Disclaimer – Spooks is very much the property of Kudos and the BBC.

A/N: This set between 8.4 and 8.5 so has spoilers up to and including 8.4. There's also a line in here that is similar to one in 8.7 but I wrote it before I saw the ep – honest.

Wishing you all a peaceful and contented Christmas. x

Harry is shaving when he hears his phone ringing. He swears under his breath, his hopes of a quiet Sunday diminishing by the moment. After a few seconds hesitation, he decides, uncharacteristically, to let the call go unanswered.

Ten minutes later, when he checks to see who phoned, he begins to regret his earlier decision. He keys in the voicemail number and waits, impatiently, for the message to play.

"H-Harry, it's me, Ruth. I'm sorry to bother you but I need to see you. Please ring me when you can."

Listening to her makes his heart race more than usual; she'd made no attempt to hide her exhaustion but there was something else in her voice, something that worries him. He dials her number and counts how many times her phone rings before she answers.

###

Harry walks briskly towards the gardens where he's arranged to meet Ruth; the same gardens they had met in a few days ago. He spots her, in the distance, sitting on the same bench and he wonders if this is significant. Every moment of that meeting is committed to memory; every moment, every word, every emotion. And he replays them each night, trying to work out what their relationship is, what it can become, but his thoughts are no clearer now than when he'd made his declaration to her that there would always be something else. She hadn't replied, just kept looking across the river, and he'd let the silence linger on. When she'd finally spoken, the conversation had returned to Jo and he'd not attempted to move it in any other direction.

She gives him a weak smile as he sits down beside her.

"Thanks for coming. I haven't upset your plans for the day have I?" she greets him, somewhat formally.

"No, I didn't have anything specific planned." He wants to say more, tell her that he'll always have time for her but this is probably not the right moment for such statements. He turns the conversation back to her. "You said you wanted to talk."

"Yes." She pauses, taking a moment to marshal her thoughts. "There are still some things I need to say, to explain. It's taken me time to get them clear in my own mind. Well, as clear as I think they'll ever be."

"Go on," he gently encourages.

"I was angry with you. People I…I cared about were going to die but you were…" She stops, takes a deep breath. "Do you remember what Adam said to Malcolm, after Colin died? He said it was all a great big elaborate game."

"Yes, I remember."

"That's all I could see – you and Mani playing the game as if it was some grotesque chess match."

She waits as he absorbs her words, waits for him to answer, waits for him to explain himself.

"In some ways it was a game, Ruth," he states, quietly, almost fearfully. "But with real lives and horrific consequences."

She is silent, looking out across the river and a familiar cold fear starts to fill his heart.

"You knew didn't you?" she questions, eventually, although the words seem more statement than accusation. "You knew," she continues, "that Mani intended to kill us, all of us. Even before I gave him the old location for the uranium."

Harry nods.

"Do you know what I thought, Harry? I thought he might show some…I don't know…some professional courtesy, oh God!" She angrily shakes her head. "Can you believe that? How stupid and naïve of me!"

"No, Ruth. Not stupid or naïve. Just more human, more humane than Mani. Or me, for that matter."

"But Harry, I should have known better. I've seen things… I should've known!"

Tentatively, he places a hand on her arm. "Why should you? You'd been away from that life-"

"So far away from it that I kept our passports to hand and a packed bag at the ready!" she interrupts, loudly.

He can explain that to her but chooses not to. She doesn't need to hear him tell her that some instincts never leave you. That, no matter where you are or what you do, some part of you will always be a spy; that it takes up residence in your soul and nothing can exorcise it.

But, as if she's read his mind, she asks "Is it always like this Harry? Does it ever go away?"

"No, it doesn't. It gets right inside you, into your bones, your sinews, your blood. It's like breathing. If you stop…"

"You die," she completes the sentence for him. "Self-preservation."

"It's more than that."

And then she realises; it's the same instinct that will tell you a colleague or a friend or a lover is in trouble. The same instinct that may lead you to sacrifice your life for your country, or sacrifice someone else's.

"You were buying time weren't you? The things you were doing, even kicking over the laptop, you were trying to stall Mani."

She looks at Harry as she speaks, and he knows that, finally, the pieces are beginning to fall into place.

"I was…" he begins, then stops. Desperate, terrified, angry. "I was trying to think of something, anything that might gain us time or push Mani into making a mistake."

"I understand."

She's quiet for a moment and when she speaks again, there's a distinct tremor in her voice. "There is something else I need to know; it's important."

"What is it?"

"W-Would you really have let Mani do what he said he'd do to Nico?"

Her question causes a stab of pain in his guts, and his fingers, still resting on her forearm, involuntarily flex. Even he isn't sure what he would've done; his love for her, her love for the boy; both of these could have swayed him. The truth is, he doesn't know; he doesn't know if it is within him to watch one child being tortured in order to save thousands of others. The truth is, he gives thanks to God he never had to find out.

"I…I ," he stops, considers lying to her but decides she deserves honesty, even if she hates him for it. "I don't know."

Ruth knows as she watches him speak that he isn't lying; the instinct that tells her this isn't professional, it's something more personal, more profound. She sees the flash of fear in his eyes as she lifts her right hand, and she sees the relief when her hand comes to rest on his. Their fingers curl together; a question asked, and answered; she believes him.

###

They sit in their silent, semi-embrace, for some time. Both of them aware another hurdle has been overcome; both of them aware there are more to be faced.

"Why here?" Ruth suddenly asks.

"Here?" Harry replies, at a loss to know what she's referring to.

"This place. Why meet here?"

"I like Greenwich."

"This is the Isle of Dogs, Harry."

"Yes, but the view is of Greenwich."

She sighs.

"Sorry," he apologises. "As you can see, I'm still my pedantic old self."

"Some things don't change then," she murmurs, before continuing more loudly, "What is it you like about Greenwich?"

"The history, the museums, the beauty of the place, even though it's a bit worn around the edges. The park, the observatory, the view. But the thing I like most…" He stops, and when Ruth looks at him, she's surprised to see a rather bashful expression on his face.

"What do you like most?" she asks, encouragingly. "Tell me."

He shakes his head. "No. It's a rather fanciful idea. You'll laugh."

"I won't laugh. I promise."

"The thing I like most…" He hesitates for a moment. "It's where time begins and ends."

"The Meridian," Ruth replies, smiling.

"Yes. It's as if Greenwich is the starting point of journey around the world. And the end point." He laughs, self-consciously. "See? I told you it was a fanciful notion."

Ruth gently squeezes his hand. "Nothing wrong with those. And it's an notion I rather like."

She looks at him, looks into those familiar brown eyes - those disconcerting brown eyes - and feels a jolt of emotion. Something she'd carefully packed away in a box - a box she thought had been lost - is there now, in front of her.

The torrent of sensation triggered by the memories is overwhelming. Grief, anger, love, fear, all merge together. She's vaguely aware of Harry asking her something and it's not until he presses his handkerchief into her hand that she realises she's crying.

She dabs at her face whilst Harry watches her, his arm half around her shoulder in an awkward attempt at consolation.

"I'm sorry I upset you," he says, looking so lost and bewildered it makes her heart ache.

"You didn't," she replies, as firmly as she can.

"Sure?"

"Sure."

He's not entirely convinced. "I think you could do with a drink, Ruth. I think we both could do with a drink."

###

They head towards Greenwich, crossing the river by means of the foot tunnel, their footsteps echoing around the curved walls. There is a lull in the pedestrian traffic and just a couple of people pass them, travelling in the opposite direction. Ruth is glad of this. There is something symbolic about making this short journey with Harry and she doesn't want to share these few precious minutes with anyone else. The realisation surprises her; a fanciful notion of her own, she thinks.

"I thought we could go to The Trafalgar," Harry suggests, as they emerge into the sunlight. "Is that all right?"

Ruth nods her agreement.

The pub is busy but Ruth manages to find a small table by the window. She is looking at the view when Harry appears with their drinks.

"Good spot," he remarks, setting down the glasses.

Ruth smiles at him. "It's funny to think that only a short while ago we were over there," she says, pointing across the river.

Harry retrieves something from his jacket pocket as he sits down. "I, er, I wasn't sure if…" He pushes a laminated card across the table towards Ruth. "The food here is quite good. There's sandwiches, soup, all sorts of things. Even the full Sunday roast if you want."

She can hear the awkwardness in his voice, see it in his face. He wants her to understand that this is just lunch with a friend. Nothing more.

Ruth picks up the menu and begins to read. Lunch with a friend is what she wants. For now.

###

Ruth declines the offer of another drink, suggesting they make the most of the afternoon sunshine and go for a walk. They wander around the grounds of the Naval College and Harry listens attentively as Ruth tells him something of its history. She stops, mid-sentence, suddenly realising that he probably knows it all anyway. When she apologises for boring him, he assures her that she isn't, and encourages her to continue. He does know most of what she's telling him but is happy to listen to her anyway; he's missed these conversations, missed her enthusiasm for sharing her knowledge, her passions.

As they head into the park, Ruth falls silent. Harry knows, instinctively, that there is something she wants to say to him but is unsure of his reaction.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, gently.

She briefly looks at him before replying. "I went to see Malcolm."

"Oh?"

"It's allowed," she continues, a defiant edge to her voice. "He's not officially retired yet; just on leave."

"I know," Harry responds, surprised she feels he might admonish her. "And once he is officially retired?"

"You were right, it's nice here," she says, completely ignoring his question.

Her answer doesn't surprise him. He is aware that she knows as well as anyone what the rules are concerning contact between serving and former officers. And he knows how much regard is paid to those rules.

"Probably best you don't tell me," he offers, good-naturedly. He would never attempt to stop her from seeing Malcolm, regardless of Service dictats. In their business they don't have many friends; you soon learn to cherish the ones you do have.

The thought prompts feelings of guilt.

"I should go and see him," Harry states, quietly. "Perhaps we could go together; that way, if there were any…repercussions…"

He leaves the sentence unfinished and Ruth smiles.

###

Their walk takes them, inevitably, to the top of the hill and the Observatory. It's busy; tourists mill around, photographing each other and the view. Ruth's attention is caught by two dark-haired boys, about 8 or 9 years old, laughing and joking as they chase each other across the grass.

Harry watches her watching the children, guilt clawing at his stomach. Her new life was taken away from her as suddenly as her old life, but with more violence and greater loss. There is nothing he can do to make up for what she has been through. Her world has been turned upside down twice; and on both occasions because of him.

He has no words to tell her how sorry he is, and he's sensitive enough to understand that he will never truly know the pain she has felt, and is still feeling. Grief is very much an individual experience; he is fully aware of that. So he won't offer her platitudes; instead, he will offer friendship, and if that is all she'll accept from him, he will be content.

He amends the thought; not content, not really, but he won't attempt to push the boundaries of their relationship. He loves her; he will always love her. He has told her that, in his own, oblique way. That there won't be another woman in his life, that there will be only her, until the day he dies, will remain unsaid unless, or until, she gives him reason to tell her. It's not fair to burden her with that, not now.

As the two boys disappear off into the distance, Ruth becomes aware that Harry is watching her. She turns, almost reluctantly, to face him. That she can still read him, despite the months they have been apart, frightens her. It frightens her because it proves she cannot deceive herself, not for any length of time, at least. She can't go on pretending, indefinitely, that she is over him; that theirs was an almost love affair, destined not to be. Pretending that it was the nature of their work, the pressures and the intensity of what they did that heightened their feelings. That is the biggest deception of them all and the realisation terrifies her.

"Ruth-"

"I'm fine, Harry, really."

She wills him to understand that this is not a conversation she wants to have, not today.

He acknowledges her unspoken plea and changes the subject. "Do you fancy a cup of tea? We can go to the café."

Ruth nods and, to his surprise, takes hold of his arm and begins to push her way through the crowds.

"We need to do something first." In response to Harry's puzzled look, she continues, "you can't come to Greenwich and not stand on the Meridian Line. Come on."

Somehow, she manages to find them a space amongst the other visitors. They stand, facing each other and, at Ruth's encouragement, Harry moves closer and places his feet either side of hers. As their bodies touch, he gently takes hold of her arms, to help her keep her balance.

"The beginning and the end," he states, softly.

"Or the end and the beginning."

He looks at her, intently, trying to divine the meaning behind her words. "Something else?" he asks, hope and desperation filling his heart in equal measure.

She smiles. "There'll always be something else, Harry."

The End

(or The Beginning)