AN: Hello all again. With 'Writers Block' over, it's time to start the sequel - yay! I've decided to change things up a bit; while there will be some writing prompts still going on - Ruth's not going to be giving up on that site anytime soon - there's also going to be a new format, journal entries which I've been told can be very therapeutic. As I'm fully winging this story since the last one didn't end as I originally planned it too - here's hoping it's not too nutty.

One week. That's the amount of time I was forced to spend at TRING after the whole Peter incident or as it was referred to by one buffoon, the excursion we went on that cold December day just two weeks before Christmas. Like it was some happy go lucky picnic we were on. Because I asked to get whammed over the head and tied to a chair by an obsessed nut job. It's funny how only the kidnapping found me getting an all expense paid vacation and not everything else. Receive a vase of flowers filled with lambs blood at work; get some stitches and a sedative; get kidnapped from out front of your house on a cold winters afternoon, spend a week with the buffoons they call therapists asking what you're feeling inside and is the ink blot they're holding up a bat or some blood dripping? Really? That's how the service is going to ensure the people protecting the country are mentally stable? By locking them in a building full of the mentally insane and the patients they're treating and have them stare at ink blots?

This journal was their idea. Or more specifically, the blue journal sitting on the coffee table was their idea. I've just thought it was a good one and decided to improve upon it. Once a day I'm supposed to sit down and write what I'm feeling. Then once a week I get to spend a hour with our resident shrink at Thames house having a lovely discussion about my feelings and everything that's gone on. She won't get to read the journal; at least that's what they're telling me; she'll just glance at it to ensure I'm filling it out and expressing myself. How is one supposed to do that without actually reading what's written? I don't actually believe that. So while I think this journal writing business could be helpful, I'm not going to put all my inner thoughts and ideas down for another human being to read; especially one who ultimately gets to decide whether I can continue in my job or not.

So I'll keep two journals; one to share and one to actually write my inner thoughts and feelings. Because there probably is something to this; getting everything out of my head where I over analyze it and still not have to share it with another person. We just won't tell the buffoons that. And now I must go, I think I hear Harry's key in the door.

Capping the pen in her hand, Ruth quickly slid it into the leather-bound journal and flipped it closed. While as her section head, he knew the terms of her release from TRING, she wasn't up for sharing what she was truly feeling. And he'd been nice enough not to ask her yet. Of course, she'd only been out for twenty-four hours and eight-teen of those, he'd been on the Grid dealing with the nutters trying to blow up the country. So that didn't mean that their dinner conversation tonight wasn't going to be part interrogation. Picking up the other journal, she set both on the shelf under the end table. Funny how she'd become so at home in his house.

That was another thing. She needed to take some time and work on finding adequate accommodations. Preferably ones not too far from Thames House or Harry's but within her price range so she wasn't living on beans and toast for the foreseeable future. And some furniture since all of hers had gone up in the fire Peter had set. Thank God Harry had the foresight to have the important things in her life boxed up and moved to his house. Living space and furniture she could replaces; her papers, photo albums and books, she couldn't. He really was a decent man when he wasn't trying not to be.

Looking up at the exhausted man standing in the doorway, she smiled. "Hi."

"Hi yourself." he said back. "Get settled in alright?"

"Yes. Thank you for letting me stay here again. I know its got to be an inconvenience."

"Not at all. You should know by now you're more than welcome here anytime." Stepping into the room, he stretched his shoulders out before settling into the arm chair across from her. Leaning his head back against the cushion, he smiled at her before closing his eyes. As tired as he was, it was nice coming home to someone else in the house; especially Ruth.

"Still. I don't want to impose too long." Reaching for a stack of newspapers on the coffee table, she pulled them into her lap and fiddled with them. "I've spent today making a list of potential flats and houses to look at come the new year. Some really look like they're a strong possibility. I shouldn't be under foot too much longer."

Lifting his head, he opened his eyes and looked at her. "You're not leaving."

"Excuse me?" she asked, looking up from the papers. "I can't stay here forever. What will people think?"

"Bugger what anyone else thinks. You've just been stalked, abused, kidnapped, and had your house burned down by a crazed wacko who fancied himself in love with you and now you're talking of moving out on your own not even a week later? Even if I wasn't in love with you and wishing you'd stay forever, I wouldn't let you leave."

"What are you going to do, tie me to your bed again?"

"No, that didn't turn out too well the first time. But I will think of something to make you change your mind."

Sighing, Ruth moved the papers to the table and stood. "Harry, I can't stay here. I know I said that I didn't want to spend the next ten years standing in place but I'm not looking to jump into your bed either."

"Hells bells Ruth. I'm not asking you to stay here because I want you to fall into my bed. I'm asking for you to stay here so I know your safe and you don't have to run around trying to find somewhere else to live." Standing, he moved across the room and stood next to her, his hand stopping a hairs length from hers. "This house is too big and too lonely for me and Scarlet alone; I just didn't notice it until you came to stay. There's more than enough space for you, your things and the cats."

Moving his hand the last few inches, he slid it into hers and lightly gripped her fingers. "Besides, I'm hoping somewhere down the road this budding relationship we have becomes serious enough that you'll marry me. If you're staying here now, think of all the time and money we'll save having to buy you all new furniture and moving all your books to their own house."

Folding her fingers around his, she squeezed them and smiled slightly. "I...I need to think about it."

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against her cheek before stepping back. "I'm exhausted, hungry and besmirched and want nothing more than to eat, take a shower and sleep in that order. So take some time, think about it." Pausing, he smiled at her. "But when I'm through with my nap, know that I'm going to do everything in my power to change your mind."

With one final brush of his hand against hers, he turned from the sitting room and made his way to the kitchen.