Thanks again for the reviews. Perhaps a slightly more angsty chapter this time, more focused around how Wes's appearance in her life affects Ruth, and reflecting on her memories of George and Nico. I'll aim for Spooks fluffiness next chapter ;)

"Wes! Wes, wait!" Ruth called after him desperately, stumbling in the long grass as the boy hurried through the field away from her, "Please!"

He stopped still in the greenery, listening to the tone of her voice. She was desperate. She was scared for him, not just for the trouble she'd be in if he was lost. And that made her deserving of at least listening to.

She caught up with him before he could change his mind, her breathing hoarse and irregular, and her eyes wide with fear.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, concerned as she raised a hand to her forehead, "Does your head hurt?"

"I'm fine. Thank you," she sounded slightly guarded now, "Look, Harry didn't mean to upset you; he was only trying to do what was right."

"It's true, then? They were spies?"

"Yes, they were spies. But not in the way you might think," she appeared to be regaining her strength now, glancing around her for any signs of danger. They were, after all, conversing in the centre of a farmer's field – surely he wouldn't be best pleased if he realised a chase had taken place through his best crops. "I'm a spy, Harry's a spy...all of MI5 are spies in some form or other. There are spies in every country in the world, and no, they're not always good people. But we are. And your parents were."

"They didn't kill?"

Ruth grimaced, "To say they were good doesn't mean they were perfect. In our line of job, you can't possibly be perfect. Sometimes, bad things have to happen for the greater good. Have you heard the phrase 'the end justifies the means' before?"

"Sort of."

"Well, for example...if I killed a terrorist, it's murder, yes? But if I killed that terrorist to stop him from killing hundreds of other people, my crime is sort of worthwhile. Obviously, it's never right to murder, but some crimes can be committed with good in mind. MI5 are here to protect this country; 'regnum defende' is their motto - defend the realm. And that's what your parents did, and what I try to do now. Your father once told me; your mother's last words as she died were 'keep Wes safe'. They always loved you; so, so much. They died heroes; they died to save others, but you were always the most important thing in their lives."

"My dad was with my mum? When...when she died?" Wes murmured faintly, gazing up at Ruth as he digested her words.

"Yes."

"She wasn't it pain for long?"

"No; she died quickly. So did your fa...so did your dad."

He nodded. Ruth couldn't help herself this time; his expression broke her heart. So much like his father; a fighter, yet with more passion and sentimentality underneath... She held out her arms, and they hugged, clinging together in the middle of the field as the sun beat down on their backs.

"Come on, then," she released him eventually, straightening her coat and indicating down the path of trampled grass, "We'd better get you back to school."

"Do I have to?" he suddenly appeared pleading, "Can't we go to the park or something? I want...I want to know more about my parents. And their job. And I think I should say sorry to Harry."

Ruth smiled, "Okay, then."

XxXxX

"Tariq," Harry demanded into his phone as Ruth and Wes reached him again. He shuffled along to make room for them on the bench, but made no attempt to speak to either Ruth or her companion; he was evidently engrossed in listening.

"Harry?"

He just shook his head, appearing both frustrated and uncertain, "Well, there's not a lot I can do from here, believe it or not. I'm on holiday – the first I've had for...for years – and you all know it. I was assured you could manage. Where's Dimitri?"

"Harry, what's going on?"

He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to Ruth, eyeing her warily. She no longer seemed angry. Just reserved, and questioning. "Nothing to do with us now. Just Tariq freaking out – Dimitri's taken a tea break and something's come up. Don't worry."

"The last time you said that..."

"Wes," Harry addressed the boy now.

"I'm sorry, for running off. I know you were only trying to help," Wes apologised boldly, seeking courage from Ruth's presence, "I thought I'd have to forget my parents. And now you've come, with all this, and I do want to know...but it's hard."

"Yes. For what it's worth, I'm sorry too."

"I think..." Ruth began, but her phone cut her off, and she flushed and dug around in her coat for it. Seeing the caller illuminated on the screen, she shook her head. "Sorry, I'm going to have to..."

"Of course."

She stood up, took a couple of steps away from them. Harry could see her lips moving in the shade of the oak tree she leant against, but he couldn't understand what she was saying. He'd always wished he could lip-read as a child; it would have been useful when his teachers were whispering about him at the back of the classroom. Another thing to add to his regrets list, then.

"Have you ever killed someone, Uncle Harry?"

He blinked at the question, the forthright nature to Wes's tone, the desperation for an answer, "Wes..."

"Have you?"

"Yes."

It was Wes's turn to look surprised. Maybe he'd been hoping for a different answer, or maybe he'd just thought that Harry would deny it, refuse to discuss such a thing. "How... when? How many?"

"Too many," he sighed.

Wes didn't say anything.

"I was in the army when I was younger. It's just... it's just a fact of life, Wes. You have to defend your country – you have to do what's right, even if it feels wrong. You know, the MI5 motto is regnum defende – it means..."

"Defend the realm," Wes nodded, "Ruth told me."

"Yes. You like Ruth, don't you?"

The boy was silent again, but his eyes fell on the woman under the tree. She raised a hand to her head, smoothed her hair across her forehead. She seemed agitated.

Harry was thinking about the first child he'd killed. Chasing a man through the streets of London, seeing the glint of a gun in his hand, seeing the blood. Throwing himself over walls, pushing bins out of the way. There'd been people everywhere screaming, people frozen in the man's crazed glare. He had dived behind a building, and when he'd come out again, Harry had shot him down.

Only it hadn't been the man. It had been an overgrown teenage boy wearing a similar baggy blue hoodie. A child with tangled blonde hair that flopped listlessly over his eyes, a child with blood trickling out of his mouth.

"Harry?"

"Yes," he stood.

"Dimitri's back – he's... he says they can deal with it, that everything will be fine. Tariq's sorry if he caused you any inconvience."

Harry's expression softened, "He didn't."

"He didn't seem to see it like that."

"I..."

"I do think we ought to be getting you back to school now, Wes," she said, pocketing her phone, looking pointedly away from Harry and towards Adam's son, "We wouldn't want your housemistress to be worrying, would we? Mrs Scott, isn't it?"

"But Ruth..."

She smiled. Tears suddenly stung her eyelids: he sounded so similar to Nico it hurt. But Ruth, he'd moaned, when she told him to eat his greens, when she said he had to go to bed. But Ruth, he'd cried, when she'd tried to explain to him why an ocean would now separate them, why they'd never see each other again. His tears, corroding her heart.

"Ruth, are you okay?" Harry reached out and touched her arm.

That boy had been her child. She'd loved it out there, lying in the pool with George's arm around her, drinking wine and eating fish. Nothing had mattered, somehow; everything had been okay. So simple, she'd told Harry; it had been so calm and free and wonderful. She'd felt truly alive.

She though about how devastated Adam had been when Fiona had died. She hadn't been there when he'd died – she'd missed so much – but they all said he'd never been the same again. And maybe that was right.

Whereas when George had died, she'd cried for a while, screamed at Harry, and then got over it and left the country. Left that poor boy all alone to fend for himself, when it was her fault his father had been killed. And married Harry. Did she even think about that life any more?

"Ruth?"

She sat down, "I'm fine."

This job that we do; it's a machine. It takes you in, it chews you up. It spits you out. That was what being a spy did to you. Made you dead inside.

XxXxX