Drinks, a mi-5/spooks fanfic

Ok, so my other fic probably won't have any H/R scene for the next few chapters, but 8.6 prompted me to give them a go.

This is my short bitter/sweet version of a scene which we all know should have taken place, and would have had it not been for a certain techno wizz.

And, jeesh, I've got to add how hard these two are to write together. My hat goes off to all of you who have been doing it for years,.

Spooks is not mine, but belongs to the BBC and Kudos.

His statement had been a simple one, but it was exactly the sort of thing that had made Ruth fall in love with him in the first place, all those years ago. It showed his principles, weariness with the world, and his determination to keep on at his job until the bitter end.

And all she wanted to do was show that she was there for him. She didn't know if she was ready for anything more than friendship, she didn't know if she ever would be. But what she did know was that she would always be there to support his decisions.

She was going to let her quaetion of "You ok?" suffice. Hope that he would hear what she meant in the tone of her voice. But after that small speech, after he looked so defeated, she found that she just couldn't walk out of his office like that. So she turned back and asked him.

The question shocked him, there was no denying that. But it also warmed him as he realised how hard it must have been for her, but how she was willing to ask just to show him that she wanted to help. He thought all of this in a second, because he also knew that if he seemed too shocked to respond immediately or that he was deliberating over the outcome of it, the proposition would scare her more.

So, almost immediately, he said "yes, Ruth, I think it would" as if it was only the comfort of a strong drink he might find in it, and not the idea that she might be willing to be there for him like she had been so many times so long ago.

But that moment, of course, was taken away from him by another work related dilemma, one that was delivered by that infuriating scruffy young lad.

Already exhausted Ruth turned her attention to the computer screen Tariq was now sitting at, trying to keep her face passive as she fought back both exasperation and relief at the halt he had brought to a potentially wonderful or awakwaard evening.

3 hours later they still had very little information, and the team conceaded that all they could now do was wait until there was any further activity on the account. She set off back to her lifeless apartment, and another night peppered with short bouts of sleep when she was plagued by the faces of the three males she loved, but in such different ways.

He watches her collect her things, turn off her computer and walk towards the pods as he debates with himself internally about whether he should follow and what he should say. The small smile she offers him as she turns from the pods entrance and catches his eye, makes an idea form – but he still isn't sure whether it is a good one.

There's an oddbins around the corner, and he loiters on the street opposite for a good five minutes before he enters. Chosing a bottle takes him far longer than it should have. Initially thinking that red would seem too romantic he turns to the selection of white wine, but the bottle immediately at his eye level is the burgundy, and after that all the whites seems to be nothing more than a reminder of their date. He finally persuades himself that, given the lateness of the hour and the chill of the weather, a red would be more appropriate.

He makes his way to her flat second guessing himself with everything step, but his anger at the Home Secratatry's departure gives him an exscuse to continue.

She allowes herself a few moments of channel hopping before concluding that, like always, there is nothing on She reclines as comfortably as is possible on the bleak rented sofa and turned to a biography of Gertrude Bell, an obsession of hers she had been reading about while in Cyprus, but one which she found less appealing now that she was back in both of their original countries. A while later she gives up and heads off to bed.

If she hadn't been passing the front door at the same time, she wouldn't have been able to hear the uncertain knock. As it was, she initially thought that it was someone at the flat opposite, but she decides to make sure.

Opening the door she finds Harry outside, looking just like he had in his office earlier, holding a bottle of red wine.

He suddenly realises that he has nothing to say, the explanation that he is still willing to take her up on the invitation of a drink from hours ago now seems pitifull. But she knows him better than that, knows how to smile at him to assure him that he is welcome, and kets himself believe that she is genuinely glad that he is here.

She doesn't need to say a word, but steps to the side to let him in.

Standing next to a coat stand containing one lone coat and an umbrella, she reaches for the bottle, reading out the lable with a small smile, as if she knows the difficulty it took him to chose it, adding 'sounds perfect'.

He hands her his coat and follows her into a small, shabby sitting room. She leaves him to take a seat on a hard, scratchy sofa and look around the small room, noticing how inpersoanl it is. She returns with two white mugs, telling him that she hasn't had time to go shopping yet and that she is thankfull that the wine he has chosen has a screw top.

Two, large mugfulls are poured and what follows is a good, honest conversation. It's a talk that they have been waiting years to have, ever since their feelings first became apparent to themselves, and neither can truly believe that they are having it.

He talks about what the Home Secratry's dismissal means to him, how betrayed he feels by the system and openly berates himself, again, for ever putting his trust in it.

But she, in her quiet steady voice, assures him that things will get better. She tells him that they will keep trying to prove his innocence whilst persuing Nightingale. She also reminds him that the Home Secratry being forced to leave doesn't necessarily reflect badly on the Governemnt, as she asks him what kind of country they would live in if a government official was believed to be stowing away millions and was not forced to retire.

With her he is able to talk about what has happened in her absence. For the first time he mourns aloud for the deaths of Zaf and Adam. He tells her about Connie, whom she never met, and of how she helped him and stood by him but how she eventually showed her true colours as a traitor. He speaks of the loss of Ben and all his potential, smiling as he relates the activities which lead to his recruitment, but falling somber again as he remembers his officers' discovery of his body.

This time they are allowed to truly speak of Jo, and she takes his hand as they both recount her recruitment and fond memories. Harry discovers that Jo, although telling Ruth most of what she had missed up to Harry's knighthood, had not told her of her inprisonment and rape. And he holds her shaking shoulders as Ruth mourns for an old part of Jo that was lost long before her death.

They talk about team members that they have lost together., laugh at old memories and choke down sobs for dead friends. They contemplate the new lives of Tom, Zoe and Sam and have to remind themselves that Malcolm has now joined that list.

When they reach the subject of Ruth's life for the last three years they pause for a moment, unsure how deep this talk should go. He is the one to take the plunge as he tells her how much he missed her and needed her in so many crises. He relates his treatment of Sally and many others who HR had sent up to fill her old role, and then his decision after Sally's death that this would not have been how she wanted him to act like that.

She knows it is her turn for honesty now, and tells him of how much she missed him too. She tells him that she had loved George, but that she had loved him always, in a very different way.

She talks about she hasn't been able to sleep since, how every time she closes her eyes she is plagued with images of that day. He discovers that she really had forgiven him, that she meant what she said that day on the embakment and that she understands the reasons for him doing what he did.

But what he also discovers is that she now blames herself for it all. That she considers her decision not to tell George the truth the direct reason for his death. And that, because of this, true happiness is something that she cannot even contemplate. She even admits that accepting back the job that she missed so much feels like a betrayal to his memory. And that, in some odd way, she feels that not settling down into a comfortable home compensates for that

Yet, it is clear that she wants to be there for Harry, that she understands that her presence helps him in some way, and that her faith in him will never leave.

And he? Well, he has always wanted to be there for her. For the last few weeks he as been able to feel content just having her around at work. Right now he is willing and glad to be there as her friend, to stroke her hair and quietly try to persuade her over and over that it is not her fault.

Conversation slows after that. It is just as touchig and honest, but their exhaustion seems to have crept up on them now.

He gets up to clear away the mugs and bottle. He stands in the kitchen looking at his reflection in the blackened window and asks himself whether this evening was woth all the heartache, and whether it really will make any difference.

His questions are answered when he returns to find her sound asleep, lying sideways across the sofa. He can make out the track of tear down her left cheek, but for now her face is so peaceful that he can believe that maybe his words have consoled her in some way.

He thinks for a moment about how hard the sofa is, and how he really should wake her and move her upstairs. But he knows her better than that, and knows that he should allow her to rest as she is.

He looks around the sparse room for a blanket to place over her, but finds nothing as comforting. So he fetches his coat from the hall and places it over her sleeping form.

Turning off the light beside her, he sits in the chair opposite, watching her sleep and allows her steady breathing to lull him.

The next morning she wakes him with a cup of coffee, telling him that he should go home and change. For a moment he is scared that she is retreating from what began last night, but as he reaches the front door she calls after him in thanks. And, with a beautiful smile, adds "next time I'll make sure I have some wine glass, and who know, maybe even a cork screw."

To anyone else it may not seem a particularly momentous statement, but they both know differently. Seperatly heading off for the day ahead, they smile at the knowledge that someday they can make their way to each other.