Switching to the third person in this chapter as I got fed up waiting for Harry to begin writing in his journal again. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. A big thank you to all my readers and especially to those who have reviewed. One final review would be very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.

29th July 2010,

Cooper's Bar, Glasgow

"Another please," he says, lifting his hand to get the barman's attention and putting the money on the counter. He picks up his whisky and drains the glass, returning it to the surface with a dull thud. Another night, another city, another bar, another drink, and yet, in the end, they're all the same. They all look the same, sound the same, smell the same, taste the same, feel the same – dark and empty like his heart, his mind, his soul. He'd thought it would help him to get away, but it hasn't really achieved anything except to highlight how lost he is without her. He wonders if she's read his letter, if she'd refused to take it when Malcolm had handed it to her, or if she'd destroyed it in a fire as he's sure Malcolm had instructed her to do if she didn't want to read it.

The barman places his drink on the counter and he lifts it to his lips, taking a large gulp. Perhaps he should return to London and find out. Perhaps it's time now, time to find out once and for all, time to face the music. He can't keep wondering around Britain forever, and not just because he has a job he has to return to in ten days. Sooner or later, he's going to have to face up to what he's done and live with the consequences of his actions.

"But not yet," he murmurs out loud, taking another swig of his drink. He knows he's being a coward, that he's delaying the inevitable, but he can't help it. Here he has hope that she might change her mind, that she might give him another chance, and as long as he doesn't know for sure, he can cling to that hope. But if he goes back... well, then he'll have no choice but to accept the truth - that he's screwed it up for the last time and that he's now alone in this world forever more.

She's probably back at work already, sitting at her desk, her lamp on, pouring over her work, glancing up at his office only to find someone else sitting there behind his desk. Does she miss him, he wonders. Probably not, not enough at any rate. Not enough to forgive him, not enough to want him back, not enough to look for him, not enough to find him. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe she's better off without him. Isn't that what he'd decided when she was in hospital? He should have listened to himself; he should have walked away. Then at least he'd still have his life, his home, his job, all untouched by her, places devoid of the joy she had infused into them, but also untouched by the agony that her absence has left behind. He's going to have to resign. If she doesn't want him any more, he's going to have to resign. They can't work together again; he's not strong enough for that. It would be torture.

The music changes, catching his attention.

If I had to live my life without you near me,
The days would all be empty
The nights would seem so long.
With you I see forever oh so clearly,
I might have been in love before,
But it never felt this strong.
Our dreams are young and we both know
They'll take us where we want to go.
Hold me now,
Touch me now,
I don't want to live without you.

It's their song, the one she'd chosen for them one night as they'd sat side by side wrapped in each other's arms talking, the radio playing softly in the background. "I like this song," she'd said, pausing to listen. Then she'd smiled and murmured, "What do you think, Harry? It could be our song. We need a song, don't you think? We could dance to it at our wedding." He feels tears spring to his eyes at the memory so he blinks to clear them, but soon he has to lift his hand and wipe them away with his fingers and thumb.

"May I have this dance?" he hears her whisper near his right ear, and for a moment, he thinks he's imagined it until he feels her hand gently squeeze his right bicep.

He lifts his head then and turns towards her, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. "Ruth?" he says in a hoarse voice.

"Hello, Harry," she smiles. "You're a hard man to track down. D'you know that?"

He blinks at her again and wipes the tears that roll down his cheek with the back of his hand. "You've been looking for me?"

"Mmm," she hums, still smiling. "For seventeen days and nights actually. I've almost used up all my holiday. Next time you give me a whole book of classified information to read, at least give me more than a few hours to get through it before you disappear off the face of the earth, all right?"

"You... you've read it?" he stammers, his tears finally slowing and allowing him to see her clearly for the first time. She looks even more beautiful than he remembers, and he notices with pleasure that her arm is no longer in a cast and she's walking without the aid of a stick. She's healing well then and looks as if she's been taking care of herself, unlike him.

"Yes," she nods. "Wasn't that the idea?"

"And you... came to look for me?" he asks. "Why?"

"I would have thought that was obvious, Harry," she smiles, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. Then she begins to softly sing along to the last verse of the song, their song, that's still playing.

"Nothing's gonna change my love for you,
You ought to know by now how much I love you.

One thing you can be sure of
I'll never ask for more than your love.
Nothing's gonna change my love for you,
You ought to know by now how much I love you.
The world may change my whole life through
But nothing's gonna change my love for you."

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispers as he stands and turns towards her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. She sighs and he feels her arms wrap around him, clinging to him tightly. He holds her close as he fights the tears that want to escape him once more, feeling overwhelmed by his love for her, his gratitude that she's giving him another chance and silently vowing to endeavour to deserve it every day for the rest of his life. He never wants to let her go, but eventually, he pulls back, needing to see her and apologise. "I'm so sorry, Ruth. I didn't-"

"Hush," she murmurs, pressing her finger across his lips gently. "I forgive you. I'm sorry too. I should have let you explain; I should have listened. I was such a..."

"Stubborn mule," he suggests with a small smile.

"Yes," she sighs, rubbing her thumb lovingly across his cheek as her eyes roam over his face for several moments before she adds, "Growing a beard, are we?"

He shrugs. "Do you like it?" he asks.

"I don't know. Kiss me and I'll tell you," she replies with an impish smile.

So he does, lowering his lips to hers ever so slowly, watching as her eyes close in anticipation of his touch, her breath speeding up, her lips parting softly, her hand slipping into his hair, now much longer and unkempt, longer than it has been since he still had a full head of blonde curls. He pauses for a second with his lips millimetres from hers, feeling her warm breath caress them softly, every part of him savouring the moment, the anticipation of tasting her again after so long without.

"Harry," she whispers softly, her luminous eyes opening once more to look at him.

"I love you, Ruth," he murmurs before closing the gap and softly pressing his lips against hers.

She pulls his head down then, pressing him firmly against her and deepening their kiss, moulding her body to his, her tongue and lips exploring him thoroughly until he forgets everything but her. When they pull apart, they're both breathless and he wants her so much it's almost painful. "Are you staying near by, Harry?" she murmurs throatily.

"I don't know where I'm staying," he confesses. "I usually just find some place at the last minute where I can crash for a few hours sleep. I haven't been sleeping very well."

"Oh Harry," she sighs, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. "You've lost weight too. You told me to take care of myself, but you haven't been doing a very good job of taking care of yourself." He doesn't know what to say to that, so he remains silent, hardly daring to believe that this is really happening. "Come on," she smiles, taking a step back and clasping his hand in hers. "Come with me."

He nods and lets her lead him out of the bar and into the night. "Where's your car?" she asks.

"Two blocks down that way," he replies, nodding to their right.

"I'm this way," she says, indicating the street straight ahead. "I think I should drive," she adds after a moment. "Let's get your things and we'll drive to my B&B in my car, all right?" He agrees quickly still amazed that this is happening as they make their way down the quiet street hand in hand. He doesn't want to take his eyes off her, but his spook training doesn't let him relax, making sure he's as vigilant as possible even when he's drunk. It's served him well over the last few weeks when he's been wondering the streets of various cities late at night and he's managed to avoid trouble. Once they're in the car, however, he can't stop watching her as she drives confidently towards their destination, humming quietly to herself while he wonders if there's a catch somewhere. Can she really have changed her mind about them and be ready to give him another chance so quickly, just like that? He wants to know what made her change her mind, but he's terrified to ask in case he breaks the spell and she suddenly realises that she doesn't want to be here with him after all. She glances at him from time to time, but she doesn't say anything, just smiles and turns back to the road again, and it gives him hope and courage to trust her, this, them together again.

It doesn't take them long to arrive at a small B&B on the outskirts of the city. The gravel crunches under the tires as Ruth pulls into the driveway and parks the car, and when she turns off the headlights and engine, they're suddenly plunged into darkness and everything is absolutely still. He thinks about asking her now, but as he opens his mouth to speak, she whispers, "We're here," and pulls open the car door and gets out, closing it behind her and moving round to open the boot. He follows her out of the car, scanning the darkness around them quickly, his eyes already adjusting to the dim light, before he steps round the car and takes his bag from her hand, murmuring, "Let me." The air is crisper and colder than it was in the city centre and he sees Ruth shiver sightly as they make their way to the front door which is illuminated by the warm glow of a single light. He watches as Ruth pulls out a key from her pocket and fits it in the lock, turning it slowly and pushing the door open.

"They gave you a key for the front door?" he asks in surprise.

"Yes," she whispers. "The owners are relatives of a friend of mine from GCHQ, and as I didn't know what time I'd be home tonight, they let me have a key."

He nods, smiling in admiration at her resourcefulness as he watches her carefully lock the door and follows her upstairs. It's an old house, and in the semi-darkness, it seems to be full of countless narrow passages and staircases, but when they get to Ruth's room, he's pleasantly surprised to find that it's quite spacious with a large queen bed in the middle and an en suite bathroom. "Nice," he murmurs as he puts his bag down and turns to look at her. She smiles and begins to pull off her jacket, hanging it up on the hook behind the door. He does the same as she removes her shoes and he watches as she pushes them under the bed, letting his eyes roam over her figure that is now clad only in her blouse and a long skirt.

"Aren't you going to take your shoes off?" she asks with a smile when she notices his eyes on her.

He nods and turns around, sitting on the chair in the corner of the room to remove his shoes and socks, tucking them underneath it before lifting his gaze to her once more and finding her watching him. "Ruth," he murmurs, plucking up his courage, "what am I doing here?" He watches as her expression changes into a serious frown and hastens to add, "Sorry, that didn't come out right. It's just that you were so very angry with me before, quite rightly too, and now you're so... gentle and loving, just like you were..." he tails off, unable to speak past the lump that's risen in his throat as tears cloud his vision once more.

"It's been over a month, Harry," she says softly, sitting down on the bed, five feet or so from him. "I've had a chance to calm down and to realise that, in spite of what you did, I've never been happier than when I was with you."

"Not even with George?" he asks, remembering her hurtful outburst and needing to know the truth.

"No, not even with George," she sighs. "I'm sorry, Harry. I was trying to hurt you, like you'd hurt me." Her eyes soften and she smiles impishly. "Not my finest hour, I admit. Forgive me?"

"Always," he whispers and means it. "Besides, I deserved it. That and so much more."

"Perhaps," she smiles and holds his gaze for long moments before she says, "George was a good man and I was content with him, but he never came close to you, to how much I feel for you, Harry."

"But he was an honest man, Ruth," he murmurs sadly, "and I am not. Deceit is second nature to me. What I did... it would never have occurred to most people, and yet to me, it never occurred to just ask you out." He drops his gaze to his hands and sighs deeply. It's hard for him to be this honest, but he knows he owes it to her, and to himself, and he's made up his mind to no longer be a coward, as he sees it, where she is concerned.

"Are you telling me that you would do it all again, Harry? That I cannot trust you?" she asks with a frown.

"God, I hope not," he says with feeling, "but I cannot ignore who I've been for most of my life, Ruth. That would be dishonest - the very opposite of what I want and need to be with you. I don't want it to ever happen again and I can promise you... I do promise you that, if you give me another chance, I will love you with all my heart, do my best to make you happy, and endeavour to deserve you until the day I die, Ruth, but... you know more of my history, what I've done over the years, than any other person. Can you forgive all that? Can you ever trust me again, Ruth?"

"Yes, Harry," she nods, "otherwise I wouldn't be here... Malcolm, in his infinite wisdom, told me a lovely quote by Marianne Williamson when I talk to him before I left. She said, 'Until we've seen someone's darkness, we don't really know who they are, and until we've forgiven someone's darkness, we don't really know what love is.' You trusted me enough to show me your darkness, Harry, by giving me your diary and that, more than anything else, made me realise how much you regretted your actions and made it possible for me to forgive you." She pauses and looks down at her hands before adding softly, "And you were right in thinking that, after George died, I didn't believe that either of us deserved to be happy. In fact, I think I've believed that about myself for many, many years, and that's why I broke it off before, after our date. So in a way, what you did has helped us move forward and you did show me how wonderful we could be together. And I've missed that so much these last few weeks. All I want now is for us to try to get back to the way things were during those two wonderful weeks when we were happy... I want that so much, Harry."

"Me too, Ruth," he murmurs, his heart feeling lighter than it has in ages. "I'd like that more than anything."

She smiles at him across the small distance that separates them and then gets up, murmuring, "It's late, Harry. Let's go to bed. We can talk more in the morning."

He nods, glancing at the bed behind her and feeling his desire kindle at the thought of sharing it with her, but pushing it resolutely aside as he rises and crosses over to his bag, hoping she hasn't seen the hunger in his eyes in case she misinterprets it as pure lust. His need for her isn't physical, but stems from somewhere deep in his heart, and any physical intimacy between them would be an expression of the deepest love he has ever known, but he's wary of saying or doing the wrong thing and destroying this new fragile understanding they've reached.

He picks up his bag and turns towards the bathroom, but before he can take more than a step in its general direction, she intercepts him, stepping in front of him and resting her hands against his chest as she reaches up to kiss him. He welcomes it, kissing her back softly and then more firmly as she presses herself against him, slipping her arms around his back. Then she pulls her body back from his a little and begins to lift his sweater, her lips still kissing him so perfectly that he finds himself dropping the bag and lifting his hands to her waist as he moans in pleasure. Soon her hands have pushed his sweater off and are reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Ruth," he murmurs huskily, "wait."

"Why?" she asks with a puzzled frown. "Don't you want me?"

"God, Ruth. Of course, I want you!" he exclaims as he struggles for control. He's not sure they should be doing this now, and yet he wants it so badly. To sink himself into her again after everything that's happened, to make love to her once more would mean so much to him; it would mean everything. And yet he wants to be cautious; he wants to make sure he makes no more mistakes where Ruth is concerned, but the ways she's touching him, the desire he sees in her eyes and the drinks he's consumed tonight are making it so hard for him to find the right words to explain.

"Harry?" she questions, smiling impishly as she grazes one of his nipples with her nail through the fabric of his shirt, making him inhale sharply and shiver in pleasure.

"I haven't had a shower since this morning, I haven't shaved in at least four days, and I stink of booze and smoke," he breathes eventually, picking on the simplest of his worries in the hope of stalling her long enough to give him a chance to collect his wits.

"No, you don't, Harry," she smiles. "That's just your clothes and I'm planning on removing them. You smell wonderful; I've always loved your Harry scent." She begins to unbutton his shirt again and he can't help but groan with want as her fingertips brush his skin, her lips and tongue sliding over his chest as each button pops open and the fabric of his shirt separates a little more. He should have worn a vest this morning, he thinks fleetingly as he tightens his grip on her hips and pulls her against him, unable to resist the temptation as his arousal grows.

"Ruth," he whispers, realising that he's getting lost in a fog of love and desire more potent than any he's felt before, and it amazes him a little that Ruth, hardly the most experienced lover he's ever had, is the one woman who's able to seduce him so completely and render him putty in her hands.

"Besides," she adds as she pauses and lifts her gaze to his again, "I rather like the beard. It makes you look... roguish."

He smiles, leaning close to her ear and growling softly, "Do you like your men dangerous, Ruth?"

"Mmm," she moans, leaning into him and pressing her face against his shoulder as she slips her hands under his shirt and round to his back, pulling him against her, and he delights in her reaction, proof that she's no more immune to him than he is to her. "I like you, Harry," she sighs. "No one else. Just you, exactly as you are. Dangerous, compassionate, rough, gentle, hard and tender. You're my man, Harry, and I love you and want you always."

He groans then as he realises that she really wants this, them, together, making love, and he knows that he's lost the battle against his better judgement; he can't resist her when she clearly wants him like this. He slips his hand into her hair, tugging on it gently until she tilts her head back and he can kiss her, a passionate kiss full of love and promise. When he pulls back, he waits for her to look at him before he asks huskily, "How much have you had to drink tonight, Ruth?"

"A lot less than you," she smiles, her eyes twinkling, but when he continues to just stare at her, she adds, "Nothing. I was too busy looking for you." She reaches her hand up to cup his cheek, saying softly, "I want this, Harry. I want you, us, here, now. It's the right time. Stop worrying." So he does as slowly they undress each other, tenderly reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies, savouring this chance they have been given all the more because it had seemed so far out of their reach just a few hours ago.

"I love you, my Ruth," he whispers in her ear as they lie naked in bed together.

"I know, Harry," she smiles. "I love you too. I was angry with you and hurt, but I never stopped loving you."

"I'm so sorry for all the pain I've caused you," he replies, his heart aching. "I'll never hurt you like that again, Ruth. I promise."

"Good," she smiles. "And I promise to always give you a chance to explain. I'm sorry I denied you that."

He kisses her softly and then more firmly as she responds, the passion reigniting between them, but despite how much he needs her after so long, he holds himself back, using his formidable self-control to worship her body and give her all the pleasure of which he's capable with his own. He brings her to the brink again and again, watching her tumble over the edge every time with great pleasure and satisfaction, knowing how close he came to never being allowed this privilege again and feeling his heart burn with love for her. And it's only when she comes back to him from her third climax and whispers softly, "Together, Harry. It's lonely without you," that he gives into his body's need for release, and as he feels her muscles begin to contract around him and hears her cry of ecstasy, he lets go, calling out her name as he comes powerfully deep inside her.

He comes round to the feel of her hands softly stroking his back and her lips caressing his left shoulder, his sated body relaxed and tingling all over. It's utter bliss and it takes him a moment to realise that he's squashing her into the mattress with his considerable weight. He begins to lift himself up then, but she objects, whispering, "Don't go. I like it."

"Ruth," he replies huskily, "I weigh more than two-hundred pounds. I must be crushing you."

"Well, perhaps a little," she concedes, "but I like to feel your weight on me... It's the first time and it's quite wonderful."

He frowns then, suddenly remembering her injuries and exclaiming as he rolls off her, "Hell's bells, Ruth! I completely forgot about your leg and arm. Have I hurt you? Why didn't you s-?"

"Harry, shut up," she sighs in exasperation, startling him into silence. "I'm not nearly as fragile as you think. I am perfectly fine. Actually, I'm much better than fine; I feel wonderful. So please stop fussing and come back here. I liked having you close."

He smiles and shifts his body to the left so that he's lying half on the bed and half-covering her, his left leg nestled between hers, his head resting on the pillow, his right arm folded underneath it as he strokes her soft skin with the fingertips of his left hand. "Better?" he asks.

"Perfect," she smiles, resting her right hand against his cheek as she turns her head to look at him. They're silent for some time, drinking each other in, their fingers softly caressing each other's skin, their hearts light and overflowing with love. "You know, I'm so glad I found you," she whispers. "It took me so long that I was beginning to imagine the worst. I had poor Malcolm checking all the hospitals and morgues for anyone fitting your description. Don't ever do that to me again, Harry. D'you hear me? I don't think I could bear it."

"Never again," he murmurs, pressing his lips to hers. "I'll never leave your side again. I'm sorry I put you through that. I thought you didn't care any more. I was living in hell."

"So was I," she replies softly. "I thought... When I read your diary, what you wrote about us, I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. I'd thought the worst of you when I should have known better. What you did was wrong, but your motives weren't nearly as terrible as your actions suggested... Plus you were right about a lot of things. I did ask you to marry me and we were so happy together." Tears fill her eyes and begin to slide down her cheeks as she continues speaking in an unsteady voice. "And when I was looking for you and I began to fear that you were... dead, all I could think of was how I'd-"

"Hush, darling, hush," he interrupts, pulling her towards him and into his embrace, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek. "It doesn't matter any more. We both made mistakes and dwelling on them won't do us any good. Neither of us are very good at communicating and opening up, but we're getting better, aren't we?"

"Yes," she nods against his shoulder, her tears slowing at his reassuring words. "We were doing rather well until my memory returned."

"And that wouldn't have been easy for you to deal with, Ruth, even if I hadn't... deceived you," he replies. "I'm sorry I put such a huge burden on you and I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you through that."

"Enough, Harry," she says, pulling back to look at him and wiping away her tears. "Enough apologises and regrets. Let's put it all behind us. Please, Harry. I've taken all my leave, which gives us three more days free to enjoy and celebrate us and our - second? third? - whatever it is chance together."

"All right," he smiles. "Sounds like a plan." And as they lie side by side, smiling into each other's eyes, and she takes his hand in hers to kiss his fingertips, he feels his heart swell with love and gratitude and he finds himself silently thanking the universe, fate and a God he still doesn't believe in for this ultimate of blessings.

Note: The song referenced in this chapter is "Nothing's gonna change my love for you" by Westlife.