Welcome to the sequel of All We Were And All We Are. I'm going to start with this chapter for now and see if people think it's worth continuing. Hope you enjoy.

"We are... too good at that."

Up until that point, all had been silent save for the sounds of heaving breaths alongside still racing heartbeats. The room's two sated occupants lay cuddled together amongst the chaos of bedclothes. Their full hearts, racing minds and sweaty bodies were entwined in a way that very much embodied the overwhelming love they felt for one another. A picture of togetherness, tenderness and total contentment that could only have been attained by the battles they had fought and conquered side by side.

They were still joined, his length slowly softening inside her, yet neither lover moved to part, each unwilling to break their bubble of breathtaking bliss, each still basking in the glorious heat of their afterglow. She rested against his chest, cradled in his warm embrace, his hand skimming gently up and down her naked side in a bid to soothe the tremors still thrumming through her. She fiddled absently with his greying chest hair and pressed a tender kiss next to his heart. He returned the gesture, dropping a sweet kiss to her temple. She blinked up at him with a lazy smile and soft, ocean-blue eyes, only to find her expression mirrored in his hazel orbs.

Their cocoon of love, safety and semi-darkness was threatened by the sun as it started its slow ascent behind the curtains. A small, seashell-endowed lamp illuminated a battered bedside clock which, as further minutes ticked by, impressed upon them just how little time they had left. His hand moved to clasp hers, their fingers ducking and bowing expertly together; their shadows dancing a well-practiced ballet against the magnolia walls. With her free hand, she traced a soothing hand over the angry pink scar across his shoulder, earning a small moan of satisfaction. He tightened his own free arm around his love, shifting her beautiful chestnut hair behind her ear so that he could place another tender kiss against her temple.

"Mmmm, scratch that," he hummed blissfully. "We are amazing at that."

"Cocky much?" she teased, propping herself up on a shaky elbow to see him. It was a slightly awkward positioning, but her other hand was still dancing with his and she really didn't want to let go.

"Not really," he bantered back, still revelling in their post-sex euphoria. "I'm just stating the truth. Plus it would only be cocky if I was talking about myself. And it takes two to tango, Ruth. Our lovemaking would be nothing if it wasn't for my beautiful... incredible... talented... beautiful partner."

"You already said beautiful," Ruth pointed out, ducking her head to hide the bashful blush tinting her cheeks.

She had always done that; had never been able to take a compliment. Even now, after all their years together, some things never changed. He was conflicted. In one way, he wished she would have the confidence to allow herself a little bit of pride when praised. God knows, she deserved it. But in another, he knew it was just one of her many endearing qualities – and it made him love her all the more.

"It's because you're twice as beautiful as anyone else," he declared.

Ruth gasped in mock awe, a large grin shaping her lips, "Wow! How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

"About two minutes."

"Impressive."

"I thought so," he smirked smugly. "I foresaw that you'd call me cocky and thought I ought to redeem myself by presenting a modest counter argument."

"Oh, I see. How clever of you. So you didn't mean it then? The whole 'beautiful' thing?" she challenged, and although she raised a testy eyebrow, the twinkle in her eye gave her away completely.

"Oh, I meant it. Absolutely. I'm just also a cocky bastard. It's a good job I have a beautiful woman in my arms to help me see the error of my ways."

"You, Harry Pearce, are a flatterer." Ruth muttered, but her lingering smile betrayed that she wasn't ungrateful.

"Is the flattery working?"

"Depends on what your goal is."

She rested her chin playfully on her hand and set it down against his chest – just enough that they could see each other, but not so much that she was crushing him. His heartbeat drummed insistently against her palm, lulling her further into that cocoon of love and safety. It was a tune she knew so well by now, but was certain she would never, ever tire of. Of its own accord, her heart immediately strived to match his rhythm, desperate to become one.

Harry gazed back at her, drinking in every glorious bit of this magnificent creature: her radiant smile, her debauched lips, her creamy skin, her exquisite curves, the generous swell of her breasts, the graceful arc of her spine, and, of course, the stunning blue eyes that still, to this day, seemed to penetrate deep into his very soul. By God, she was beautiful.

"Another round?" he purred.

Ruth laughed lightly and his heart skipped a beat. The sound of her laugh would never get old. Never. It was rich and melodious, and so full of joy that he treasured it each and every time. She had had so little cause to laugh in their past life. To hear it so frequently now was an unspeakable privilege.

"If you've got a third round in you, Harry, then I'm really very impressed because I don't think I can move for about a week."

He barked out a laugh and kissed her hair in defeat, "Fair enough. You win. I don't think I could either, to be honest. I'm getting too old. Too past it."

Part of what he said was in jest, but there was a hint of genuine self-recrimination in his tone that tugged at Ruth's heartstrings. She watched him for a moment, then silently slipped her hand from his, unsheathing him with a small mewl. Harry winced, feeling quite bereft without her heavenly heat. However, she used her newfound freedom to propel herself up onto her knees to straddle his thighs, briefly creating a delicious friction between their sexes. Her hands caressed his shoulders, tenderly kneading the scarred flesh and overriding their horrific origins with a touch altogether gentler, fonder, sweeter. Then, before he knew quite what was happening, she was kissing him; deep sensual kisses that left him with absolutely no doubt how much she adored him, how much she wanted him. When she sensed his need for air, she broke away, continuing her mission up column of his throat, along his cheekbones, his eyelids, his nose, his forehead... everywhere. She was worshipping him with such devotion, such unadulterated passion that for a moment, his insecurities were lost, replaced by sea of sublime sensation.

"Not old," she whispered, the brush of her lips against his ear sending a chill of arousal to his belly. "And never past it. Never. You're Harry Pearce. The kindest, gentlest, bravest and yes, the most handsome man I've ever known."

Harry sighed and stroked a single finger along her nose, marvelling at how he had become so unbelievably lucky. She wrinkled it adorably and moved to clasp his hand once more. Their fingers slotted neatly together, two parts of the same puzzle, clearly built to hold one another.

"Oh, sweetheart. Why do you put yourself through this, hmm? Stick with me, I mean." He elaborated at her quizzical look. "You're miles ahead of me in every league."

Ruth frowned, her grip on his hand tightening. Neither was quite sure if the other was serious now.

"I think my opportunity to run off with that Puerto Rican pool boy has long since passed. You'll have to do." she deadpanned softly.

Harry's good-natured smile wasn't all that convincing. He knew she was joking, and she knew she was joking, and the two of them would never dream of being apart. Yet insecurities were a major part of their past and an unfortunate, well-ingrained part of them.

Ruth bit her lip, and glanced down, "I could ask you the same question in regards to me, Harry. You've had a lot to put up with. I've not been easy."

He could have lied; could have contradicted her and said that everything had been rose-tinted and wonderful; that he wouldn't take away any of it. But he and Ruth had sworn away the lies. They had experienced the stain such untruths could smear, and wanted no further truck with them. The simple life they had built for themselves had admittedly been crafted from lies, for they had always been made of secrets. But those lies were merely necessary for their survival; used only with others to keep them safe – and never against each other. There were some elements of their journey he would have taken away. Of course there were. Most certainly Ruth's ordeal over six years prior, and the pain, anxiety and trauma that had haunted her – still did on occasion, though she stubbornly fought those demons each and every day. He couldn't be more proud of her if he tried, and vice versa. Things had been hard for them both, but nothing worth having was ever easy. Exploring a brave new world, a new relationship, a new family, a new purpose, a new self and all in several new countries had been a battle neither of them had been prepared for upon leaving England. However, they had had each other and when all was said and done, that was what mattered. Although they had been divided in the past, they had conquered. They were more together now than they had ever been, and in every possible way.

"You were worth it," he emphasised, stroking up and down her arm, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder blade.

"Then you have my answer right there." Ruth said earnestly, eyes gleaming in the dim lamplight. "You've always been worth it, Harry. Always been... it.

She paused, her eyebrows furrowing as she thought carefully of what to say – a most Ruth-ish thing to do. He knew from experience that it was no use interrupting her when she was trying to express what she found difficult. So he waited, his hand resuming its stroking, this time brushing gently down the subtle knobs of her spine.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire," she eventually murmured. "Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love."

Harry smiled softly. Trust her to grasp the words she was searching for from within literature. "Hamlet." he acknowledged, and she nodded.

Her slight frown indicated further thought, but after a few more seconds, she seemed to have found what was in her heart.

"What we've been through together..." she whispered, and the fact that she met his eyes as she spoke was a testament to how much she wanted him to know the truth of her words. "The way you've stood by me and held me patiently, without complaint when I've cried. Or... or loved me, despite the times I've been an awful, moody cow. Or calmed me down when I start to panic, or even just made me laugh. I honestly can't describe how much that means to me. You're kind and gentle... moral and courageous... honourable and so full of goodness. And the way you are with Lottie makes my heart just... just all at once want to jump for joy, melt and... and... I don't know... explode. Yes, explode. With love, I mean. Always with love. Because I do love you Harry Pearce. Every complex, wonderful bit of you. And I always will."

There was a slight pause in which Harry, so overcome by emotion, struggled to find a response. They had spent six years together; had known and danced around each other for longer, and she could still strike him dumb. Certainly, six years ago, Ruth would not have had the confidence to be so forthright. He supposed it just went to show how much they had grown together. When he couldn't find the comeback he was searching for, he tried to find something else to say. Anything else. A sentence... a phrase... a single word. And when he couldn't even do that; when all that was left was a betraying wetness in his eyes, Harry instead leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss, hoping she understood what he was trying to say. 'I love you too. So, so, so much. More than I can ever say'.

She kissed back with equal fervour, granting his tongue access as it nudged gently against hers. He felt her squeeze his left bicep and knew immediately that she had understood. But as their mouths found a slow and sensual rhythm, their bodies started to react, and both realised that they would have to stop or Round Three really would become a reality. They wouldn't have minded, of course, but they knew that they hadn't the time. Even so, it took them a while to break apart. When they finally did, they were panting again, chests heaving, minds spinning, hearts beating the same allegro rhythm. They rested their foreheads together, taking a few leisurely minutes to share breaths.

Coherent thought gradually returned, and with it came the realisation that their previously sweat-slicked bodies had long since cooled, leaving their skin to grow slowly chilled to the touch. Harry reached down and tucked the duvet snugly around them both, then drew Ruth back into the shelter of his arms, pressing her to him as close as was humanly possible. She ended up lying draped across him like a blanket, her breasts cradled against his chest, her head nestled under his chin, their legs tangled together. Harry buried his nose in her soft hair, revelling in its scent. She smelled of sweet summer berries and sex; entirely too scrumptious for words. They stayed like that for a good long while, tracing idle patterns across each other's skin as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky.

"What time is it?" he asked eventually.

Ruth lifted her head to catch a glimpse of the clock. "Nearly quarter to six."

Harry groaned, shut his eyes and burrowed further into her embrace. Ruth chuckled, rubbing a soothing hand over his chest. Her partner was a man of many contradictions. For the most part he was the beacon of strength in their relationship; strong and stable; perfectly imperfect; the last weathered pillar standing resolute in spite of everything that had been thrown at him. An ex- knight of the realm and former Head of Section D, to most, Harry Pearce had been fierce, no-nonsense man who took no prisoners. But then there was her Harry: sweet and gentle, thoughtful and attentive, and at times such a petulant child. And she loved him dearly for it.

"Harry, we do have to get up soon."

"No," he pouted, making her giggle.

"Harry, I already have a six-year-old to look after. I don't need a four-year-old too."

He groaned, "Christ, a six-year-old. I swear it was only yesterday she turned five."

"No, that was a whole year ago." Ruth informed him, placing her palms on the mattress to lever herself up. If she could not drag Harry from his 'hiding place', she would instead drag the hiding place from Harry. He tutted in mock annoyance, but her tactics worked and he opened his eyes to face the reality of the day.

"Bugger. Don't tell me," he murmured miserably. "Tomorrow she'll be a teenager."

"I hope not," Ruth admitted. She sat up a little more, and the blankets slipped from her shoulders, allowing Harry a rather lovely view of her breasts. Noticing his distraction, she rolled her eyes and lifted his chin back up to her face. "I'm not ready for a teenager."

"Well, I'm not ready for a six-year-old." Harry declared, flopping his hand dramatically back against the pillows. "I really am old, Ruth. You'd better put me out to pasture."

"How many times do I have to say this? You're not old."

"I'm sixty-three, and I have a six-year-old daughter."

"A beautiful, kind, intelligent six-year-old daughter, who absolutely adores you." Ruth reminded him, smoothing a hand over his heart.

"And I her. I wouldn't change her for the world." He traced her cheek gently with the pad of his thumb. "You really have done an incredible job with her, Ruth."

"We have. Both of us. Together." Ruth corrected, before adding with such naked vulnerability that it made his heart clench. "We wouldn't have got very far without you, Harry."

He smiled, "Well that's lucky then, because I wouldn't have got very far without you." His expression turned slightly wistful. "I suppose I just wish I was a little younger."

"Don't we all. I'm not exactly in my mid-twenties. So if you think you need putting out to pasture, then I think I'd better go too." Ruth murmured, knowing that she hadn't been in the spring of youth herself when she had Charlotte – or rather, 'Lottie', as they had now come to call her. But Lottie had been their little miracle; their guiding star amidst a terrifying time in both their lives. She wouldn't change her for anything.

"Sweetheart, I didn't mean – "

"No, not 'Sweetheart, I didn't mean' anything." She said firmly, and Harry was powerless to stop the thrill of arousal that flared up in response to Ruth's assertive side. Ruth, for her part, hated how this dear man would sometimes worry that he was not enough for his family. Not that she wasn't thankful that he felt comfortable enough to tell her his worries – it had taken a lot of work over the years for them to learn to open up to each other. It just saddened her to see this usually confident man become so weighed down by the occasional insecurity. "Harry, we go out to pasture together or we don't go out at all. I'm not leaving you. And that's that."

Harry shook his head, and caressed her kiss-swollen lips with his. Every time he didn't think he could love her more, she proved him wrong. In this case, it was due to her impression of a stubborn old mule. Except less of the old, he reminded himself. She had won that argument.

"She'll be up in a few minutes." Ruth sighed, reluctantly parting before things got more heated. She planted another quick peck on his lips and climbed off him. "We'd better get dressed. A shower will have to wait."

The bedclothes fell away from her, making visible her deliciously bare body. Harry tried not to shoot her a sultry glance, for he knew how shy, almost ashamed, she could be of her body when viewed in close scrutiny – even now and even by him. It broke his heart that she couldn't see just how gorgeous she really was. She could light up a room with her smile alone. Yet those bastards had made her feel so uncomfortable, so vulnerable and uncertain within herself. He and Ruth had overcome the massive hurdle of sex and physical intimacy years ago, and day by day, side by side they had managed to unpick the damage that had been done by her rapists. Gradually she had learnt to trust him with her body as well as her heart, and he intended never to abuse that privilege. The physical tells of her ordeal would never go away. There were a series of faint white scars marring Ruth's ribs, breasts and thighs that would forever remind them of what had happened. However, those, along with her caesarean scar, were a testament to her unremitting strength; a symbol of how much she had overcome. Lovemaking with his beloved Ruth was an experience like no other. There was a connection between them that transcended the merely physical, and entered deep into their very souls. All other partners Harry had ever been with simply paled in comparison. He had just never been able to convince Ruth of that fact.

He watched her get dressed for a few seconds, then, feeling really rather destitute without her presence in bed beside him, decided that he too had better make a move. He rolled out from under the duvet and went in search of his clothes, finding them folded neatly over a nearby chair. Ruth must have that the night before.

He certainly wouldn't have done it. He had been in too much of a mood, having had a good growl at some brash, loud-mouthed, twenty-something American tourists, who felt it necessary to keep the entire Caravan Park awake with their late night parties, foul language verbal abuse. They had been exceptionally rude when he asked them to tone things down, so he had said a few choice words in a return. In the end, he had told them with a certain degree of menace in his voice, to move on. Apparently, he had not lost his touch when dealing with the troublesome cousins. They had seen the dangerous glint in his eye, promptly packed up, paid the week's rent, and left – even picking up their litter along the way. In some respects, being in charge of a small-town Caravan Park was not light-years away from commanding Section D.

It had been an odd life choice for him and Ruth, and certainly not one he had envisioned upon leaving England. At first, they travelled around Europe, trying to find their niche. However, they had nearly run paths with a number of dangerous individuals from their past. MI6 were rife all over Europe, and so were elite terrorist cells. Plus, Lottie and Ruth had been quite fragile, and he hadn't wanted to risk putting either of them in any further danger. So they had moved on.

Eventually, they had ended up in Australia, settling in the tiny town of Beechworth. With a population of three thousand thereabouts, Beechworth was a far-cry from the big city life of London. Yet it proved to be just what they needed. The climate was warmer, sunnier and more pleasant. It was very self-contained, and despite being a fairly popular tourist spot, it was hardly likely to draw attention from unwanted guests. The town's residents knew each other, but no one knew or cared about anything happening outside their bubble. They had been a bit wary of Harry and Ruth at first; English newcomers in a very well-established Australian community. However, they had soon come to accept them, not least because of Ruth's enthusiasm regarding the town's history and its Gold Rush fame – and of course, because of Lottie. The tiny, dark-haired girl had the power to wrap anyone around her little finger with her mother's big blue eyes, and her father's charm. Literally everyone wanted to mother her.

Needing somewhere to stay, Harry and Ruth had initially rented out a static caravan. That had been tough at first, with both of them anxious about the constant in-flow of new, potentially dangerous people. But gradually they had come to realise that the whole world was not out to get them, and as every case proved, their travelling neighbours were just harmless tourists out for a good holiday. So they stayed. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and before they knew it, nearly three years had passed and what had started out as temporary accommodation had become their home. They grew to be a well-established part of the community. Harry even adjusted to the locals calling him 'mate'. But when Lottie was approaching her third birthday, they had decided that they would need more room – more space for her to grow.

At the time, the park had been owned by old Mrs Ginty. She knew that they were house-hunting, and it just so happened that she was searching for a buyer for the Caravan Park. As she repeatedly told them (and at great length), she was desperate for someone to take the place off her hands, otherwise she would have to close. This, of course, would be a shame as the camp had been standing since she was a very little girl. Her grandparents had set it up as a means of boosting the tourist industry. And extremely successful it had been. However, Mrs Ginty, twice a widow and well into her twilight years, could not keep up with the business, and was distinctly doddery getting around the old stone-built cottage at the edge of the park. So she had arranged to go and live with family in Brisbane. All she needed was a buyer.

It had been a big decision. But Lottie had become so comfortable with her camp surroundings, and honestly, they had needed a little extra income to support them through raising a child. So Harry and Ruth gratefully accepted. For a bargain price, the little stone cottage was now theirs, and with it came the task of maintaining the Caravan Park. It was not an overwhelming amount of work. Visitors came, paid their way, looked after themselves and left, and it was enough to give them both a renewed sense of purpose and profit. Ruth suspected Harry secretly enjoyed inflicting his wrath upon misbehaving clients. She had barely been able to contain her smile when he stormed in after driving out the Americans the night before. It had been so much like déjà vu. She had half expected him to turn to her and demand that she dig up all the dirt she could find on the youngsters so that he could 'bury them'.

Now, Harry busied himself with buttoning up his shirt, just as Ruth pulled on her skirt from the day before. She caught him searching for a belt and tossed him one from a nearby draw. He smiled his gratitude, and hastily secured his trousers in place. He had lost quite a lot of weight since leaving England – they both had. He put it down to drinking less whiskey, maintaining a proper diet, and regular exercise in the form of walks, running around after Lottie, and of course making love to his darling Ruth.

"So you're picking her up from school and taking her to the beach for a couple of hours?" he clarified.

"Yes, I think collecting shells will keep her occupied until you can get the guests sorted."

"Lucky me," Harry muttered. "A marquee full of five and six-year-olds."

Ruth went to the wardrobe mirror and started to tease out the stubborn tangles from her hair. Quite how she managed to get it into such a state during sex with Harry was still a mystery to her. The man responsible appeared behind her, now fully dressed. He pressed a loving kiss to the back of her head, and held his hand out for the brush.

"Allow me?"

Ruth smiled at him through the mirror. He had a talent for making her heart melt – just by doing the little things. She turned, kissed him gently on the lips in thanks, and gave up the brush to his capable hands. Those American youths had probably thought her beloved Harry (or rather Henry Knight, as he was known here) was a dragon. But he was, in fact, a big pussycat. She stood quite still, allowing him to card carefully through the tangles he had created during their lovemaking. Her hair was slightly longer than it used to be, with it falling just below her shoulders, and it held several natural loose curls. He thought it really suited her. Ruth closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy his ministrations. Having a young daughter had made Harry quite adept at brushing hair. He could even proudly state that through Ruth's tutoring, and with the help of trusty YouTube, he had learnt to do a French plait.

"You know you'll enjoy the party really." Ruth told him softly.

"Giddy, screaming children, falling out, having accidents and eating far too much cake. Yes, I'm sure I will." Harry muttered dryly. "Whitehall would seem fairly sane in comparison."

"You'll get gooey-eyed when she asks you to help her blow out her candles."

"I don't get... gooey-eyed, Ruth," he objected, tugging gently on a strand of hair in reproach.

"Of course you don't." Ruth smiled.

There was a sudden soft moan from the room across the hall, and the distinct rustle of bedclothes. Ruth glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 6:00. Like clockwork.

"Looks like somebody's waking up." Harry observed, brushing out the last of the tangles and returning the brush to the dresser.

He wandered back to where she stood and snaked his arms around her waist, guiding her until her back was flush against his chest. He peppered feather light kisses up her slender neck, and Ruth whimpered, nuzzling contentedly into his shoulder. A small creak emanating from the other room had them quickly pausing, listening for any further noises. There were none. For now.

"We need to set off early this morning." Ruth sighed, the heavy weight of reality setting in.

"I thought you didn't need to be at work until ten." Harry frowned.

He had sort of been hoping for a shower with her in the time between taking Lottie to school and her going to work. After Lottie was old enough to go to school, Ruth had been noticeably restless. Her mind would play more on the past, and he had sensed an anxiety within her that hadn't occurred when she was fully occupied with looking after their daughter. So when he had heard that the Burke Museum was hiring, he had instantly thought of her. Of course she was hired on the spot, and as with anything she did, she was a marvel.

"Miss Cavanaugh wants to speak to me." Ruth explained with another sigh.

Harry's frown deepened. Why had Lottie's teacher specifically asked to speak to Ruth? Was there a problem he needed to know about? Was Lottie unhappy at school? She hadn't said anything, and Lottie was generally the sort of girl who spoke her mind when troubled.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, and Ruth couldn't bear the hurt expression befalling his face.

"I tried to, last night," she confessed. "But you were busy raving about those 'American twerps'"

Harry closed his eyes, inwardly thumped himself. He knew he had an inane ability to go off on one about pests like that. It was a habit he hadn't managed to break from his years in the service. But when it got in the way of his family's wellbeing then he knew that it had gone too far.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, ashamed.

"Don't be," she assured him, turning to stroke the contours of his cheek with her thumb. "It's okay."

And it was. She understood that it was just his way. When he had his mind fixed on something, no other information was able to filter through. So it was just better to talk to him when his mind wasn't so full; when the problem occupying his thoughts had been ironed out.

"What did Miss Cavanaugh want?" Harry asked quietly as he re-opened his eyes.

"She said Lottie tried to stand up for Alfie Sullivan when a group of children were picking on him."

"Alfie Sullivan? Isn't he the little lad with Autism?"

"Yes. Lottie wanted to teach the other kids about tolerance."

Harry beamed, pride positively radiating out of him. Their little girl really was something special. Her innate kindness and love for others was definitely something she got from her mother.

"But surely that's a good thing," he shrugged. "Children need to learn about tolerance."

"Yes, but the children in question were Year 6 – that's eleven years old. They must have been towering over her! Imagine what they could have done to her!"

Harry would have been an oblivious fool not to see the terror in her eyes. It had taken an awful lot of persuasion on his part, and a great deal of courage from Ruth, to send Lottie off to school when the time came. Ruth had been petrified of something happening to her whilst she was not under her parents' protection. However, despite being incredibly cautious of strangers, Lottie was a fiercely independent child, with a highly developed sense of right and wrong. How could she not be, with who her parents were? She had needed the connection to other children and the space to grow. Ruth had known that, deep down, and had ultimately come to accept it. But that didn't stop her from worrying.

"The staff wouldn't let any harm come to her, Ruth." Harry reassured her, guiding her into his arms and rocking her there for a moment.

"She called one of the bullies 'bonehead'." Ruth suddenly announced into his chest.

Harry froze.

"She did what?" he blinked.

"She called one of the Year 6 bullies 'bonehead'," she repeated, pulling back and eyeing him accusingly.

He did not know whether it was the expression of disapproval upon Ruth's face, or the mental picture of his tiny, strong-willed daughter calling a group of towering Year 6's 'bonehead', but within a split second he was laughing so hard his belly ached. Ruth just stood there stiffly.

"Harry, it's not funny," she muttered.

Harry shook his head amidst his laugher, reaching out to rub her shoulders, "Oh, come on, Ruth. You've got to admit, it is a bit funny."

"Three guesses where she picked up that word," she scorned softly, though her stern facade was beginning to crack.

Harry shrugged helplessly, "She likes to watch quiz shows with me, you know that."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you have to use that sort of language," she tutted, disengaging herself from his embrace and padding across the room – partly to find her boots, but mainly to hide her smile. "She'll pick up anything we say. You know how bright she is."

"She takes after her mother." he said fondly, leaning against the wardrobe to watch her.

"Stop using flattery to get out of trouble, you." Ruth admonished, her eyes twinkling as she zipped up her boots.

"I'll have you know that I'm a model father." Harry stated, folding his arms as if to emphasise his point. "If you heard all the times I had to swear at idiotic politicians, you'd realise how positively tame I am when watching television."

"You're forgetting that I heard a lot of your rants," Ruth reminded him, also folding her arms as she moved to stand opposite him. "Your swearing would have made a sailor proud."

"Aha! So you admit that my language now is much, much better?" Harry hedged triumphantly.

Ruth looked into those gorgeous, hazel puppy dog eyes and knew that she could never stay stern with him for long. But she had to make him sweat, just a little, so she paused, as if taking great pain-staking efforts to think about it. Then she gave in and rolled her eyes.

"Fine. I admit that."

Harry sealed his victory with another kiss. She eagerly accepted before pulling back, serious once more.

"But that doesn't mean you're off the hook, Harry Pearce. Last night, as I was putting her to bed, she asked me what an 'American twerp' was."

It was Harry's turn to look aghast.

"You're not serious?"

"I'm very serious."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I... I'll be more careful what I say around her in the future." He blushed, having the good grace to look abashed.

"It's my birthday!" The pair suddenly heard a groggy little voice exclaim from the other room, swiftly followed by increasingly excitable shrieks as the voice's owner grew more alert. "It's my birthday! It's my birthday! Mummy! Daddy!"

"Here comes trouble." Harry murmured, inciting a grin from Ruth.

Hand-in-hand, they turned to face the door, waiting for the oncoming storm.

And there we have it. I you enjoyed reading. Shall I continue? All the best x