleep with Emilia," she said, and she didn't miss the wounded look that flitted across his familiar brown eyes. "I just don't want her to wake up alone and confused in a strange place," she continued.

He nodded, and her shoulders sagged with relief. "That's probably a good idea," he said softly. "She's been through a lot, I think it would be good for you to be with her. I'd join you myself, only I think waking up to my face would scare her."

Ruth laughed a little, crossing the room to wrap her arms around him. He held her close as she pressed her nose against his neck, breathing in his smell and basking in the simple joy of being able to touch him again.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered, and felt his arms tighten that little bit more around her.

He kissed the top of her head, the gesture so gentle and affectionate it made her want to weep.

"I love you, too. Go, take care of our girl."

Our girl.

She liked the sound of that.

Ruth kissed him one last time, and then forced herself to walk away, heading for the room where Emilia slept. She stood in the doorway for a time, watching her daughter sleep. The girl's eyes were closed, her blonde curls spilled across the pillow in a tangle, and she looked so peaceful that for a moment Ruth couldn't bring herself to move.

Tomorrow would be hard, she knew. She would have to see how much Emilia understood about what happened, how much of a mark the time spent in captivity would leave on her daughter, and that thought terrified her. She hoped in time the pain would fade, that maybe, years from now, Emilia wouldn't even remember it. She was only four; surely this wouldn't stay with her forever.

And there were happy things to come. She could tell Emilia that Harry was her Papa, could watch her daughter's face light up as she realized that they were a family, the way they were always meant to be.

Ruth crossed the room on silent feet, sliding under the duvet and wrapping her arms around her daughter. Thoughts of MI-5, and her status as a dead woman, and how the hell Harry had come to be knight faded away as sleep stole over her. She was warm, her daughter was safe, and Harry was just across the hall.

She was home.