A/N: Since I wrote my one and only Ruth + Ros fic (in March of this year) I have wanted to revisit this combination, and whilst the inclusion of Ros in this fic was unintended, I had to `allow' her in. I feel that this fic is as much about Ruth & Ros as it is about Ruth & Harry.

Ruth had decided to give drinks at the George a miss, but while travelling home on the tube she experienced a moment of indecision, closely followed by its companions, guilt and regret. Even though both Lucas and Ros had checked that she would be there, and she had answered in the affirmative, as she stepped onto the pavement from Thames House there was no doubt in her mind that she was headed straight home.

It had been eight long months since she'd returned to London, and since George had so senselessly died. While sitting on the train with her back to the window, staring unseeing at the commuters sitting opposite, some huddled behind books and newspapers, others fiddling with their phones, while others, like her, stared into nothingness, that Ruth admitted to herself that she still held Harry accountable for George's death. Yet beneath her continued irritation with Harry lay a core of confusion and indecision which she was not yet ready to examine. It would be best for everyone concerned were she to simply not turn up. That was it. Sorted.

Except that it wasn't, not really. Harry and she had settled into a familiar working intimacy, much like they had shared before she'd had to leave London over three years earlier. And how would Harry interpret her deliberate non-attendance? Chances are he wouldn't even notice her absence, and if he did he'd no doubt feel relieved.

So by the time Ruth stepped onto the platform at her stop she felt rather pleased with herself. Her absence would spare the whole team the inevitable embarrassment of observing her and Harry deliberately avoiding one another. They could never again be friends, and this realisation left Ruth with a surprising burden of sadness. Harry had once upon a time been so much more than just a friend and colleague. At the time she'd left London she had taken with her the memory of something about to blossom between them, something which she'd had to quickly nip in the bud else she could never have stepped onto the deck of that tugboat. The longer she spent away from home, the more she'd missed him. In the months following her fleeing London she had experienced nights when the pain of missing England, her friends, the team on the Grid, and of course Harry had been so sharp, so deep that she could do nothing to stop the tears which freely flowed onto her pillow.

So it was with a renewed sense of having made the right decision that Ruth reached the street level from the underground, until the ringtone of her phone had her stopping in the middle of the pavement. Seeing that the caller was Ros, Ruth answered warily. "Is anything wrong?" The night air was cold, and despite the dreariness of her safe house she longed to be home. The idea of being red flashed and having to head back to work at that hour held little appeal.

"Is Harry with you?" Ros asked, altogether ignoring Ruth's question.

"No. Why should he be? I thought he'd be with you."

"That's just it. He didn't turn up, and we're all sitting here wondering whether we should get on with getting drunk together or go home."

Not turn up? Perhaps there had been an emergency after all. "Have you tried ringing him?"

"Yes, Ruth, I have tried ringing him," Ros answered with barely suppressed sarcasm.

"The Grid? His home phone? The door security at Thames House?"

"Lucas tried all of the above. Door security said Harry left at 6.23. Most of us arrived here between 5.45 and 6.15. Harry was on the phone when we left, and he said he'd catch us up and to have a drink ready for him." Ruth heard her brief exchange with a male voice. "Lucas just informed me that he's already polished off Harry's drink. He didn't want it going to waste. Such a considerate man."

Ruth had moved away from the middle of the pavement, where other commuters had had to veer around her. She leaned her shoulder against the brick facade of a bank, the fingers of her free hand massaging her forehead. Harry missing?

"What if he's been kidnapped?" Ruth said at last.

"Who do you know would want to kidnap Harry? All his adversaries from his Northern Ireland days are either reformed and respectable, in gaol, gone mad, or dead. There's no-one left who'd want to off him."

There was only one thing left for her to do. Ruth turned to head towards the bus stop just around the corner. "I'll check his house," Ruth said quickly, "and I'll ring you when I get there. I trust if you discover anything further you'll let me know," and with that she ended the call.

When Ruth reached Harry's street she could see that his house was in darkness and there was no car in the driveway. She was surprised by the sharp knot of fear which had begun to unfurl from deep inside her gut. He wasn't on the Grid, he hadn't gone to the pub, and he appeared to have not yet arrived home. Of course Harry had a son and daughter, and he must still have friends outside the service. He could be anywhere at all. It was his birthday after all, and he was free to spend it as he wished.

Except that he had said he would meet his team at the George, and one of Harry's many finer qualities was that he always kept his word.

Ruth almost jumped when her phone rang, the ringtone cutting through the sharp night air like a scream. "Ros?" she said, noting the caller's name.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Ruth, but I thought you'd want to know." Ruth held her breath, aware that her gut was churning in panic. "Are you there?"

"Yes. I'm here. I'm at Harry's house. He's not home, he -"

"He's in hospital, or more correctly, he was in hospital." Was? Where was he now? The morgue? "He checked himself out a little over forty minutes ago."

"What .. what happened?" Ros and Ruth were hardly bosom buddies. This was about the longest conversation they'd ever had.

"They wouldn't say. I'm not family. What I was told was that it was suggested he stay in hospital overnight, and Harry decided to go home."

"Right. Thanks." Ruth was thankful, of course, but she didn't know what else to say, and Ros didn't do small talk.

"You'll wait for him, then? Just to check that he's well. You know Harry .."

Ruth did know Harry. Harry was stubborn, willful, irascible, single-minded. Harry was loyal, devoted, committed and focused. Harry was .. Harry was rather wonderful, really, and in that moment Ruth decided to bypass her habitual anger and blame, and view him as a man who had been placed in an impossible situation. He was a man who had placed the lives of many over the lives of George and Nico, and had he been forced to decide between her own life and the lives of many he no doubt would have chosen the lives of many - not because he wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do. Harry was an honourable man, another of his finer qualities. She could never have made the choices Harry had had to make. She couldn't even imagine the level of stress he must have been under that day. At the time she'd considered him cold and without feelings .. without a heart. She now knew differently.

"I'll wait for him," Ruth replied. Even on Harry's front porch, where she had wandered while talking to Ros, it was like the Arctic. Ruth wore her thickest coat, her woolliest scarf, her warmest gloves, and her highest boots, but she was still cold. "Thanks, Ros. I'll get back to you .. after I've spoken to him."

"Good. I don't fancy talking to Harry when he's injured. Men are like children when they're hurt or sick."

Not Harry, surely. Ruth ignored Ros's observations of gender differences. "Thanks for .. letting me know," and they ended the call, almost friends, but not quite. They both cared for Harry, so it was high time they learned to get on.

Ruth, who had begun shifting her weight from one foot to the other to keep warm, turned her attention towards the street to see a taxi pull up outside Harry's house. From the passenger side stepped a figure in a black coat. Harry. From her distance Ruth thought he looked fine, that was until he stepped through his front gate and she watched him as he limped closer. "Has World War Three been declared and no-one thought to tell me?" Ruth said, chiefly to warn him of her presence. By this time Harry was almost within touching distance. He stared at her as if trying to place her. "You look like you've gone several rounds with … some boxer or other."

Harry smiled then. Ruth didn't know the name of any boxers other than Muhammad Ali, whose boxing days were long behind him. "I can only suppose that you were worried about me," he said quietly, wincing as he stepped up to stand on the porch beside Ruth.

Ruth noted his left arm held close to his chest by a sling, the left side of his coat not quite covering the cast on his forearm, and when he turned to face her she gasped as she saw the angry graze down the left side of his face. "What have you done to yourself?" was all she could think to say. She wanted to pummel her fists against his chest and ask him what had he been thinking, but she kept her anger in check.

Harry had his key card in his right hand, so he swiped the door, and it opened before them. "You'd best come inside, Ruth. You look frozen."

Ruth stood in the hallway of Harry's house where the air was warm and inviting, and with the light on she could clearly see the extent of Harry's facial injuries. Harry carefully removed his coat and then hung it up. When he held out his right hand for her coat she had a strange moment when she thought he wanted to take her hand in his. As she removed her own coat she turned away from him, hoping to hide the slight flush on her face. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, and she nodded. He stood close to her, looking down at her, the slightest of smiles turning his lips. "Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?"

"I think I prefer the last option."

"I'm having a Scotch, but I have wine in the fridge."

"A whisky will be .. fine." She'd need a whole bottle to settle the thoughts which were dancing around inside her head. What was wrong with her? Only an hour earlier she had relegated them to colleagues-only status, while now .. now she was prepared to reconsider.

They sat across from one another in Harry's living room, each with a glass of whisky in their hands. "So tell me what happened," she said.

Harry had placed his glass on the small table beside his chair. He rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand, his face conveying a level of physical discomfort. "It was a bit undignified really. I stepped from the kerb to cross the street and was hit by a black cab. I didn't see it as it came around the corner. This," he said, lifting his left wrist, "broke when I tried to break my fall, and apparently I must have face-planted on the road. My hip – the left one – is badly bruised, and my knee took a knock. These trousers ..."

For the first time Ruth noticed the tear in the knee of his trousers. "- are now only fit for gardening," she said.

Harry's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I'll have to bin them."

"What were you thinking?" she asked, the irritation back in her voice. "You could have been -"

"I know. I was .. distracted I suppose."

"By what?"

"By everything. Work, what I have yet to do, there are so many things I have to sort out and make sense of." As he spoke he massaged his forehead with the fingers of his right hand.

"It's my job to sort it out for you."

He nodded. "Then there's you." His voice was very quiet, his eyes on her. Ruth was incapable of replying. "I can't stop thinking about what happened back .. when you came home, and how that has so dramatically impacted your life. If only I could turn back the clock -"

"You'd do the same thing all over again."

Harry nodded. "Probably."

"And I wouldn't want you to have done anything else." Harry's eyes widened in surprise. He was about to speak when Ruth continued. "I just need to know one thing. Harry .. had my life been directly threatened .. would your response have been the same?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He glanced at his glass of whisky, contemplating grasping it in his hand, even if only for comfort, but he resisted the urge. He looked back at Ruth. "That .. would have been the hardest of all decisions, but .. at the expense of my own .. need to keep you alive and safe, my answer would have been the same."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being the man I always knew you to be."

Harry hesitated, not sure he'd heard her correctly. "I meant what I said. I couldn't .. alter my decision for the sake of a personal relationship."

"I know."

They sat in silence for some minutes, each staring into the gas fire. "I know that we can never again be .. what we almost were," Harry began carefully, "but .. I need to know that were I to ask you to have dinner with me, would you -"

"I'd say yes." Harry stared at her, confused, hoping she wasn't sending him up. "To dinner. I'd say yes to that, and I think we might still be .. something more than colleagues. We've always been .. something more."

"I thought you hated me."

"I thought I did too, but it seems I don't. Not any more. It's .. stupid to hold onto something that can't be changed, and I now .. know how hard that was for you to .. commit George to losing his life."

Ruth watched as Harry carefully placed his glass back on the small table, and then sat back in his chair, his eyes on her. "Thank you, Ruth. Of course, we'll have to wait a little while before we can have dinner."

"Why?"

"This," he said, lifting his left wrist in its cast, "and this." Harry pointed to the left side of his face. The flesh around his cheek bone was beginning to swell. "I can't go out in public looking like this."

"I think you look .. raffish." Before Harry could object, Ruth's phone rang. Ros! She'd forgotten she'd promised to ring her back. "Hello .. Ros?"

"I've been waiting for your call, Ruth. Harry must be home by now."

"Yes, he's here. He got hit by a car while crossing a street. He's .. battered, but not broken. I'm about to suggest he take a day or two off work." Harry was watching her, his only reaction being a lifting of his eyebrows.

"You'd have more success asking the Americans to stay out of our business. Ask him why he's not answering his phone."

Ruth looked directly at Harry, covering her phone with her hand. "Ros wants to know why you haven't been answering your phone."

Harry reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the remnants of his phone. It was in two or three pieces. "I managed to save the SIM," he said.

"His phone's broken. Look, can I ring you back, Ros?" Ruth asked quietly. "We're in the middle of something here."

"Right. Just don't wear the poor man out."

Ruth quickly ended the call, unable to look Harry in the eye. "What did she say?" Harry said at last, a small smile on his face.

"She thinks we're about to .. you know."

Harry smiled widely. "Then she clearly overestimates my capabilities. I can barely raise my arm, let alone anything else."

Ruth broke eye contact with him and giggled. "I suppose we should order in something to eat," she suggested, hoping to distract Harry from his line of thought. "It will have to be my treat."

"No, Ruth. I'm paying. I can't expect you to buy dinner, but we'll have to place the order using your phone." Harry had by this time stood, ambling across to stand in front of the fire, his hip clearly causing him discomfort.

"Since it's your birthday I should pay for our meal."

Harry pushed his hand into his trousers pocket and pulled out his watch. Remarkably it had not broken in the accident. "So it is," he said. Then he glanced across to where Ruth still sat, her glass of whisky resting between her fingers. "Is that why everyone was having drinks at the George?"

"You didn't know?" He shook his head. He looked so lost that Ruth put down her glass, got up and walked over to where he stood, her eyes holding his. Emboldened by the direction their conversation had taken she reached out and took his right hand in her own, threading her fingers through his. "You have rather a dramatic way of getting my attention, Mr Pearce. All you had to do was ask me to dinner."

"I wasn't sure you'd say yes, but you can hardly say no to an injured man. I've even been to hospital."

"So I noticed. I'm very impressed … by your commitment to the task."

There was a very long moment during which they each wanted something to happen, but neither were brave enough to be the initiator. Harry decided it would have to be him to move things along. Very slowly he leaned down, eyes on Ruth's, until his lips met hers. The moment was so unexpected, so all-consuming that neither heard the jangle of Ruth's phone. Once they pulled apart, both breathless, Ruth reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her phone. "Yes?" she said, her eyes still on Harry, his hand grasping hers.

"Ruth. I forgot to ask you about -"

"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number."

"It's Ros, as if you didn't know." Ruth mouthed the word `Ros' to Harry.

He took the phone from Ruth's hand and barked into it. "Is this of national importance? Good." Then he ended the call, and leaned down to stuff the phone under the cushion of his armchair.

"That's a bit .. rude, don't you think?"

Harry shook his head slowly, as he drew Ruth closer, dropping her hand so that he could slide his arm around her. "Today is my birthday. I'm allowed a few liberties."

"Which you've clearly already taken."

"You haven't complained."

"No, but Ros won't forget that in a hurry." Ruth broke eye contact to look across the room to the windows. "I need to say something." Harry felt a moment of panic. This was Ruth changing her mind, he was sure of it. Again she look up at him. "I need you to know that I .. want us to pursue .. this, but I need to take my time, especially given .. just over eight months ago I was ..."

".. in a relationship with someone else." Ruth nodded. "I do understand that, Ruth. I'm not a Neanderthal."

"I know." She pulled away from him, reaching down to retrieve her phone from under the cushion of the chair. "We need to order our dinner."

Harry suppressed a heavy sigh. His face was beginning to ache, his hip was sore, and his ribs and shoulder hurt. He really ought to take more painkillers and head to bed, but it was his birthday and Ruth was in his house, and were he to have his way she'd never leave. "Then let's order," he said.