This one was prompted by my watching 9.7 - yet again, and shouting 'hug her, you fool!' at various points in the episode - yet again. Not sure that it's turned out quite as planned, and even less sure that it rings remotely true, but here it is, probably a two parter. Brickbats and bouquets both equally welcome!

Sliding the safety catch on, he slipped the gun into his pocket.

Ruth exhaled, and shaking her head went over to Deery. Gently she touched his arm. 'It's over now. It's going to be okay.'

His lips moved, but no words emerged.

'An ambulance will be here soon and we'll get you checked out. You're going to be fine.'

A CO19 radio burst into life and Deery flinched. As if on cue, Harry began barking orders and all of a sudden the room was full of people, of voices, of noise. Unable to bear the clamour, Ruth made her way outside, oblivious to the words Harry addressed to her, to his outstretched arm, the concern on his face. Leaning against the garden fence she closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow, then all of a sudden her stomach revolted, and stumbling to the kerb she vomited. As she slumped to her knees she was aware of a flash of blue at the periphery of her vision, then a tentative hand on her back and murmured words of comfort. When there was nothing left to come she sank back onto her heels, too exhausted to think of even standing. Almost unwillingly, she let herself be lifted to her feet and the arms tightened around her as she swayed unsteadily.

'Can you walk?'

'Mm.'

'Right, well, I'm not waiting for an ambulance. I'm taking you in.'

Somehow, with Harry's arm around her shoulders, she forced her limbs to move, down the street, across the road, and into the car.

'She's sleeping peacefully now. We need to run more tests, and we'll keep her in overnight for observation, but she's going to be fine.'

Harry sucked in a lungful of air. 'Can I sit with her for a while?'

'Sure.' He indicated diagonally across the corridor. 'Last on the left before the swing doors.'

As the Registrar went to move off, Harry asked, 'Um, Mr Deery. How is he?'

'Physically speaking, he got off fairly lightly, just minor lacerations, but he's taken it all pretty badly, I'm afraid.'

Harry nodded. 'Okay, thanks.'

To his dismay, Ruth was in a four bed ward and two of the other beds were occupied. She lay, curled up, facing away from him. He drew the curtain the length of the bed, sat down, and prepared to wait. Almost immediately the steady beep of the monitors was joined by the chirping of his mobile phone. Cursing, he fished it out of his pocket and walked over towards the doorway.

'Yes?'

'Harry, it's Dimitri. How's Ruth?'

'Sleeping. She's being kept in overnight but no lasting damage hopefully.'

'Thank god for that. Um, what time will you be back on the Grid, d'you think? We've got to..'

'Tomorrow at the earliest.'

'Tom...?'

Without further ado, Harry cut the call and switched off his phone. As he turned back to the bed he saw that Ruth had turned over, and was awake.

'Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep,' he whispered.

'It's fine. I'm awake now.'

'How are you feeling?'

'I don't know yet.' Grimacing, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. 'Sore.'

For the first time, Harry saw the burns on her wrists, and the garland of bruises that was beginning to bloom on her neck. Distressed, he rubbed at his forehead. 'Ruth, what on earth were you thinking...heading off without backup, or talking to me first...'

Her eyebrows lifted. 'You wouldn't have believed me, Harry. You'd have patted me on the head and told me to get back to counting paper clips.'

'That's not...'

'That is true. But I decided that The Case of the Dog Poo and the Paper Fragments merited further investigation...'

'There's no need to be sarcastic...'

'...and I thought that with a bit of luck I might just get a bit of excitement and be drugged, tied up, burned, thumped, half-strangled..oh yes, and flung into a shelving unit for good measure.'

Harry stared at her, aghast.

'But the turning into some kind of-of She-Devil and getting to empty a gun into another human being, well, that was just a bonus.'

As an angry retort formed on his lips, he realised that her eyes were full of tears.

'Oh, Christ,' he muttered, and protocol and months of hurt were forgotten as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms.

She was standing at the window, her forehead pressed against the glass. Warily he laid the canteen's offerings down on her table.

'What's the matter?'

'I just went to see Keith Deery. He's in a bad way, Harry.'

Harry slumped into his chair. 'He's been through a terrible ordeal. You both have. But he's in the best place. He'll be fine.'

He could see her stiffen. 'You don't know that. And he's had a history of depression, of mental health problems. This could be what...'

'Ruth, will you please just concentrate on getting yourself better? You're not to blame for what happened, Rigaut is.'

'But maybe if I'd listened to him, if I'd believed him when he first walked in...'

'If ifs and ands,' said Harry softly. 'It's pointless thinking like that. It changes nothing and it doesn't make you feel any better. Come on, get back into bed and have a sandwich. You must be starving by now.'

Although she'd slept through dinner, Ruth shook her head. 'No thanks, I'm not hungry. Um, where are my clothes?'

Harry indicated the cabinet beside him. 'In there. Why?'

'Can you give me five minutes to get dressed? Then I need you to take me home.'

Had it been anyone else, he would have trusted their judgement; would have expected it even, but Harry's reaction to her discharging herself against doctor's orders had been one of anger. She knew it was fuelled by worry, and glancing at him, brow furrowed, face drawn with tiredness as he navigated their way through the night-time traffic, she couldn't find it in her to be annoyed.

As they pulled up outside her flat, he told her in a tone that brooked no argument that he was coming in to make sure that she was okay; yet she saw a flicker of surprise as she agreed without demur. They walked up the stairs in silence, and in the flat he was the one ill at ease, repeatedly getting in her way as she hung up her coat, put the kettle on, fed the cat.

'Harry, go and sit down.'

'No, look, I should be doing all that. You sit down. Please.'

Half amused, half exasperated, she manhandled him out of the way and got a carton of milk out of the fridge. 'I'm fine.'

'Well, let me do something. Make you something to eat. Actually, make us both something to eat. I left those bloody sandwiches by your bed.'

'There is something you could do,' she said quietly. 'Stay tonight.'

He hesitated. 'Wouldn't you rather have Beth keep an eye on you?'

Ruth shook her head. 'She moved out a few weeks ago. But I don't mean stay to keep an eye on me.'

Only now did she turn from the cupboard she'd been foraging in and take in his startled face. 'Please, Harry.'

Finally he found his voice. 'Ruth, you've been through a horrible ordeal today, and - and how you feel right now, it's just part of the comedown from the adrenaline rush. It's not...it's not real.'

'It may be part of the comedown, but I can assure you it's real. Do you honestly think this is the first time I've wanted you to take me to bed?'

'I-I...' His face scarlet, he ran a hand through his hair, stalling for time. 'Perhaps not, but at this point in time we hardly even have a good working relationship, and sleeping together is only going to complicate things.'

The kettle clicked off and Ruth poured water into the mugs. 'Harry, I'm not proposing marriage, just no-strings sex. Who knows, it may be just what we need to break the circle of this...of all this dancing around each other that we've been doing for so long. Or it may make us realise that we're just not meant to be.'

'God almighty,' he muttered. 'I should've insisted they give you that bloody MRI. Ruth, this isn't you, and for all my spirit of romance deserted me at Ros's funeral, I don't want our first time to be a post-trauma, mindless, frantic...fuck. Nor do I want you to wake up tomorrow regretting it and resenting me. Well, not any more than you do already.' He took the mug she offered him and slumped against the wall, chest heaving, unable to meet her eye.

'Okay,' she said, 'well, I'm going to have a shower. Can you order a takeaway?' She rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a leaflet. 'Chinese, I think.'

He nodded but made no move to take it, so she laid the menu down on the worktop and cradling her mug of tea she left the room.

Aware that he was supposed to order the food then follow her, Harry's mind drifted to the thought of Ruth under the shower, naked, wet, wanting him. He groaned. As if in sympathy with his plight Fidget sashayed over and rubbed her head against his leg. He reached down and scratched behind her ear.

'Even if I thought it was a good idea,' he told her, 'I need all my flesh to be willing, and my knee and my back? No chance.'

With a sigh he reached for the menu.