A/N: this chapter comes with a special and heartfelt thank you to andallthatmishigas, who has gracefully allowed me to borrow one of her ideas, and who has been a constant encouragement to me throughout this story.

2 September 2013

They were waiting for him, all five of them, standing together just outside the baggage claim. Ruth and Cate both clung to their children, holding their hands and keeping a close eye on them as people milled all around them, the crowd surging and receding as new flights landed and earlier passengers moved on. The vast, cavernous space was full of echoing noise and activity, and among their little group the nervous tension was slowly becoming unbearable. Harry had been away for barely a month, but for his lover, his daughters, his grandsons, it had seemed far longer, far harder to bear. Waiting for the joy of this reunion, for the feeling that their lives could begin again, properly, was a constant struggle between hope and despair, between faith and hesitation, and no one had felt that push-and-pull more keenly than Ruth.

She had taken care, when she dressed that morning, when she brushed out her daughter's hair, when she explained to Emma, yet again, what they would do when they went to the airport, when her daddy came home to stay. Her dress was soft and pretty, Emma's hair combed and neatly pulled back, her daughter's little hand clasped tight in her own as they scanned the entrances, searching the faces of every man who passed through, looking for some sign of him. Ruth's earlier suspicions that Harry would not be able to manage a call every single day turned to be justified, as in the end he had only been able to ring her a couple times a week. Those conversations had often been rather brief, between the time difference and their demanding schedules, but each time they spoke Harry reiterated his promise to her. I am coming home, my love.

My love; that was his true vow, not his assurances that he would return home but his insistence that he loved her, adored her, treasured her, was willing to change his whole life for her sake, that the ties that bound them together were stronger than the doubts and the fears and the worries that had kept them apart for so long. That his love was strong enough to carry them through, whatever happened next.

"What if they don't let him through?" Cate murmured softly to Ruth, her gaze flicking back and forth from her watch to the door and back again.

Ruth had asked Harry the selfsame question, how he intended to arrange his life in a new country, one that was not his home. He had given Ruth his answer, and she repeated it to Cate now.

"It's all been sorted," she said. Her tone was confident, for if Harry said it's sorted, then she knew it must be, knew the power he wielded so effortlessly, the friends, the favors, the sheer bloody-minded tenacity he possessed, and she knew that when he turned his mind to a task he did not rest until it was completed.

Cate flashed her a grateful smile, and had Ruth's hand not been clasped around her daughter's she might well have reached for Cate in that moment. From their first meeting they had been friends, had laughed together, spoken softly to one another of all sorts of things, and though the revelation of Ruth's identity and their previously unknown connection to one another had briefly threatened the stability of their friendship in the end they had come through stronger than ever before. There was no one in her life - except, of course, for Harry - to whom Ruth could speak so earnestly of herself, her experiences, her thoughts and hopes as she could with Cate. They shared so much in common, so many things that no one else could ever hope to understand, and through the sharing of their burdens, through the long sultry summer nights and the glasses of wine and the gentle conversation they shared they had drawn closer and closer, had become the very best of friends. And Ruth rather liked to think that as much as Cate understood her, she could offer that very same depth of empathy to Cate, could understand what it was to lose a love, to raise a child on her own, to navigate their professional world while also balancing the obligations of their hearts. Yes, Ruth's story had a rather happier ending than Cate's, but there was a handsome new professor of film studies who had of late been dropping by Cate's office just to say hi, bringing her coffee and smiling at her in that slightly awkward, slightly hopeful way Ruth recognized all too easily. Cate blushed each time his name was mentioned, and Ruth kept her suspicions to herself, hopeful that even if Cate could not find another love as deep and lasting and true as that she bore for Fabian she could, at the very least, find a piece of happiness for herself.

"There he is!" Emma squealed, tugging on her mother's hand and racing forward. Ruth shot a sheepish glance at Cate, who just laughed and said, "go on, then!"

So they did. Ruth followed along in her daughter's wake, keeping hold of her hand until at last it seemed they had a clear path to Harry. He stood tall and proud in blue jeans and a black shirt open at the collar, and Ruth could not help the somewhat choked sound of laughter that left her as she realized he was now sporting a neat salt-and-pepper beard. I think you'd look quite dashing with a beard, she'd told him once, and he had taken her words to heart, the way he always did, and tears sprang to her eyes at the very thought. They were close enough now, and so Ruth released her tenuous hold on Emma.

The little girl took off running at once, arms outstretched, crying out daddy! At her approach Harry dropped the bag he carried, and caught her the moment she reached him, lifting her up in his arms and planting a gentle kiss against her cheek as he cradled her close. Even from a distance his beaming smile was brighter than any Ruth had ever seen from him before. The somewhat shrill tenor of Emma's delighted squeals had attracted attention from a few bystanders, but they all just smiled knowingly at this little reunion between father and daughter, at this moment of kindness in an oftentimes cruel world.

"Hello, my darling girl," Ruth heard Harry say as she drew nearer to the pair of them.

"You came back!" Emma crowed delightedly.

"Daddy always keeps his promises, love," Ruth reminded her softly, one hand coming to rest on her daughter's back as the other reached for Harry's cheek, fingertips ruffling the soft line of his beard as she grinned at him and he at her, both of them feeling a bit foolish, a bit euphoric, a bit like they had stepped into a different world altogether.

"Anything for my girls," Harry said solemnly. He turned his head, let his lips brush against her palm, and the tenuous threads of Ruth's self-control utterly snapped. She tangled her fingers in his soft hair and drew him to her, soft lips brushing through their smiles and the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, Emma still clutched tight in her father's embrace. "Anything for you," Harry whispered, the words washing warm and sweet over her lips as he leaned closer and kissed her again.

But only for a moment, because then Cate and the boys were there, and there were hugs and kisses and exclamations, and Ruth's heart swelled full to bursting with love of her little family. At long last, Harry was home, where he belonged, and she could finally believe that everything would be all right.

31 October 2013

"Just one more picture," Ruth said, grinning.

Harry wanted to scowl at her, to playfully mutter some sort of complaint about the obscenity of this overdone Americanized holiday, but in truth he was too delighted to even feign grumpiness. He stood in the kitchen of Ruth's little house - their little house, now - with his daughter's hand held tightly in his own. Beside him, little Emma was dressed as a pirate, and beaming from ear to ear. At her insistence, her somewhat reluctant father had agreed to accompany her as she went trick-or-treating, though Harry had put his foot down and staunchly refused to don a costume.

"Harry's first Halloween," Ruth said in a teasing voice as she took a few more shots, laughing outright at the somewhat outraged expression on his face.

It had been strange, at first, adjusting to this new life, one in which Harry was not beset every moment by fear and frantic activity. The first few weeks had been difficult, for his very sense of self was so closely tied to his work on the Grid that he hardly knew what to do with the abundance of time and leisure now gifted to him. Upon arrival he had, at Catherine's insistence, stayed with his daughter while he searched for a place of his own to rent, but he was too enamored with his family - and spending far too many nights in Ruth's bed - to really dedicate himself to the task, and at the beginning of October he had given up any attempts at maintaining the ruse of his independence and moved into Ruth's home. And they had, for the last few weeks, been quite blissfully happy together.

It was different, of course, sharing his home and his time with Ruth. Without the constant threat of separation and the lingering bite of fear their relationship had, of necessity, begun to change. They quarrelled, on occasion, as any couple might, but Harry found that a vase full of flowers and a few kind words were usually sufficient to cool his lover's ire, and that despite her frustrating tendency towards chaos and clutter he loved her enough to adapt to their circumstances. He told his daughter stories at bedtime and fell asleep with his arms full of Ruth, shared meals with Catherine and played silly games with his grandsons, and any discomfort he might have felt at the adjustment was made bearable by the joyous love of his family.

In need of some way to occupy himself he had made his way to the local library, taking the occasional class and volunteering with events that appealed to his interests. It was hardly life or death stuff, the work he did at the library, and was in truth at times rather boring, but it kept him occupied, brought him out of the house and gave him the opportunity to engage with people outside his family. With time on his hands he had discovered a fondness for cooking, and often fed his family meals made by his own hand. Ruth did not laugh at him or his newfound domesticity; when she came home from work after a long day, after Harry had done the school run and brought the children home and spent a bit of time in the kitchen, she always wrapped her arms around him and kissed him soundly, murmured her thanks in a tone of voice that conveyed the sincerity of her gratitude and reassured him that he had made the right choice, in uprooting his life and undertaking such a drastic change of course.

The holidays were fast approaching, and they had already decided between them that the whole family would venture to London for Christmas. His house was waiting for them, still fully furnished and seen to by a cleaning service that dropped round once a week to make sure everything was in order, and a few old friends who popped by on occasion to keep an eye on the cleaning service. Before his departure Harry had overseen the renovation of the spare bedroom, and he was quite looking forward to Emma's delight when she discovered the changes he had made with her in mind. Catherine and the boys would, of course, be spending some time with her mother, but Harry had no intention of imposing on Jane's hospitality, even for a moment. He and Ruth and Emma would have a Christmas celebration of their own, and a cheeky encrypted email from Malcolm had assured him that he could expect a visit from a few old friends. Harry was rather looking forward to it.

And he was also rather looking forward to Christmas Eve, after Emma had gone to sleep, when he intended to slide into bed next to Ruth and present to her the single most important gift he had ever purchased for anyone. A delicate, understated diamond ring was at that very moment nestled inside a small black box, buried in the very depths of his dresser drawer beneath piles of socks and underwear, just waiting for the moment when he could finally ask the question that had been on the verge of bursting from his lips for months now. Life with Ruth was lovely, more wonderful than he could ever have imagined, and he was quite looking forward to making things permanent between them.

"Are we ready to go, then?" Ruth asked, putting away her camera and reaching out to straighten her daughter's little hat one final time.

"Are you sure you don't want to wear a costume, daddy?" Emma asked him dubiously, blue eyes wide and round and bright as her mother's. In most situations Harry found he could refuse his youngest child nothing, but he wasn't sure his dignity could take the humility of wandering around the neighborhood in fancy dress. His sixtieth birthday was the very next day, and he felt he was much too old for such nonsense.

"Daddy doesn't need a costume, love," Ruth assured her. "He's a knight in shining armor, remember?"

She liked to tease him about his knighthood, called him Sir Harry when she was in a lighthearted, playful sort of mood, and the idea that her father was knight had filled little Emma's head full of fanciful imaginings of dragons and princesses and grand adventures. Of course, Harry could not tell his daughter the truth of his investiture, the work that he had done to earn the gratitude of his nation, but Ruth knew, and even her playful teasing carried with it a gentle sort of understanding. She knew the sacrifices, the cost of the life he had lived, knew the number and the making of every scar that marred his body, and she loved him for it.

"And Mumma is my Lady," Harry answered, bowing his head to brush a kiss against Ruth's cheek.

For she was. He had risked everything to save her, once, and she had given her very life for him, and they had somehow, through heartache and strife, found their way back to one another. Their little house on their quite street might not have been a castle, but it was a warm, comfortable place where they had made a life for themselves, and Harry could not recall having ever been happier. One day, one day soon, he would make Ruth Lady Pearce, would finally make the commitment and the love between them official and unbreakable, and all would be well.

"Off we go," he said, and with Emma's hand still wrapped around his own and Ruth beside him he ventured out into the night to make new memories for himself and his family.