Author's Note: thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot.

Chapter Eleven: Hunky Dory

"You can colour my life; until it fits with your own" (Oasis/Rain, "Colour My Life")

A small breeze troubled the lawn in the gardens of Tring. Ros found Lucas sat on a bench overlooking a rose bed and water feature, a fountain gurgling dirty green water amongst bare rose bushes. It was hardly an inspiring sight, but she supposed it was the fresh air that lured him from the warmth of the old, former stately home. He was shivering and alone, with a tartan blanket draped over his knees, like a forgotten veteran. A day's growth of stubble shadowed his jawline and a small flask of tea was cradled in his hands. He didn't notice her and kept his eyes trained on the gardens. Lost in his thoughts – whatever, wherever, they were.

She walked slowly along the stone path to where he was and sat down beside him. So lost in his thoughts, Lucas didn't turn to look at her or notice her arrival at all. For one strange minute, they both looked at the water fountain. This close up, she could see it was just rocks haphazardly piled so as to cause a waterfall effect. No doubt, built by the patients themselves.

"I prefer pissing cherubs myself," she remarked, sotto voce and tilting towards him.

"Nah. They should get one of those bronze mermaids that squirt the water out their tits. Keep it classy," he rejoined, quickly recovering from the shock of her sudden appearance.

Ros jerked her head back, towards Tring. "Have they got a suggestions box in there? You should submit that."

Finally, he turned to look at her. Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief to see the glitter back in his bright blue eyes. The old Lucas slowly resurfacing before her very eyes. "I already have. They said it was tacky," he smirked. "Can you believe that?"

She clicked her tongue, tutting disapprovingly. "Probably for the best," she said, cautiously, "we can't have you nutjobs getting all excited. It'd be Armageddon."

Lucas sniggered loudly, stifling the sound on his sleeve. For the first time, Ros realised he was still in his dressing gown; slippered feet protruded from under the tartan blanket. She had forgotten to bring his spare clothes. It was just as well he was going anywhere. After a second, he composed himself.

"Thank you for coming," he said, turning serious. "I didn't know whether you would or not."

"Neither did I," she answered, honestly. "But once the truth came out… about the set up and how far it went. How could I not?"

Lucas dropped his gaze, turning instead to the potted herbs growing beside a nearby greenhouse. She could tell he was struggling to find the right words to say, but did not know whether he'd appreciate the prompting, or wanted to be left to work it all out for himself. Lucas breathed deeply and closed his eyes, sagging as though he were suddenly exhausted.

"How can I show my face on the Grid again, anyway? I just feel so stupid," he said, dropping his voice. "So … used. If I had just spoken up sooner-"

"Life's full of what-ifs, even for the best of us," Ros cut over him. "It's all out in the open now and that's the main thing. You can front this out and you know you can."

She looked over at him, watching his brow crease into a sudden frown. He was struggling to find the right words again. But then, she supposed, it would be quite some time before he could begin to comprehend the depth of the betrayal. How long would it take to pick up the pieces after almost twenty years of living with a burden of guilt few could imagine? Ros couldn't put an estimate on that.

"What's going to happen now?" he finally asked. "What will become of Maya and Vaughan and…" the final name, that of the other Lucas North, was left unspoken.

"Maya's left the country to work abroad," she answered, stiffly. "I can't disclose where she's gone-"

"Of course," he cut in. "I would never ask you to. I just needed to know that she's safe."

"She is," Ros assured him. "Vaughan has been sent packing to Senegal to answer for the bombing he perpetrated. The other, well, Ruth might try to get some kind of concession from the Liberians for him, but he's no right to it. He'll more than likely face extra charges, too."

"What about me?" he asked, looking back at her.

Now he reached the crux of the matter. He wanted more than anything to come back to MI5, it was written clearly in his expression, despite his shame. But he was bracing himself for the worst, keeping his enthusiasm firmly in check. Sadly, she could give him no final, definitive answer.

"Harry will come to see you about that, I suspect," she replied. "But I doubt he'd be keeping you here unless he meant to bring you back into the team."

"But I still tried to kill a man," he confessed, kneading at a knot of tension between his eyes. "I can't see any way around that."

"I think you're being too hard on yourself," replied Ros. "Under those circumstances, at that age and in that country, what would any of us have done?"

"Manned up and confessed?" he suggested with a dry laugh.

"You were a kid; you panicked and you tried to back out," she pointed out, rather tersely. "It's the lies about your identity that will set you back. Harry will have to cover it up, you know. You will have to carry on being Lucas North. Even so, you won't be getting my job any time soon."

"I'll be lucky if I still have a job at all," he retorted. "Even luckier, if I still have you."

Ros turned away, unwilling to subject herself to the pressure of looking into those eyes and read the plaintive longing there. The events of the last few weeks had shaken her and there was no use in pretending everything was just hunky-dory, as though it was all just a minor misunderstanding. The fact was, Lucas had lied to her for years, at a time when she needed him to be honest the most. He had gone running into the arms of a former lover, instead of coming to her for help and it still stung. She still smarted from the emotional blow. Things were not the same and, perhaps, they never would be again. By the same token, the mere fact that she was there: sat on a cold stone bench, under the cold, grey skies outside Tring, was evidence of her inability to walk away completely. She didn't want to walk away, either. On the contrary, she had to.

Slowly, she turned to look back at him. "Yes, you would be lucky," she agreed. She leaned over and grazed a chaste kiss against his cheek, skin scratching against stubble. "Good bye, Lucas," she added, with an air of finality. Tears welled in her eyes and she didn't bother trying to disguise them. She loved him still, but that gel that bound them together had gone. Was it trust? It felt more than mere 'trust' but she could not give it voice, not yet.

Lucas blinked away his own unshed tears, looking away quickly, back at the water feature. The waters carried on gurgling into the silence as Ros got to her feet.

"I understand," he said, his voice hoarse. When he looked up at her, he managed a weak smile. "Goodbye, Ros."

She took one last look in his eyes, memorising the way they looked. After a deep breath, she steadied herself and walked away.

Ruth nestled her face in the hollow of Harry's shoulder, resting the flat of her hand against his breast. From beneath the slender fabric of his shirt, she could feel the reassuring thud and jump of his heart. They were in his house, on his sofa. Nicely furnished, but without fuss or frill. Functional and strangely cold. He emitted a contented sigh as his free hand reached for the hot whiskey at his side. She rolled her eyes to see up at his face as he sipped appreciatively at the gold, steaming liquid.

"When we're married, we'll have to live in my house," she pointed out.

Harry frowned. "Why's that?"

"It's got character-"

"It's got Beth Bailey, too!" he retorted.

Her heart sank as she settled her head back down, pulling a face.

"We'll think of something," she said, reaching a compromise of finding somewhere entirely new. "Somewhere where we can make a whole new start."

Above her, Harry smiled appreciatively and planted a kiss on her head. "A far better option," he concurred. "What about May?"

Ruth frowned. "May?"

"For the wedding!" he laughed. "Or had you forgotten that small detail?"

"Oh! That!" she retorted, feigning surprise. She lifted her head again so she could see into his eyes, properly. "It would be perfect."

For a moment, they let themselves lapse into a companionable silence. Ruth closed her eyes, preparing to let herself slip into a nap as they both reclined on the plush sofa. Since the resolution of the awful Lucas North business, they had allowed themselves the luxury of a weekend to themselves. One whole Saturday and one whole Sunday during which they could simply be together. Beyond the rehabilitation of their Lucas North, work had featured in not one of their conversations. As far as they were concerned, the matter was settled: their Lucas is the only Lucas and the sooner he was well enough to return to work, the better.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," said Harry, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "I went to make sure that Malcolm and his mother were settled back in at their house. He agreed to be my Best Man."

"Excellent," replied Ruth. "I spoke to Christine and Tom. They'll be there and they agreed to let little Daisy act as Bridesmaid. Jo Portman would probably have permanently neutralised any rivals for the post of Maid of Honour."

Harry chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

"Ros can be the Bouncer," he half-joked. "Then everything is settled, just about. There's just one more man left to speak to."

Lucas. Their Lucas; the only Lucas. He didn't say it, but Ruth knew right away who he meant. It had been three weeks since he was admitted to Tring, a week since Ros had dropped by to end their relationship and long past the time when she and Harry should have gone to visit him. Although she felt guilty about it, Harry insisted –and she ultimately agreed – that they all needed time to think things through.

"Monday?" she suggested.

Harry pondered it for a moment. "Should be fine, not much happening. Even terrorists hate Mondays."

There was never any hurry in Tring. Lucas took advantage of the fact by taking his time over breakfast – normally, the most frantic part of the day as he inevitably woke up late and had to race to work. That, and his lack of appetite compelled him to take things slowly. He gnawed at a corner of cold toast, almost gagging on the rich butter. If he felt like it, he would strike up conversation with one of the other patients. And he had to call them 'patients'; he'd been scolded for referring to them as 'inmates'. But, since his talk with Ros, he hadn't much fancied the company.

"Where is he? He's not in the garden burning incense and hugging those trees, is he?"

A familiar, cynical voice drifted in from outside. For the first time in days, Lucas smiled a natural smile. It grew as another familiar voice rebuked the first.

"Harry! Really!"

Lucas pushed his plate of cold toast away and got up, ready to receive his visitors. A few seconds later, the door to the dining room opened and an exasperated nurse showed Harry and Ruth inside.

"Here he is," the nurse declared. "People to see you, Mister North."

The nurse ducked out of the room, shooting Harry a disapproving look as she went. He didn't notice, however. He and Ruth paused beside one of the other empty tables, looking him up and down. If he had known they were coming, he would have made more of an effort: shaved properly and turned himself out as best he could.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Harry grimaced. "You look like someone's Granddad."

Lucas grinned, suddenly abashed at still being in his Tring issued striped pyjamas and thick dressing gown. They weren't exactly Saville Row. They reached out and shook each other's hands firmly. Ruth, he greeted with a kiss on each cheek before pulling up chairs for them both. The tea in the pot was still warm enough to be drinkable, so Lucas poured them both a cup in clean ones pinched from the next table.

"We've seen your progress reports," Harry said.

"You're making excellent progress, under the circumstances," said Ruth, finishing Harry's sentence.

The Counsellor had told him as much as the same. They were working through everything together: from Dakar to Russia and the distance between. Little by little, he was expunging himself of every lie and every bruise of the past. It was like poison being slowly siphoned from his bloodstream. After each session, he felt himself growing that little bit stronger, recovering himself that little bit more after every breakdown.

"You're essential to me, Lucas," Harry said, turning serious. "We need you back on the Grid."

Lucas looked up at him in surprise. Rare were the occasions when Harry praised his team, nature didn't make him like that. But he was expecting to be thrown over and, on the contrary, he had been made to fee needed for the first time in over a month. It gave him something real to aim for.

"But not right away," Ruth keenly cut in. "Take your time."

"He knows what I mean!" Harry retorted. "Don't you, Lucas?"

He smiled and nodded. He understood he was being thrown a lifeline when he least expected one, and he intended to seize it with both hands. Even when the time came for him to return to work, it had already been arranged for him to have weekly appointments with one of their specialised therapists, based in London. He will never be without support again.

"Thank you Harry," he said, giving Ruth a nod as well.

"And you have until May 20th," said Harry.

That date was over six months away. Despite the bleakness of his frame of mind, Lucas was fairly certain he could patch himself up before then. He wondered about the date, however and the answer became apparent by the twinkle in Harry's eye.

"The wedding?" he asked, grinning.

Ruth dropped her voice as she whispered urgently to Harry: "I'm sure Lucas doesn't want to talk about that, now."

She didn't say Ros' name; she didn't need to. But, all Lucas could think was that he needed some bloody good news, no matter what. Seeing as he probably hadn't won the Euro Millions, someone else's wedding would do just fine. "You can decommission me if I'm not there," he offered as surety.

"Just you see that I don't," Harry joked, giving Lucas' shoulder a gently slap. "Everything will be smoothed over. Take your time; get better and we'll see you back on the Grid."

With that, they headed outside into the cold late morning for a walk around the gardens. Nothing was quite as it should have been, but then it never was. If ever it was, they would all be decommissioned. But the process of 'smoothing over' would suffice, for now. But, even as Lucas wrapped himself up in his dressing gown before heading outside, his mind drifted over to Ros and what she might be doing at that moment in time. The thought of her still brought a stab of pain, the bitter after-taste of another failed relationship. But he knew that they would heal; both he and Ros, in their own separate ways. They always did.

The End

Thank you again to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I hope you enjoyed it; I certainly enjoyed writing it. Thank you.