Many thanks to all those who read the last chapter and greater thanks to those who reviewed. Apologies for the delay - real life with a vengeance has struck.

Same Evening

As it happened Jane had only retreated across the few yards that divided the kitchen table from the capacious sofa in Harry's sitting room. Now as she sank, stunned, into its comfortable depths her posture that roughly mirrored Harry's, although minus the fountain of tears. Head in hands as she listened to the sound of his anguished sobs, so loud they easily penetrated beyond the soundbreak of the firmly closed door, her own mind was spinning in a whirlpool of emotions.

During the past twenty minutes she'd listened attentively to the tangled tale of the past decade and its eventual convergence with the thirty year long reverberations from Berlin. As Harry had unfolded his tale she'd found herself the rifling through an entire lexicon of emotions: fury, disbelief, horror, sorrow, flavoured with a mild pinch of sarcasm. He may have faltered on occasion but he'd held nothing back, and now that she'd finally managed to extract the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth from his reluctant lips she understood the reasons underlying his earlier reticence. She couldn't fault his honesty. He'd been utterly unsparing, presenting himself in a less than heroic light as he related the entire history the events that, with the benefit of hindsight, had seemed destined to an inexorable culmination in the three D's: deception, disaster, death. So how did she cope with the aftermath of the emotional strip tease she'd insisted upon? Harry had said that once she knew the truth she'd walk, and at present could reasonably assume that his prediction had become a self fulfilling prophecy. Loath as she was to add to his torture she'd simply had to leave him solitary and shattered. Aware that their tentative relationship had reached an indefinable fork in the road she needed time to process the attendant shock produced by his revelations. Her ultimate reaction would set the tone of their future communications, and it was vital for both their sakes that she reached a reasoned decision, one that was unclouded by the disturbing sight of Harry at his nadir.

He'd said the situation was complicated, she begged to differ. While he might get out a lot, principally to argue down the faceless bureaucrats of Whitehall, he seemingly hadn't read much romantic fiction. When stripped down to its basic essentials the tale of Harry and Ruth was a straightforward manifestation of a timeless theme. A classic tragedy revolving around two people whose personal desires were continually thwarted by an array of obstacles, in their case the requirements of their covert workplace, the baggage – she was using the description advisedly – of the loathsome Juliet and even more twisted Elena, plus, if she'd understood him aright, the addition of the strangely vacillating affections of Ruth Evershed. Not that she was attempting to belittle Harry's very real devastation, the audible evidence of which continued to seep into her eardrums. The picture of him crushed and broken had just cemented forever into her psyche a long standing, personal conviction that while drama could be life enhancing, for preference it should be savoured vicariously from the remote safety of a theatre seat. Great to watch, foul to live out.

Just a short fortnight ago she'd have harshly concluded that after a lifetime of endless deceptions Harry had finally come by his just desserts, a long overdue punishment finally meted out by the perpetually revolving wheel of fate. Now that she could, through the simple act of walking away, leave him bereft, even drowning in depression, she discovered that her thirst for vengeance had miraculously dissipated. She now appreciated why his condemnation of her folly in falling for Robin's illusory charms had been so restrained, when you saw someone you still cared about in distress you simply couldn't be bothered to gloat.

That thought pulled her up short. Someone you cared about: well obviously she cared, if she didn't she'd hardly be sitting here debating her next move. Should she walk out of the door, hail a taxi and retreat forthwith to her own home no longer polluted by shades of Robin, or head back into the kitchen and continue the slog as she attempted to find some sort of common ground with the father of her children. For years she'd hated him, especially she'd hated his job and what it had done to him, and by implication to them as a couple. Now having stood by helplessly as he suffered the qualms attendant upon decisions that few were ever called upon to take she'd gained a better understanding of the background against which their marriage had failed. She'd watched him depart the Grid fully prepared to sacrifice his life without hesitation to save their wayward daughter. Then a few nights later he'd taken the shot from Coaver, saving her own life in the process. Arguably with his admitted death wish he was seeking an acceptable form of a sacrificial suicide, but whatever the interpretation placed could be placed on his actions she now agreed with Malcolm, Harry needed someone; a someone who could link him to an existence beyond the exigencies of his workplace. She didn't see anyone else volunteering for the thankless task, but was she the right person? Her presence in his life might reference pre Grid memories, reawakening the long subsumed optimism of youth, but not all those recollections were ones of unalloyed pleasure. They had hurt each other bitterly in the past. She'd frequently accused Harry of arrogance but wouldn't it be an equal arrogance on her part to assume that she could just swan into his life as a form of emotional superglue and thereby fix his problems?

As her thoughts jangled she took a deep breath and gradually began to analyse the story he'd told and the emotions it had raised in her. Conflicting emotions, one reaction was an incipient desire to either shake him until his teeth rattled or bawl him out for his sheer guilt induced tunnel vision in blaming himself for everything, while simultaneously wanting to put her arms around him and soothe him, assuring him that although everything seemed black he at least had a friend in her. And if she did so what construction would a world, nurtured on the theory exemplified in the script of 'When Harry met Sally', place on their relationship? As it happened neither of them was in the market for anything that could be described as intimate, so providing they both abided by mutually agreed parameters, did it matter what the gossips thought? If she would be running a risk with her reputation the chatterers would be running the greater one of being neutralised by Harry on the grounds of national security.

Despite his self condemnation she'd concluded that if he was really the heartless bastard of his self proclaimed casting he'd never have spared a thought for Elena and his supposed son once he'd achieved his operational ends. The tasteless use to which Elena's corpse had been put was, in theory, sickening to anyone of sensibility, and she supposed she ought to be appalled at what he and Ilya had perpetrated. However as the mother of the unstable Graham her main reaction had been one of utter disgust at the damage that the vile woman had inflicted on the volatile Sasha. Any further revulsion she felt being superseded by fury at the effect that the honeytrap gone wrong had had on their family life. Harry, of course, being male, was obtuse enough to have believed that whatever she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, in probability he hadn't even realised the damage that secret seduction had insidiously wrought. As she'd told him during their heart to heart in that smelly cafe - those few days that in retrospect seemed to be century ago - she'd always known that something had gone badly wrong in Berlin. Nothing she could say on the subject however would punish him more than he was punishing himself, blaming himself for setting up the circumstances that had ultimately deprived him of Ruth Evershed.

Ruth Evershed: hmmm what did she really think about that feminine conundrum? Strangely enough she wasn't particularly cross at the idea that he'd fallen deeply in love with another woman. After twenty years plus as a divorcee he'd hardly jumped on the rebound into a further effort at matrimony, but equally Jane knew that she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit to a certain flare of jealously. Years ago she'd begged him to leave the service to save their marriage and he'd refused. Then Ruth, after holding him at an endless arm's length for years, had finally twisted her little finger and he'd capitulated instantly. And the terms in which he'd described his lost love! In his anxiety to blame himself for everything Harry had cast himself in the role of the devil, with Ruth Evershed glowing in his memory as a quasi-saint, sacrificial and soothing. It was impossible to judge fairly someone you'd never met, and while Jane was willing to concede that this woman, whose memory was haunting Harry to the point of self destruction, had possessed many admirable qualities she flatly refused to believe anyone, repeat anyone, who worked for MI5 could lay claim to sainthood. Security service propaganda might disseminate the notion that they worked on the side of the angels and maybe that was so, but to any objective observer they achieved their ends by using tricks emanating straight from the mouth of Hades. An opinion that left her seriously debating the nature of Harry's current eyewear: rose tinted specs or blinkers? Pondering the whole story, told from Harry's self flagellating standpoint, she realised that while he'd told her the truth he had yet to answer her questions.

With quiet having descended in the kitchen, the first storm of Harry's breakdown had obviously subsided, the time for tossing a mental coin had passed. Her decision had to be made. From amongst the myriad thoughts and considerations vying inside her brain for supremacy two dominant themes floated to the surface of her consciousness. Firstly she'd never expected to see Harry so vulnerable, a sheer effort of will had carried him so far but for how much longer would it suffice? Secondly he 'd been there for her, giving her a future freedom she'd thought only dreamt of when she'd arrived in London ostensibly for work and in actuality running away from Robin. He'd asked for nothing in return, expected nothing, and now was assuming that nothing was exactly what she was delivering. Having overthought the situation with its possible future ramifications to the nth degree she was finally forced to the conclusion that it was better to go with gut instinct, and hers told her that if she walked away Harry wasn't the only one who'd be staggering under a burden of guilt.

Harry, standing by the sink bathing his eyes, was only just coming to terms with the fact that Jane had left when the kitchen door was kicked opened, none too gently, to reveal if not the woman of his dreams at least the woman of his hope. As she approached the table he noticed that she came not empty handed but carrying two of his best crystal glasses in her hands, accessorised with a bottle that he instantly identified as his most expensive malt tucked insecurely under her arm. Before he could remonstrate that this was no way to treat his favoured tipple - golden in colour and gold dust in price - she'd sat down, poured out a generous measure of the amber liquid and, after pushing the glass in the direction of his vacated chair, plonked the whisky bottle beside it.

Wiping away the final moisture from his skin as he took his own seat again, he reached out, picking up the proffered drink with the silent thought that at least she'd displayed some sense of priority. Her actual expression was unreadable, her silence worrying. Seeking to gloss over the embarrassment of the past few minutes by returning to their more usual mode of banter he managed to croak through a throat still raw with weeping.

"What's this – a sweetie for the baby?"

"More like a crutch in your case– I opted for Madam Geneva for myself. I think we both need something."

Not quite sure which emotion was winning out, relief that she was still here, or apprehension as to what she might say, knowing Jane she'd have an opinion and knowing Jane it was unlikely that she was going to refrain from expressing it, he commented, "Thanks for staying." He shot her a sketchy attempt at a wan smile that didn't quite succeed as he added, "I thought you'd gone," in the hope of eliciting a reply.

Jane didn't respond. She had no desire to plunge him back into the state he was just recovering from, or anger him, but equally there were aspects of the now disclosed history that she felt obliged to comment on. Reluctant to meet his eye she preferred to concentrate on the clear contents of her glass. Following her example, although the silence was unnerving him, Harry followed suit. Taking his next cue from her they were almost in synch they both swallowed a refreshing mouthful of their respective alcoholic props. Seeing that he was restored to a more even equilibrium Jane risked returning to the unspoken subject that lay heavy between them. "If you feel up to it I'd like to ask a few questions."

Harry, having just managed to force himself back to something approaching normal, and fearful of repeating his earlier breakdown responded with a wary, "Jane I've told you everything,"

Jane smiled slightly, "Not that sort of question, more ones of interpretation."

Harry was now even more puzzled although he had little alternative other than agreement. "Well if you insist. So what didn't you understand?"

Taking a deep breath, followed by a further swallow of gin – was Dutch courage appropriate when questioning an English spook, still, as she sardonically told herself, given the story he'd just disgorged vodka would have been even more inappropriate, Jane, aware that she was treading on something approaching sacred ground, hid her nerves beneath her best forthright no nonsense voice as she replied,

"You can start by explaining to me why the hell you are taking the entire blame for the relationship with Ruth not working out."

Thanks for reading. If you have a moment feel free to review.