Four:
Discretion and Valor

"I really don't think we can fit more people in here," Ellen warned. The living room was already filled to bursting, and the Ambassador hadn't even arrived yet.

"Sister Daisy, sister Rose, you want to come play with me?" Jamie asked. "I don't gots lots of toys, but we can share."

Rose smiled at him and said, "I'd love to play with you, Jamie. What should we go play?"

"We can play a game," he said shyly, taking Rose's hand and pulling her toward the little room he shared with Ruth. Daisy followed them quietly.

Ellen regarded Harry dispassionately. "So, are either of you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked.

"Miss Fontinblanc… if I did, you would have to sign the Official Secrets Act," Harry said.

"Well… if you don't tell me, I shall be very angry," Ellen shot back. "Because, clearly, there's more to this than meets the eye. And if Sarah and Jamie leave, we'll not be able to make the rent and –"

"Ruth's portion of the rent will be paid out till the end of the lease," Harry said. "You mustn't worry about that."

Ellen bit her lip and then said, "I'll sign the bloody thing, then. I need to know."

Harry reached into his coat's inner pocket and pulled out a copy. She glanced over it, then signed with a flourish. "I am the Director General of MI-5," he said. "My name is Harry Pearce. The woman you know as Sarah Walker is really named Ruth Evershed –"

"Pearce," Ruth corrected softly. "It only changed a few days before I was forced to leave."

"Pearce – Ruth Pearce," he corrected himself. "She is my wife, and was the Senior Intelligence Analyst for the Anti-Terrorism Unit within MI-5."

Ellen blinked. "You're a spy, Sarah?"

"I was a spook," Ruth said softly. "But now, I'm a teacher and a mother first…"

"Ruth was on an undercover operation that went wrong," Harry lied smoothly. "She went into hiding and even I didn't know where she was."

"Well, I had to protect Jamie, didn't I?" Ruth muttered. She reached over and held his hand, feeling both at ease and ill at ease with him. He was just as suave as ever and it was unsettling after so long apart, to see him as the rest of the world saw him.

"And yourself," Harry said, the façade slipping for just a moment. In that moment, she could see the hell they'd both been living for four years. Then the curtains pulled shut again and he was back to his charming self.

"You must love one another very much," Ellen said. "You have a beautiful family." Her voice was tinged with envy. "And Sarah has always said how much she loves you – but we thought you were dead."

"I'm very much alive," Harry said. "But Ruth has done well to keep herself hidden. There are many people who would have had her – and Jamie – dead just to manipulate me."

"I suppose you intend to take them back to England, then?" Ellen asked.

"As soon as Jamie has a passport," Harry said.

Ruth was silent, torn between wanting to stay and wanting to go home.

"Have you asked Sar-Ruth what she wants?" Ellen asked. "Maybe she doesn't want to leave. Maybe life is calmer here than there."

Ruth swallowed hard and said, "No, Ellen, it's all right – I don't belong here anymore."

"Your husband," the word was said with somewhat snide distaste, "can't just show up and drag you off unwillingly, no matter how much you love him. It's not right. It smacks of domestic abuse."

"I would never hurt her," Harry said, his kindly demeanor suddenly replaced with bitterness. "Don't presume to think you know me, us, what we've been through."

"Harry, my love," Ruth said softly, "don't. Please." She gently traced calming circles in the palm of his hand like she'd always done. "Ellen, Harry is my second husband. My first husband was abusive and he killed himself to punish me for taking our children away from him. Harry is none of those things: if anything, he cares too much, and we're broken for not showing each other how much we truly mean to one another." She looked up at him hesitantly and murmured, "I'm ready to go home, Harry. I am. It's just… big and scary. And I'm scared because I've missed four years of my life with you and the girls."

"And I've missed just the same with you and Jamie," he said softly, leaning into her and resting his head gently against hers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper."

Jamie ran back into the room, holding his favorite book. "Mummy, can you read to me about the capperpillars?" he asked.

"Come here, love," she murmured, helping him up onto her lap. She began to read the story of the ugly little brown caterpillar that turned into a beautiful butterfly. By the time she'd finished, Jamie was sound asleep in her lap and Harry was watching her with rapt love.

"You're such a good mum," Harry said softly.

"No, I'm rubbish," she replied with a tiny smile. "I'm overindulgent and I let my kids get away with murder." She kissed the top of Jamie's head and loved the smell of his clean hair, his still baby-sweet skin.

There was a sharp rap on the front door, and Harry all but leapt to his feet. "That will be Thomas," he said. "With your passport."

Jamie whimpered in his sleep and snuggled deeper into his mother's embrace. Ruth held him and wondered what was going to happen – if indeed, she would be permitted to go home with her son.

"Ruth, this is Sir Thomas Straithairn, the British Ambassador to the United States," Harry said. "Thomas, my wife – Ruth Evershed Pearce. And my son, James."

"Sorry if I don't get up to greet you, sir," Ruth said softly, gesturing at the napping child in her arms with her chin. "Ellen, can you get Sir Thomas a coffee or a tea or something, please? We won't be long, then the Inquisition can really begin."

Thomas sat down and pulled a small envelope from his briefcase. "Lady Pearce, I welcome you back to the land of the living – your husband has been very persuasive in his praise of your efforts on behalf of the Security Services and it is my pleasure to give you back your passport… updated with your married name, of course."

Ruth smiled a little and took the envelope. "Thank you, Sir Thomas," she murmured. "But we have a small issue in that our son was born under a false name when I was in hiding. I should really like to acquire a British passport for him and a certificate of live birth with his father's name."

"Ah, yes, that is a bit of a pickle –"

"No, it really isn't," she said cheerfully. "You owe me a favor, Sir Thomas."

"I… do?"

"I kept Harry here from blowing the whistle on your involvement in the British Way," she said, "because I saw the innate value of keeping you soft."

The Ambassador flinched. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

"So you will get me what I need or I will unmuzzle my guard dog," she said. After a moment, she added, "He's rather fond of our young lad, so I think he shall bite."

Thomas said, "Yes, of course – it shouldn't be a problem, m'Lady…"

"We have an understanding, then?"

The Ambassador licked his lips nervously and nodded. "It will be done, Lady Pearce."

"It had better be," Ruth said. She wasn't quite ready to sheath her claws; everyone had an unfortunate habit – including Harry, god love him – of underestimating just how without mercy she could be, nor how she could play the long game to execution without anyone having a bloody clue what she was doing. "Because I am in a position to use my knowledge of your involvement to decimate your career, your life, and your family, Sir Thomas. Do not think for one moment that I am just a barmy mother out looking for a handout – this is so much deeper than that. I've been running and hiding for four years, and I've honed my skills to a point that even MI-6 couldn't find me. Just think about what I could do to you if I so desire…"

Harry's grip tightened around her hand, and the look he shot her side-long was one of shock, irritation, and more than a touch of awe. "Sir Thomas, there are more diplomatic ways of –"

"He has a forgery suite in the Consulate and a dedicated worker spinning Visas and passports," Ruth said dismissively. "It won't take but two days, at most. Will it, Sir Thomas? That's how long I had to wait for my Sarah Walker identity."

"It will be done tomorrow," Sir Thomas croaked weakly.

Ellen came into the room with a mug of tea in hand, and said, "Your tea, sir –"

"Thank you, but I won't be staying," Sir Thomas said, getting up from the recliner with some haste. "Things to do, people to see, wrongs to be righted…"

"You can deliver the package to Harry's hotel," Ruth said, handing over a small photograph of Jamie that she kept in her wallet and a copy of his birth certificate – from a hospital in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. "We will be staying there, anticipating the documents' arrival so we might go home."

Harry's grip tightened infinitesimally when she declared her intentions, and she began to think about the trouble of packing their things to move, yet again. They didn't have much: clothes, and a few toys, and a lot of books. A few stupid, incidental things that she and Jamie had picked up along the way because they reminded her of home, of Harry, or Rose or Daisy… Their life would fit snugly into a few boxes that would fit in the cargo of a jet and then they would be unpacked at home, in a place that she'd never dared hope to be again.

As Sir Thomas was led out and the door closed behind him, Ruth gave in to the very strong urge to weep. So many times over the years she'd been in exile, she had stopped herself, not given in, not breathed a word of how she was feeling because she had to be strong, she had to be a rock for Jamie and herself. But now… now, she was facing the uncertainty and absolute terror of how she would be received, back from the dead and walking about like she had never left.

She had been branded a murderer, a torturer, and she had been none of those things, not ever. Unless you counted the numerous things she'd done in collusion with Five, bringing other people down. How could she not be held responsible for those things, but for Mik Maudsley and Cotterdam, she would be held so responsible that her life would be destroyed?

Jamie woke up and mumbled, "Mummy, why you cry?"

"Because I'm happy," Ruth choked out. "I'm so happy to see your daddy and sisters – and we're going to go home, Jamie. We're going to go home soon."

"But… this is home," he said, stirring to a more alert state. "Isn't it?"

"This is where we live right now," Ruth said, making an effort to stop crying. When she could speak again, she whispered, "But home is with daddy and your sisters. Far away from here in London."

"Oh," Jamie said with that wide-eyed innocence of a child. "We're going to live with daddy Harry?"

Ruth nodded and gave him a kiss. "Would you like that?"

"Does that mean daddy Harry loves me?" Jamie asked.

"Of course I love you, Jamie," Harry said softly. "You're a very intelligent, handsome little man – and you're my son." He smiled over at Jamie and released Ruth's hand long enough to ruffle Jamie's unruly, curly hair. "And I would like nothing more than for you and your mummy to come home and live with me."

"Can I bring my books and my toys and Harry Bear?" Jamie asked, worried.

Harry smiled and nodded. "I would be very disappointed if you didn't bring them," he said softly.

Ruth swallowed hard and murmured, "Harry, we don't have much to take with us – we can pack it up and take it back to the hotel today."

Harry turned to face her then. "You're coming back? What about that nonsense you were –"

"I was frightened, but now… I'm not. Not really. I'm anxious, but it's not the same thing, is it?"

"No, it's not," he agreed.

Ellen came back into the room and saw them talking. "I, uh… I overheard your conversation with the Ambassador," she said quietly. "The Sarah I know would never have – never – threatened someone like that."

Ruth shrugged a little and murmured, "I'm not the Sarah you know. Not really. Not anymore." She exhaled weakly and said, "Tell Dannette that I'm sorry. Tell her… tell her that I was running, but now it's time to go home."

Ellen nodded and said, "Who will take care of Jamie?"

"I will," Ruth said firmly. "Don't you dare worry about us, don't even think about us. We never existed, and there's no reason for you to remember a time when we weren't happy. Do you understand, Ellen? You're so much safer that way."

"I'll help you pack," Ellen said quietly. The trust that they'd held each other in had been shattered; now only shards remained.

"Jamie, would you like me to read to you?" Harry asked. "Mummy and Ellen are going to help Rose and Daisy pack your things." He opened his arms, and the little boy all but flew into them, getting comfortable on Harry's lap.

Ruth felt a small pang of regret for all the things that could have been, but never more could be.

When they got back to the hotel, Jamie just looked at everything in wonder. There were a lot of people milling in the lobby, and she wondered if they were judging them – Jamie's jeans were too tight and torn in the knee, but his coat fit properly and he looked like a little Inuit with his furry hood up. She wasn't faring much better in an old, shapeless woolen coat that had seen better days… but it was Ros's coat, the one that she'd been wearing when the boat had taken her away. She couldn't bear to part with it, even when it began to fall apart and let the cold winter wind in. Her sweater was similarly shapeless and old, her skirt knee-length and flared, her boots battered and old. How many people judged her for walking beside Sir Harry Pearce and his children, immaculately and expensively attired?

"Mum," Rose said, "since we're here a few more days, can we go shopping?"

Harry smiled. "Of course you can," he said. "We'll all go. Including the security officers."

"Jamie could use some new clothes," Ruth observed quietly as they were all bundled into the staff elevator. "He's grown quite a bit and his jeans are about shot. And there are holes in his shoes."

Jamie made a face. "I don't like shopping," he said. "Except for books. I like shopping for books."

"Then we shall go get you some new clothes," Harry said cheerfully, holding Jamie's hand tightly, "and then we will go shopping for some new books."

The group went their separate ways, the girls and their team being bustled into their suite, while Harry, Ruth, and Jamie continued on to theirs. The little boy, in his arctic coat and hood, and his torn jeans, clutching his teddy tightly in his mittened hands, looked around the hotel room and stood very still. "Mummy, this is bigger than our house!" he cried.

"I know, darling," Ruth said softly.

He finally moved, running over to jump on the sofa and take his mittens off. "It's nice and toasty in here," the little boy commented.

Harry looked over at Ruth and took her hand, smiling. "He's very much like you," he said softly.

"Well, he's had no one but me," she pointed out, "to model his behavior after. I'm sure you'll be infuriated by some of his stunts."

"Mummy, my zipper is stuck," Jamie whined. "And I've got to go to the loo."

Ruth released Harry's hand and immediately went to help him. "You'll have to ask daddy where the loo is," she murmured to the little boy. "Or you could ask him to take you?"

"Daddy, will you take me to the loo? I've got to pee," Jamie announced as soon as he was free of his coat. "Please?"

Harry gave Ruth a dour, suffering look that bespoke of too many times doing that with Graham in the past, then he smiled at Jamie. "Of course, son," he said, leading the way.

"Daddy, no, you've gotta hold my hand so nobody takes me," Jamie scolded loudly.

Ruth blushed a little, but couldn't bring herself to feel remorse for teaching him that. She carried Jamie's backpack – which held his pajamas, slippers, and some books – into one of the bedrooms and laid it down on the bed. He would be sharing the room with one of the security officers, who would be responsible for his safety. It had already been discussed, and this Erin Watts had a young daughter, so she was, in Harry's eyes, the perfect candidate.

The rest of their security detail were housed elsewhere, aside from the two officers that would be watching the suite from the living area.

Ruth wanted to put her bag in the other small bedroom, but she knew that Harry expected her to stay in the master with him. She wanted to share a bedroom with him, but it felt very odd, very strange, to contemplate at length. They had nothing in common now, but for the children. She was a teacher; he was the grandmaster of spies.

All they had between them was a tenuous thread of desire, light and strong as a single strand of spider's silk.

And was it enough?

END PART FOUR