"Malcolm," Ruth whispered again.

Emotionally frazzled, yet overjoyed to see her old friend standing there after so long, she stepped forward and pulled the older man in for a fierce hug. Malcolm froze, his mouth hanging open in shock. Clearly his bafflement surrounding the fairer sex hadn't lessened over the intervening years. But then his heart seemed to take over and he smiled in earnest, his arms moving to embrace her gently, as a long lost brother might hold one's sibling after a lifetime apart.

"Ruth. You have no idea how glad I am to see you again."

Ruth chuckled wetly into his shoulder, "I suppose we've got to stop meeting like this."

It was a rather lame reference to her previous return to London. He had been the first familiar face she saw in a sea of strangers; the calming presence that soothed her panic and eased the overwhelming guilt she felt at dragging a father and his boy into the mess that was her life. So now she supposed it was rather fitting that it was him who came to their aid now... now when she had an entirely different family in tow, and now when she was fighting an entirely different kind of guilt.

"As long as you're safe and well, we can keep meeting like this however many times it takes," Malcolm told her softly.

Gallant as ever, he pressed a brief, chaste kiss to her cheek, before releasing her. Ruth blushed and patted his arm in thanks. Harry then stepped forward to pay his own respects. He shifted Lottie slightly where she was draped across his shoulder and managed to extend his hand.

"Malcolm."

The former techie shook his proffered hand.

"Harry."

There was a shared intensity within the two men's gazes; a mutual warmth and respect that Ruth couldn't quite pinpoint – and, in fact, didn't want to. It was the understanding of two men who had fought side-by-side for nearly thirty years in the name of King and Country, and one couldn't put a label on that.

"You look good," Harry smiled.

"You look better," Malcolm shrugged. "I take it that wherever you were, it agreed with you."

The reality of their bittersweet reunion came back to haunt Ruth with a harrowing jolt. She remembered their dear little cottage and the Caravan Park; the gorgeous Victoria weather and endless walks along the beach; their happy home and the life they had been forced to leave behind, and her heart ached. Perhaps Harry's did too, because even his smile faded.

"Yes. Yes, it did, rather."

Malcolm seemed to sense the rawness of the subject and quickly turned his attention to the tiny girl nestled in Harry's arms.

"And this is little Charlotte," he marvelled. "Or should I call her Joanna?"

"Neither," Harry admitted. "The passports you gave us were excellent, but we could never quite bring ourselves to call her Joanna. And Charlotte was far too dangerous."

If Malcolm was disgruntled by any of this, he didn't show it. He simply continued to smile at the sleeping child, "So what should I call her?"

"Lottie," Ruth answered softly, reaching out to smooth over her baby's mussed-up hair. "We call her Lottie."

"She's gorgeous."

"She is," Ruth agreed, her heart swelling as she gazed into the little girl's peaceful face.

"She's so big and yet... so much smaller than I imagined," Malcolm mused, still staring intently at the six-year old, a mix of wonder and tenderness in his aging face.

"She's always been small for her age – much to her annoyance. But she is growing. Bit by bit."

"She looks like you, Ruth."

Ruth couldn't really think of anything to say to that, so she just ducked her head with a bashful smile

"I regretted never seeing her before you left," Malcolm confessed, a far-off look in his misty eyes. "I regretted never seeing the both of you off, actually."

"Malcolm, what you did saved our lives," Harry told him quietly. "It's thanks to you that we were able to escape... that we got to live out six years of anonymity – "

"Yeah, about that..." Catherine interjected loudly, stepping forwards from her spot behind Harry.

She had been largely forgotten during the happy reunion, and had had to watch as the three old friends fawned over Harry's youngest child. Her face was hard with abject jealousy, but the way she was clutching her arms tightly around her middle betrayed just how insecure she actually was. She was the spare puzzle piece that didn't seem to fit; the symbol in an equation that just didn't work with her in it. Or at least, Ruth thought sadly, observing the hurt in the younger woman's face, that's what Catherine clearly thought.

"Catherine," Malcolm shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot as he realised that he was probably about to be bombarded by the fiery blonde's ire.

"Uncle Malcolm," Catherine greeted curtly. "I've got a bone to pick with you."

"Catherine..." Harry warned.

Catherine pointedly ignored him, walking right up to the gentle ex-spook and stopping mere inches from his face.

"Uncle Malcolm who was always there for us after dad 'died'," the younger woman recounted sarcastically. "Uncle Malcolm who was always a willing ear and a shoulder to cry on in our time of need. Uncle Malcolm who wouldn't let us see dad's body, because it would be too gruesome for us to bear. Uncle Malcolm who was kind and decent and... what am I forgetting? Oh, yeah. A liar!"

"Drop it, Catherine," Harry said sharply, stepping forwards and placing a warning hand on her shoulder. "We've been through this. It wasn't Malcolm's fault."

As far as Ruth had noticed, it was the first harsh(ish) word Harry had said to Catherine since their reconciliation. He was fiercely protective of his daughter, but he also felt responsible for Malcolm. After all, their old friend had dropped everything to come to their aid, both now and six years ago. When they were in need, sweet, awkward but unremittingly brave Malcolm was the one to volunteer. That strength of loyalty and the sheer love for one's friends was a very rare gift indeed.

However, rather than heed her father's warning, Catherine's belligerence remained.

"No, I'm going to say my piece," she growled, shrugging the hand off her shoulder and squaring up to the aging ex-spook. "Your leaving might not have been Malcolm's fault, but it was him who comforted us at the funeral and it was him who stood there and lied to our faces. He could have chosen to tell us the truth. He could have chosen to ignore MI-5 protocol, or whatever it is you call it – but he didn't."

"I was trying to protect your father, Catherine," Malcolm mumbled, surprisingly stout in the face of such bile. "And you and Gray."

"Why should I believe a single thing that comes out of your mouth?"

Harry groaned and raised a hand to his tired eyes. Ruth hovered awkwardly, unsure of whether or not to intervene. She was by no means an expert in the realms of Catherine Townsend, but she did know what it was to put on a show; to reinforce an aching heart with a shell of ice and an almost unwarranted blast of anger. And it was quite clear that Catherine's heart was still hurting from the diet of lies she had been fed over the course of six long, gut-wrenching years.

The argument came to a frosty standstill. Confrontation had never been Malcolm's strong point, and though he had not wilted under the strain of Catherine's accusations, it was clear he was uncomfortable. Harry's gaze was flickering between his old friend and his daughter, his expression more than a little lost. To add to his woes, he kept readjusting Lottie against his shoulder, wincing every so often and clearly feeling the weight of their six-year-old in his aching back. Ruth took pity on the lot of them – even the mutinous Catherine – and decided that it would have to be her that took control.

"Malcolm," she called, stepping calmly into the fray. "Did you bring your car?"

A flicker of surprise passed across Malcolm's face, swiftly followed by relief. He heaved a little sigh and smiled gratefully down at her.

"Er... yes. Yes, I'm under orders from Dimitri to take you straight to the Grid."

"Dimitri?" Ruth felt her heart soar once more. "Levendis?"

"The man himself. He's Head of Section D now."

Ruth smiled, inexplicably glad to hear that Dimitri Levendis had made it through six more years at Five – and had risen into a position of seniority, no less! Six years was a massive achievement in his line of work, and was no doubt a testament to his strength of mind, character and talent. Harry had always predicted that the young man would go far, and whilst of course agreeing, a small part of Ruth had always wondered: at what cost?

"He's alright, then?" she asked.

Her question was met with stony silence, and a frankly disturbing lack of eye contact from Malcolm.

"Malcolm?"

"Let's... let's get you to the Grid."

"Malcolm what's – ?" she pressed fearfully, feeling her stomach tighten because, oh God, what now? What had happened? But before she could even finish her sentence, Malcolm quickly shook his head and shuffled past her towards the baggage carousel.

"Come on. We'd better get your bags."

His tone was kind, but clipped, and it was clear he had no wish to discuss whatever had happened to Dimitri Levendis in the middle of Heathrow Airport. Or indeed, at all. Perhaps he thought it wasn't his story to tell. He had learnt his lesson regarding office gossip after inadvertently sending Harry and Ruth off on opposite trajectories all those years ago. According to Harry, he'd never condoned or listened to idle chatter since.

It was an admirable stance to take, but it did nothing to ease Ruth's worry. She bit her lip and glanced up at Harry, who also seemed troubled by Malcolm's evasiveness. Their eyes met, both silently communicating their concern. Then Harry flashed her a sympathetic grimace, whispered a soft, "Come on, sweetheart," before trudging off towards the carousel. Catherine marched wordlessly after him. Sighing and trying to ignore the sickening dread bubbling low in her stomach, Ruth had no option but to follow.

"Yo, Cal! You up for the pub later?" Bart demanded, strolling over to his friend's desk and plonking himself down with a heavy thud.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Calum heard him, but he was far too busy watching the pods to really process tangible words. He was supposed to be collating information for the afternoon briefing, but that was proving rather difficult when all he could think about was Harry and Ruth's impending arrival. Malcolm had texted him from the airport telling him that he had the 'package' and that they were on their way. So now, he was waiting with an eagerness he couldn't quite understand, to watch Mama, Papa (and apparently Baby) Bear step through the pods for the first time in over six years.

He wasn't even sure why he was so invested in this. Dimitri had always been closest to them. However Dimitri wasn't the same man Harry and Ruth had left behind six years ago. At least to the naked eye, the Admiral seemed to be treating their arrival like it was part of a routine operation; like they were just a couple of ordinary assets as opposed to two old friends that had sacrificed everything to save him. It was a strange reaction and it confused the heck out of him, but then a lot of things about Dimitri confused him these days. And it made his life a lot less stressful to avoid dwelling on it. So instead, Calum chose to dwell on the impending arrival; all the while nursing a fool's hope that maybe, just maybe, Harry and Ruth might be able to trigger a spark of the old DImitri, rather than the shell of the man that was currently pacing the polished floors of his office.

"Oi! Calum!" Bart called, a little louder than before. "I said, are you up for the pub later on?"

"Hm?" Calum muttered absently. "Oh. Er... yeah, sure."

He was so focused on the pods that he didn't notice Bart's eyes narrow; nor did he see the slow, sneaky smile that spread across his face.

"Cool. So you'll be buying us all a round then, yeah?"

"Yeah... yeah, totally..."

"And then I was thinking we could all play some strip poker."

"Sounds great."

"Perhaps a ménage à trios in the loos mid-game?"

"Sure."

"And then maybe we could either set fire to a skip or rob a bank?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Calum had more or less completely tuned out at this point and didn't notice Bart roll his eyes. He did, however, notice the hand that was suddenly waved in front of his face.

"Earth to Calum!"

Calum jumped and finally, finally tore his gaze away from the pods. He did a little double-take because he hadn't expected to see Bart lounging across his desk, a smug smile playing across his lips and his shoulders shaking with poorly restrained laughter.

"What?" he blinked, bewildered.

"Do you have any idea what I just said?"

Calum hesitated. Now that he thought about it, all of Bart's words seemed to have just melded into one long stream of sound.

"Er..."

"Let me refresh your memory," Bart smirked. "So far you've agreed to buy us all a round, play strip poker, partake in a ménage à trios, set fire to a skip and rob a bank."

Calum reared back, thoroughly confused, "What?!"

"Don't worry, I won't hold you to the ménage à trios."

"What ménage à trios?"

"The ménage à trios you just agreed to."

"Can we please stop saying 'ménage à trios'?" Calum grumbled, flushing red at some of the strange looks they were garnering.

Bart's smirk grew wickeder, "Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Just a tad, yeah."

"Aw, come on, Cal. You're no monk. There was that girl from Section A, only last month. And I've heard she's into some pretty kinky stuff."

"Can we not talk about my love life, right now?" Calum hissed.

He exhaled a long, slow and steady breath to calm himself. He liked to think of himself as a pretty light-hearted guy. But time and his experiences in the field had mellowed him. He didn't find things as funny as he once might have. And their contrast in humours wasn't Bart's fault. Bart had never been on the front line of it all. He was, in many respects, naive and untainted. He had always been safe in the confines of Thames House, running errands and making copious amounts of tea; all the while blissfully unaware of the horrors that his colleagues were facing.

Bart must have noticed the tension in his face because his amusement quickly faded. Instead, his face showed great sympathy, his eyebrows settling into a softer, kinder frown, "You're really wound up about them coming back, aren't you?"

Calum tutted. The sincerity in Bart's gaze made him feel rather guilty for snapping.

"I'm not wound up," he confessed. "Really. I'm glad they're back – safe and well and in one piece. It's more than I can say for a lot of us."

His mind drifted to a certain brunette who had been chewed up and spat back out by the service. Then he shook his head. No. He wouldn't think about that. He couldn't.

"Well then, what's got you all het up?"

Calum sighed and began twirling his pen through his fingers, just for something to do. Talking was easier when his hands were busy.

"I'm not het up, exactly. I just... I know that seeing them again will stir up a lot of memories. For the Admiral, mainly. I mean... when they were last here, Erin was still..."

He trailed off, unwilling to continue. Thankfully, Bart seemed to understand.

"Erin was still Erin," he finished.

Calum nodded.

"You think Bossman won't be able to handle it?"

"Oh no, I'm positive he can handle it," Calum shrugged. "I just... know it won't be easy. For him, for me, for Harry and Ruth. For any of us."

Bart quirked an astonished eyebrow, "Calum Reed, do I detect a human heart beneath that cocky bravado? Are you, dare I say it, becoming soft in your old age?"

Calum promptly chucked the pen at him. It hit him squarely on the nose.

"OW!"

"It's just a pen, Bart. Get over it."

Bart grumbled under his breath, "Okay, okay! I take it back. You're definitely not becoming soft in your old age."

"Good."

"No, you're becoming a grumpy old sod."

"I always was a grumpy sod. But less of the old, please. How many times do I have to say this? I'm thirty-seven. I'm hardly over the hill!"

"Whatever, Grandpa."

"You're four years younger than me!"

"That's four years younger than you'll ever be," Bart countered smugly. "Grandpa..."

"Right, that's it..." Calum muttered.

Vowing revenge as he seized a handful of gobstoppers from his desk drawer and hurled them, one after the other, at whatever part of his friend's anatomy he could find. Bart chuckled and ducked out of the way. The sweets were sent scattering across the floor, much to the bewilderment of their younger colleagues. Lena, a twenty-something newbie who'd recently been fast tracked into Section D, nearly jumped out of her skin as a gobstopper landed in her coffee. Calum was about to apologise for startling her when an almighty roar sounded from across the Grid.

"Calum!"

Oh, shit.

He froze, his fists curling nervously around the remaining gobstoppers. Dimitri had been a cold fish earlier on. He could be a cold fish at the best of times, these days. But now, Calum seemed to have well and truly awoken the beast. He turned slowly to see the man himself, standing outside his office, arms folded, body tense with stagnant fury. His face could be described in no other terms than: 'thunder personified'.

"Err... " Calum fumbled, trying and failing not to look guilty.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Dimitri growled, marching furiously across the space.

"Err..." Calum glanced down at his hands, before lamely holding out a fistful of sweets. "Gobstopper?"

Dimitri's face turned from red to puce so quickly that Calum feared he might explode – or at least suffer an aneurism.

"Are you serious?"

The Section Head's voice was deathly quiet, stifled with a carefully controlled rage. Even so, it was enough to draw the attention of nearby workers, and everyone stopped to watch the show with wide, expectant eyes.

"Err..." Calum mumbled, subdued and very much wishing he could think of something to say other than 'err'.

"Calum, you're an analyst. Better still, you're a Senior Analyst. 'Senior' being the operative word. You're meant to be setting an example... imparting words of wisdom... or at the very, very least, acting your age. But what do I find you doing? Throwing sweets around like a bloody five-year-old!"

"Dimitri, I – "

"I thought today of all days would mean something to you. That'd you'd pull yourself together, put your head down, work and for a second – just for a second – stop acting like a complete and utter cock!"

"I – "

"Have you collated the information I asked for on the Horsemen's Syrian connection?"

"Not quite. I'm nearly – "

"Nearly's not good enough!" Dimitri snapped, his voice crescendoing until more or less the entire Grid had stopped to watch. "What is this? You can't find the time to finish your actual work – work you're paid good money to do. But you can find time to act the fool. Shame on you, Calum Reed! And shame on me for thinking you might actually take this operation seriously!"

Calum's heart hurt at that – yes, literally hurt. Because although he had once been fond of playing the joker, he thought he'd demonstrated himself to be more than that, of late. He put in long hours without objection; he nurtured the younger officers far more than Dimitri himself did, and when it came to this... well... the accusation that he was acting the fool because of one tiny moment in which he allowed himself to feel something other than bloody, gut-wrenching angst was hurtful and humiliating. And it couldn't be further from the truth.

"It was my fault, sir," Bart suddenly spoke up, visibly horrified at watching the chasm deepen between the two former friends. "I was goading him."

Dimitri's thunderous gaze shifted from Calum and landed on Bart in all his mismatched glory. The younger man had a penchant for wearing primary coloured tops with horrendously loud, clashing ties. It was odd how a man who stood out so gloriously always seemed to blend so easily into the crowd.

"Oh, good," Dimitri growled sarcastically. "The-Idiot-Who-Makes-The-Tea. Also not doing what he's paid good money to do."

Bart stared boldly back at him and didn't even miss a beat before replying, "I'm not sure my salary exactly qualifies as good money, sir."

There were a few gasps and titters around the room, for nobody answered a Section Head back like that – a Section Head with a thorn in his paw, no less. Calum simply gaped at Bart, unable to decide if the man was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Dimitri himself looked as if he had just been slapped. Yet, as ever, his recovery time was dizzyingly fast and not a beat later, he was squaring himself up to the taller man. It was a rather odd thing to do since Bart was nearly a full head taller than him. Despite Dimitri sweeping the floor with him rank-wise, Bart had the edge in terms of height and weight. Being well over six-foot six and built like a bathtub had its advantages.

"Say that again," Dimitri demanded, his eyes narrowing to mere slits.

"I meant no flippancy, sir. I just said that I'm not sure my salary is particularly good money."

"Then maybe I should help you on your way to getting another job," Dimitri growled.

"No, I like my job, thank you, sir," Bart shrugged, and damn, Calum was envious of how maddeningly calm the other man was remaining. "But if you're talking about firing me, sir, I'm afraid that's not quite your job. I serve the other Sections too, you see. I'm hired by Human Resources."

Dimitri looked as if he'd rather like to say some choice words to Caractacus Bartholomew, but instead, all he said was an acerbic, "Well, maybe I ought to put in a call to Human Resources."

Bart put on his best humble face, "With the greatest respect, sir, I'd like to please ask that you don't. I do good work here, and I'd like to continue to do so. What just happened with Cal was an error in my judgement and I promise it won't happen again. Please, sir."

Dimitri stared calculatingly at the other man for a moment, as if trying to determine whether fun was being poked at his expense. In the end, he seemed satisfied that Bart was not being intentionally insubordinate. He stepped back and regarded the two men coldly.

"I suggest that the both of you get on with what you're supposed to be doing and stop making an exhibition of yourselves. Next time, I won't be so lenient."

Bart didn't need to be told twice. He offered Calum a wary grimace before scurrying away to collect sandwich orders. Dimitri stole a glance round at the rest of the Grid, suddenly realising that the display had been watched by nearly all of his employees.

"That goes for the rest of you too."

Every officer immediately rushed to return to their tasks, and as the general hubbub of the Grid resumed, Dimitri glared down at his once-friend.

"I won't warn you again, Calum," he muttered, before turning on his heel and making off towards his office.

Calum would gladly have let him go, but it was at that moment that a flurry of movement caught his eye. A movement coming from the direction of the pods. He peered over and damn... he swore he felt his heart stop.

"Dimitri..." he croaked.

"Not interested, Calum!"

He could hear Dimitri's footsteps fading fast behind him.

"No. Really. Dimitri..."

The footsteps stopped. Perhaps the Section Head had detected the tremble in Calum's voice. Perhaps he'd already gone; disappeared into the safe confines of his office. Or perhaps he'd turned and seen what all the commotion was. Calum didn't know. He didn't bother to find out, because his attention was focused entirely on the cluster of people currently stumbling through the pods.

"Mama and Papa Bear..."

A short one by my standards and a bit of a filler really, but I hope people still enjoyed it. I'm trying to get back into the flow of updating weekly so here's this week's entry. For those who don't remember or haven't read this story's prequel 'All We Were and All We Are', Bart (Caractacus Bartholomew, or The-Idiot-Who-Makes-the-Tea as he was known throughout) was introduced properly in the penultimate chapter, with a view to expanding his role in this story.

Thank you wolfdrum and Gregoriana for your lovely reviews. As always, I really appreciate your support. Keep staying safe everybody x