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Determined eyeball met determined eyeball in a glaring contest until Harry, without dropping his stare snapped, "Why not?" With most supplicants the clinical answer, "Because I say so", albeit wrapped in a more diplomatic guise, would be sufficient to shut down the conversation. Harry however was not most people. Summoning up his best authoritative timbre Charles therefore stated with finality. "Because any glimpse of you might re awaken the programming and send her into a screaming downward spiral." Even as he spoke the thought rippled through Charles' mind that the sight of Harry Pearce not infrequently produced that exact reaction in normal and otherwise sane individuals.

Harry in his turn responded with a waspish, 'I said I wanted to see her. I understood what you said earlier so I assumed she's being treated in one of the observation rooms."

Charles was mentally chastising himself. He should have remembered that Harry knew the facilities of the unit inside out, and his assumption was correct. Charles also knew when to it was politic yield, at least in part. "Very well, but let me be clear Harry, observation only. Ruth is my patient. She is in an extremely fragile mental state. If you overstep or ignore my instructions I will have you banned with immediate effect from the building and its perimeter."

Having won the dispute Harry was not about to argue further, instead challenging Charles as they moved towards the door with,"Do you seriously think I'd do anything to jeopardise Ruth's potential recovery?" A question that required no answer from his companion.

An understanding reached, together in silence they made their way through the gleaning white antiseptic corridors, impersonal and deserted, except for the occasional glimpse of a wheelchair bound patient moving under their own propulsion, one of whom made Harry wince. Charles noticing this raised an eyebrow, "You recognise him?" Harry groaned his answer, "Yes, from counter espionage – a nasty bomb incident that should never have been signed off." Adding with anger laced contempt, "Political pressure from a wholly ignorant quarter." Charles wasn't going to dispute that statement. Given the damaged individuals he was required to repair on a regular basis he was inclined to share Harry's incendiary views on the majority of their political masters.

Reaching the entrance of the secure isolation wing Charles punched in the entry code. It wouldn't matter if Harry memorised the digits since, as a security measure, they were changed every day. Once inside a further corridor was revealed, its bleak walls punctuated by doors, all inevitably numbered from one to ten. Charles headed for number five, ushering Harry inside. There they were inside in a form of cubicle containing a further door placed towards the left hand corner which lead into a room, the interior of which could be viewed through the large glass panel that confronted them, the observation side of a two way mirror built into the wall. The actual contents of the room as seen consisted of a comfortable bed, a table and a padded chair occupied by Ruth. Otherwise the overall presentation was minimal, no flowers, no clutter, and neutral colours, Nothing to distract or feast the eye.

Harry approaching the window stared at Ruth. Her dark hair had been brushed and tidied, and she was dressed in what appeared to be a white night gown. She looked pale and thin, but even more alarming was her stillness, and those eyes which had long haunted Harry in his dreams stared dully ahead at nothing. Without turning his head Harry asked Charles,

"Has she been like this all the time?"

Charles sighed, "Yes – she'll respond to simple orders, for example 'go to bed' and if we place a plate in front of her she will automatically eat, ditto with using the…er… facilities without being told but otherwise, well I hesitate to use the term but zombie best describes it."

Harry nodded, "Or Lady Macbeth sleepwalking – her eyes are open but their sense is shut."

"Quite, which is why we need to stimulate her as we discussed."

Harry surveying Ruth voiced a further thought, "I need to talk to Erin Watts."

While Charles of course knew of Erin he wasn't sure how she fitted into the clinical recovery picture. Harry noting Charles dubious expression hurriedly explained, "I'd suggest that Ruth needs clothes that match her usual choice, not a quasi nun's habit – Erin will know best, especially as regards underwear. Ruth's measurements are on file and Erin will undoubtedly have made notes of how Ruth dressed and her preferred labels." With the first smile Charles had seen Harry produce in the last few hours he added, "As for any er underpinnings I really don't think a male member of staff going on a knicker hunt would be appropriate."

Turning away from the distressing sight of his now returned, but still absent Ruth, Harry enquired "Anything more Charles?"

"Only what I asked earlier, if we knew who was behind this we might have some idea of the drugs and methods which were used, for the want of a better phrase, to treat Ruth after her supposed death."

Harry in an instant changed from the compassionate individual of a few seconds ago to the man whose face has sent a thousand fleeing.

"When we do we'll certainly extract that information." Meeting those hard amber eyes, the pressed lips and noting the involuntary clenched fists Charles decided not to enquire as the methods by which the required Intel would be disgorged. He just wondered if the Geneva Convention would require him to treat the remains, and as he cast a last glance in Ruth's still immovable form as they departed, seriously wondered if he would want to.

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