Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC. Trade names belong to the relevant manufacturers.

A/N: Slightly pointless, vaguely Easter related fluffy nonsense. For Lady J, who'll know why. ;)

Scarlett's barking finally woke him and the reason for her excitement became apparent when the sound of the doorbell ringing drifted through the house and out into the garden. As Harry heaved himself off the seat and stood up, an ominous cracking noise came from his knee. Swearing, none too quietly, he hobbled back into the house, pausing only to retrieve his shirt from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He was still struggling into it as he opened the front door.

"Look, if you're trying to sell me something you're wasting-"

"Hello Harry."

"Ruth," he replied, before asking, "Is everything all right?"

She certainly didn't look all right. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, she was wearing a thick, navy cardigan over her cotton summer dress and her face was covered in a sheen of perspiration. She looked hot, flustered and, more worryingly, on the verge of tears.

"Can I come in, please?" she asked.

"Of course." Harry stood to one side to allow Ruth to enter the house. "Go through to the kitchen," he added, pointing towards the end of the hall.

She stumbled a little and he took hold of her arm to steady her and then guided her into the kitchen. He sat her on one of the chairs, poured her a glass of water and handed it to her.

"What's been going on, Ruth? You look like you're about to pass out from sunstroke."

"It's the engineering works. Rail replacement bus. Awful. Driver didn't know where he was going. He missed the station and wouldn't go back so I had to walk. It's two miles at least. And I've broken one of my sandals…"

At this point she finally stopped and drew in a lungful of air.

Harry held his hands up. "Ruth, give yourself a chance to get your breath back. Then you can start at the beginning."

She nodded at him and then gulped down the water, hiccupping a little as she gave the glass back to him.

"More?" he asked.

"Please."

Harry refilled the tumbler and handed it back to her. "I'd drink it a little more slowly if I were you," he advised.

Between sips of water, Ruth recounted her journey, throwing in random observations about her fellow passengers and bemoaning the lack of forethought on the part of the various transport authorities. Harry patiently listened, knowing she'd eventually get to the reason for her unexpected arrival on his doorstep.

"And then," she said, as Harry once again refilled her glass, "just as I got to the shopping parade around the corner, I tripped over. It was so silly. A boy on a bike raced past and scared the life out of me. I caught my foot on a paving stone and landed on my knees. I felt so stupid."

"Have you hurt yourself?"

"A bit I think."

"Do you want me to have a look?"

Ruth hesitated, briefly, before replying. "Well, if you don't mind."

Mindful of his own problematic joints, Harry carefully knelt in front of her and delicately lifted the hem of her dress far enough to allow him to examine her knees. The skin on both of them was broken and there appeared to be tiny flecks of dirt mixed in with the dried blood that had oozed out of the grazes.

"They need cleaning and dressing but I don't think the cuts are very deep." He smiled reassuringly at her as he stood up. "Don't worry, we'll soon have you sorted out."

When Harry returned to the kitchen Ruth was surprised to see that, in addition to the first aid box he was carrying, he had a pair of reading glasses in his other hand.

"You want me to do a proper job, don't you?" he asked, putting the glasses on.

Ruth nodded, deciding it was best not to say anything.

Harry pulled a chair closer to her and sat down on it. "You're not the only one with dodgy knees," he offered, by way of explanation.

He bathed her grazes, making sure to thoroughly clean them, and then patted her skin dry with a small, white towel.

"I haven't got any plasters that are big enough," he said, after going through the contents of the first aid kit, "so I'll use some gauze instead, just to help keep the dirt out. It should be only be for a couple of days."

"Thank you."

"You still haven't told me why you're here. Not that you're unwelcome, obviously."

Ruth picked her bag up from the floor and rummaged about in it. "I bought you this." She held out an Easter egg. "Chocolate buttons. Your favourite."

Harry looked at the egg and smiled.

Ruth laughed, nervously. "Unless of course you were joking and I've made a fool of myself again."

Harry took the chocolate from her. "No, I wasn't joking and no, you haven't made a fool of yourself," he replied, deliberately omitting the word 'again'. "And thank you."

"I'd put it in the fridge if I were you," Ruth said, trying to ignore the blush she could feel forming. "It's probably got quite warm on the bus and the walk here."

The cold draught of air that greeted him as he opened the fridge door reminded Harry that although he'd put his shirt on, he hadn't got around to buttoning it up. He considered remedying the situation but then decided it was too late, and it wasn't as if Ruth seemed to be bothered by his state of semi-undress anyway.

Easter egg safely stowed, he turned around to find Ruth fanning her face with her hand.

"Still feeling warm?" he asked.

"Yes."

"It might help if you took your cardigan off, Ruth."

She did as he suggested, with some assistance from Harry. There was an awkward moment when she ended up nose to chest with him as he slipped the cardigan off her shoulders but she managed to retain what was left of her dignity.

"Better?" he enquired, trying not to stare at the rather revealing neckline of her dress.

"Yes," she replied, feeling very self-conscious.

"That's a…that's a pretty dress."

Ruth nervously smoothed her hands over the material. "I, um, I expect it would look better if I didn't have buggered knees. If you'll excuse the expression," she hastily added.

Harry grinned at her. "Expression excused. And I know all about buggered knees."

Ruth's gaze was drawn to Harry's legs. "You've got nice knees," she said, without thinking. The words 'nice thighs, too' were already out of her mouth by the time her brain finally caught up.

Harry couldn't help laughing at the horrified look on Ruth's face as she realised what she'd said and started to babble an apology at him.

"It's fine, really," he said, between chuckles. "But I think I better abandon my plan to wear shorts on the Grid as it's clearly going to be too much of a distraction." He winked at her. "But please feel free to wear that dress to work any time you want."

-x-

Half an hour later, after Ruth's broken sandal had been super-glued back together by Harry whilst she prepared some sandwiches and a pot of tea, they made their way into the garden.

"Make yourself comfortable," Harry said, pointing to where he'd been asleep earlier.

"This is very nice," Ruth observed, as she sat down on the padded cushions of the wooden framed swing seat. It wasn't the sort of thing she'd pictured Harry having in his garden but she could see why he'd bought it.

Harry placed the tray of food on the table in front of her. "I like to sit here in the evening, when the weather's decent. I find it very relaxing." He turned away from her for a moment, fished some doggie treats out of the pocket of his shorts and threw them towards Scarlett, who apparently was only pretending to be asleep.

"I can't believe you remembered I'd said chocolate buttons were my favourite," Harry remarked, settling himself beside Ruth.

"Of course I remember!" she replied, a little indignantly. "Anyway, that team away-day is impossible to forget."

She wasn't wrong about that. It had been one of those ludicrous 'team building' events that Harry usually managed to avoid but the new DG had been insistent; there was no escape, not for Section D and not for him. So, with a lot of mumbling and grumbling, they'd all trooped off to a large, anonymous Docklands hotel to spend eight hours in an air-conditioned conference room with their 'facilitator', Yolanda.

The pointlessness of the day was proven, as far as Harry was concerned, less than ten minutes in when Yolanda had asked them all to name their favourite item of confectionary. Reasoning that someone had to start them off, Ruth had hesitantly admitted to liking the occasional box of Milk Tray. As Zaf had teased her about secretly hoping the man in black might turn up in person to deliver them, Harry had been wishing he was twenty years younger and still capable of shinning up a drainpipe.

The conversation had quickly descended into farce as Jo and Adam argued about the merits of Curly Wurlys versus Mars Bars and Yolanda got increasingly annoyed. She'd attempted to move things on by asking Harry what his favourite sweet was.

"Chocolate buttons," he'd replied, leaving his colleagues wondering if he was being truthful or deliberately trying to wind up the facilitator.

"Chocolate buttons?" Yolanda repeated.

"Yes."

Harry's amusement at having needled the irritating Yolanda quickly disappeared when he saw her busily scribbling in her large yellow notepad. He was left wondering if his answer was going to provide some sort of bizarre, and wholly inaccurate, insight into his psyche.

"I don't think Yolanda liked me," Harry said, pouring the tea. "And I have a horrible feeling that my admission of a fondness for chocolate buttons has some sort of Freudian connotation probably to do with how much or how little I was breastfed as a baby. Which in itself probably suggests I'm sexually repressed in some way."

Ruth almost dropped the sandwich she was holding. "Not really my field of expertise, I'm afraid."

"I suppose not," Harry replied, vaguely. He was well aware that the problem wasn't that he was repressed but deprived. His libido was in fine working order even if other parts of him weren't quite so fast to get into gear these days.

Deciding it was time to get onto a safer topic of conversation, Ruth picked up the book he'd left on the table. "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy?" she asked, amused.

Harry shrugged. "I like le Carré."

"So do I," she said, carefully examining the paperback. It was worn, the pages mottled from exposure to the air and dust, but it was clearly well loved, and well read. She placed it back on the table. "Bit a favourite?"

He nodded. "Yes. Although I'm glad I didn't tell Yolanda. God knows what she'd have made of that."

-x-

Tea drunk and sandwiches eaten, they were indulging in some gentle, flirtatious conversation.

"Your turn," Ruth said. "What's your favourite song?"

"Hmm, that's a tricky one. There are several."

"Okay then. Favourite colleague?"

Harry laughed. "Naughty, Ruth. I'm the boss, I'm not supposed to have favourites."

"Stop evading the question."

"You're my favourite analyst."

"Harry!"

"And my favourite colleague. Only don't tell Zaf, I think he might get upset."

"No," Ruth replied, shifting position just enough for her arm to brush against Harry's. "I think you'll find he'd much rather be Jo's favourite."

"I thought that might be the case. Next question."

"Favourite place?"

"Wherever you are."

"That's…"

"Very corny. Sorry," Harry apologised, turning his head to look at Ruth. She was smiling.

"I was going to say sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Yes, sweet. Like chocolate buttons," she laughed.

Harry shook his head. "Funny girl."

They were silent for a few minutes, the gentle rocking motion of the seat encouraging them to sit even closer together. Without even thinking about it, Harry put his arm around Ruth's shoulders and she snuggled against him.

"What about your favourite place?" he asked.

"Here, now, with you."

"Correct answer. Can you stay for dinner?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then you can tell me about all of your favourite things."

Ruth reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "There's one or two I can show you as well."

The End

Thanks for reading. :)