3 July 2005 – Harry

He's drained, both physically and emotionally drained, and as he steps into the pod, he really wishes that he was not Harry Pearce tonight, but someone else, someone who has a boring, mundane job, someone who's responsibilities are no heavier than ordering office supplies or taking the dog for a walk, someone who's already at home making love to his beautiful, adoring wife. But of course, he has none of these things, least of all the latter. Jane has never been adoring.

As he steps out of the pod, he immediately notes that he's not alone. Ruth's sitting at her desk, her desk lamp on, papers and folders scattered all over the place. She looks up as he enters and gives him a small smile before lowering her head once more and returning to her work. Frowning, he glances at his watch before moving towards her, saying, "Ruth, why are you still here? It's past eleven. I thought I told everyone to go home."

"I just wanted to finish up the report I was doing for Adam and set up these-" she replies without looking at him.

"Ruth," he interrupts, "it's time to go home. This can all wait until the morning."

She lifts her head then and he can see that her eyes are red-rimmed from crying. His heart constricts and he feels a surge of concern for her and such a strong desire to protect her. It's the same feeling he'd had earlier as he'd watched her standing over Danny's body, softly caressing his cheek, tears sliding down her face. The strength of his desire to pull her into his arms and shield her from the world and the pain it had inflicted on them all had surprised him. He hadn't felt like doing that in such a long time, not since his children had been little.

It's been hours since he'd left her to deal with the aftermath of the failed attempt on the lives of the PM and his guests and the death of his officer, and yet in every spare moment he's had, he's thought of little else, and eventually, he's had to reluctantly admit to himself that he's in love with her.

He's in love with Ruth.

He doesn't know when his feelings of admiration and respect changed to love, or at what point the sexual attraction he's always felt for her had ceased to be the most important force in his desire for a personal relationship with her, but right now, he knows that all he wants is to be near her, in her company, to have her by his side, and if he only ever gets to do so in their capacity as colleagues and friends, he will still be satisfied as long as she's happy. So his first priority is to help her through her grief, to help her get back her equilibrium, to help her become her normal, cheerful self once more, though he knows that she will never quite be the same again. Danny's the first member of the team, the first real friend she's lost here since she began working for his section. It had been different with Tom, Zoe, and now, perhaps Sam. They're all alive and well, but not Danny – Danny's dead.

His gaze softens as he watches her and murmurs quietly, "Come on. Grab your things, Ruth. I'm taking you home." She begins to argue, but he's already moving away from her towards his office, calling over his shoulder, "You have five minutes, Ruth. Then I'm taking you home."

She's silent all the way home, but when they arrive at her place and he gets out to walk her to her door, she suddenly turns to him and says quietly, "Would you like to come in, Harry, for a cup of tea or... or something stronger? I'd appreciate the company tonight. I-"

"Thank you, Ruth," he murmurs his agreement, relieved that she's invited him inside. He knows she needs to talk to someone, and he's spent most of the ride over here in the taxi trying to work out how he can get inside her home without his intentions being misinterpreted. "I'll just pay the cab."

Once they're inside her house, having shed their coats and located Ruth's whisky, they sit side by side on her sofa, she staring down at the amber liquid in her glass while he looks around the room, each wondering how to broach the subject of Danny. Eventually, Ruth says, "Thank you, Harry." He turns to her and raises an enquiring eyebrow, so she adds, "For staying with me a little while. I... I didn't want to be alone... and I know you probably want to be home with your wife, so-"

"It's fine, Ruth," he reassures her quickly, a little ashamed to find that the only place he wants to be is here, with her. "Jane's probably asleep already, and besides, it's part of what we do, being there for each other. I know today was particularly hard for you. You and Danny were close, especially since Zoe left."

She nods quietly and grips the glass tightly in her hand. They're already on their second glass of malt and it's making it easier for them to talk, loosening their tongues a little. After a few moments of silence, she says, "Does it get any easier, Harry?"

"No," he sighs, shaking his head. "Never easier."

She takes a sip of her drink and puts the glass down, hugging her arms around her middle in an effort to keep the tears at bay. "I'm going to miss him so much," she whispers.

He nods, watching her with concern as he murmurs, "He was a good man. He deserves to be missed."

She takes a deep, shaky breath and then exclaims, "Why did he have to be such a bloody hero?!" Her eyes fill with tears and her face crumbles as she begins to weep, dropping her head down toward her chest and leaning forward, attempting to curl herself into a ball.

"Oh, Ruth," he murmurs softly, and placing his glass next to hers, he turns to face her and pulls her gently into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She doesn't return the embrace, but she turns her head towards him, nestling her face into his neck, her right shoulder resting against his left one as she leans into him, her arms still wrapped around her middle as he runs his hands up and down her back. "He was a hero, Ruth, a very brave man," he murmurs in a gruff voice, "and I think that that's the way he'd have wanted to go if he'd had a choice. He should have had a long, full, happy life, but if he had to die, I think he would have been glad it was like this. He was a good officer, a good man, a good friend and he'll be missed by all of us." His voice cracks half way through his speech, but he continues, recognising that perhaps he needs to say these things as much as she needs to hear them.

He has no idea how long they sit like this, but soon her tears slow, her breathing quietens, and she begins to sniff. He reaches into his pocket with his right hand and pulls out a handkerchief, something he always carries with him and something his wife is always teasing him about. "How very James Bond of you, Harry," she likes to say. He doesn't point out that it's a very versatile piece of spy equipment that can make a very effective weapon in a pinch, especially as people sometimes overlook it, whereas a belt or tie is removed immediately.

He holds it out to her and watches as she lifts her head from his shoulder and wipes her eyes and nose before lifting her eyes to meet his once more. "Thank you," she murmurs softly. He just nods briefly, watching her watch him, his heart aching because of Danny and because she's hurting. Then before he knows quite what's happening, her face moves close to his and he feels her lips press against his softly in a gentle caress. He responds at once before his brain has a chance to kick in and bring up all the reasons he shouldn't be doing this. Her lips press against his more firmly, her hands cupping his face, and she moans softly as he pulls her close, the arm resting across her back tightening around her, his free hand moving up to cradle her head. We shouldn't be doing this, his conscience tells him, but it feels so good that he can't quite bring himself to stop just yet.

She deepens their kiss, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and running her tongue along it, making his body being to hum with pleasure and excitement. He returns the favour, leaning into the kiss and parting his lips against hers, feeling her tongue brush against his for the first time. He's just marvelling at the wonder of finally kissing her, tasting her like this, when he feels her shift her weight towards him, pushing his head back, and next thing he knows, she's sitting on his lap, straddling him and pressing her whole body against him so that he can feel her soft breasts against his chest and her hot sex against his groin. He can hear himself groan in pleasure as his body responds, his mind flooded by love and passion, making him eagerly pull her closer, his hands pushing off her jacket and slipping under her top, seeking out the warm skin of her waist, her back, her stomach. Her hands are running through his hair, pulling at his tie, tugging his shirt open, gliding over his skin. Never has the touch of a woman felt so good, so right, so arousing.

And yet the voice in his head won't stop telling him that he shouldn't be doing this. She's vulnerable, hurting after losing Danny and possibly a little drunk, and he shouldn't be taking advantage of her like this. You need to stop, he tells himself even as he murmurs her name against her skin while he presses soft, sensual kisses along her jaw, down her neck, against her collar bone. A gentleman wouldn't be doing this, he scolds himself as his hand moves up to cup her breast, squeezing her gently through her cotton bra and making her moan into his neck. But she wants this, Ruth wants him and that knowledge sends a thrill straight through him.

It's when her hand finds its way inside his trousers, inside his trunks, that he knows he won't be able to stop now, and in any case, who's he kidding? He's not a gentleman – he's a spy – and as her hand closes around his length, he abandons himself to the sheer pleasure of making love to her and fully lets go of his self-control, his self-restraint, his self-denial.

It is a beautiful, wonderful thing to be moving inside her like this and he can't get enough of it. He wishes he could remain suspended in this moment forever. He watches her face, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her cheeks flushed, her eyes closed, a soft moan escaping her as he pushes into her again. "Ruth," he whispers, and as her eyes slide open and she captures his gaze with her own, he feels overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings for her. His chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat and tears springing to his eyes as he opens his mouth to tell her, but the emotions are too much and he can't get the words out. So he leans forward and captures her lips with his own, pouring all the love he feels for her into that kiss and hoping that she understands.

They come almost simultaneously, riding the wave of their pleasure together, wrapped tightly in each other's arms. His face is pressed into her neck as he quietly groans his release, whispering his love for her against her soft, fragrant skin. She's quiet too, moaning softly as she tumbles over and murmuring his name, and he knows that it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. He wants to capture this feeling of utter bliss, the sound of her voice moaning his name, the feel of her naked body against his, her sweet taste, the delicate, faintly coconutty smell of her skin, so that he can remember and relive it over and over again. But of course he cannot, and all too soon, he becomes aware of his surroundings once more, of the chilly air around them, the fact that they're still partially dressed as they lie awkwardly, sprawled across the sofa.

He lifts his head and looks down at her, smiling gently at the sated, hooded look in her eyes. "Harry," she murmurs softly, reaching her hand up and running it through his hair as he leans over her. She's smiling at him, her eyes sparkling in the half-light and it makes his heart overflow with love for her.

"Ruth," he murmurs and reaches his hand up to cup her cheek, shifting his weight onto his left side and whispering her name again, smiling into her eyes. If only they could stay like this forever.

She shivers a little and he frowns in concern, murmuring, "Cold?" She nods, so pushing himself up and reaching for the throw from the armchair to his left, he shakes it out and climbs onto the sofa beside her. He lies next to her, sandwiching her between him and the back of the sofa, and covers them both, pulling her into his arms to keep her warm.

They lie in silence as reality catches up with them and they each process what's just happened and its implications. Eventually Ruth murmurs, "I can't believe we just did that."

"No," he whispers and presses a soft kiss against her forehead, "neither can I. It was... quite wonderful though."

"Yes," she smiles, turning her head towards his chest, "it was."

There's silence once more for a little while and then she turns her head away and states, "You're my boss, Harry... and you're married."

He can hear the worry, the guilt and the hurt in her voice as he nods, feeling a sudden surge of guilt and hating himself for his weakness. It shouldn't have been like this, their first time together. It should have been a wonderful experience for both of them, untainted by wrongdoing, by guilt or death. He should have listened to his conscience and stopped. But he's just found her, he's just discovered how wonderful they feel together, how much he loves her and wants her, and he can't bear the possibility that he'll lose her again so soon. "I'm not your boss right now, Ruth," he says in an effort to reassure her. "I'm just a man. A man who-"

"You're a married man, Harry," she interrupts, and to his dismay, she begins to sit up, pulling the covers with her as she gets off the sofa and stands, wrapping them tightly around her body and saying, "This was a mistake. You should go."

"Ruth," he objects, "please-"

But she won't listen to him. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Harry," she says, and he can see the tears glistening in her eyes even as she tries to hide behind a mask of determination and control. "We got carried away by the moment, our shared grief. It won't happen again." Then she turns and leaves the room, and moments later, he hears her mounting the stairs.

He sits still for a moment, holding his head in his hands as he wishes that he could turn back the clock and hold himself back, so that none of this would have happened – not now, not like this. He only allows himself a few moments to dwell on it, however, before sighing heavily and standing up. He gathers their clothes, getting dressed and carefully folding Ruth's and placing them on the armchair before switching off the lamp in the corner, carrying the whisky and glasses back into the kitchen, grabbing his coat and leaving her home.

He walks for a little while to clear his head, trying to figure out what to do, to formulate a plan of action. He has to leave Jane – that part is obvious even if he doesn't yet know if it will be enough for Ruth. It surprises him that he feels a pang of regret at the thought of leaving his wife. He supposes that after twenty-six years of marriage it would have been rather sad if he didn't feel something at the prospect of ending it. The truth is, however, that he and Jane have grown apart, and if he's really honest with himself, it's only the children that have kept them together all this time. It had been for their sake that he'd sworn off affairs and tried hard to be home as much as possible, forcing himself to change and put up with all of Jane's demands and accusations, swallowing his pride for them. He'd done it because he hadn't wanted to be an absent father who only saw his children briefly every other weekend; he'd wanted to give them the same stable, family home he'd enjoyed as a child. And after a time, Jane had seen the change in him and things had improved between them, though they'd never recovered what they'd had before their marriage, before the lies had begun, before MI-5 had changed him.

Now that they've left home, however, he and Jane have been little more than room mates, living under the same roof but rarely seeing each other except in bed at night. Of course the sex is still a wonderful perk, but though he enjoys the physical pleasure and release, the emotional closeness and satisfaction has been missing from their couplings for a very long time. He still cares for his wife in the same way he cares for the members of his team because he feels responsible for them and they've shared so many experiences, so many years together, but they have little enough left to say to each other now. In the past, Jane had shared stories about people from work, their neighbours and friends, and they'd laughed at them together, but since the children had entered adolescence, they'd had little time to talk as it seemed like they were dealing with one crisis after another, both at home and at work.

Once Graham had left for university, it had been remarkably quiet at home and they'd suddenly found that they knew very little about each other and were practically strangers living under the same roof. They'd made some small attempt to rectify that initially, but after 9/11, he'd been swamped at work and hadn't really had the stamina, the energy, or the will to make time for his wife and marriage like he'd had in his youth.

A year later, he'd began to wonder if Jane was having an affair, and he'd been surprised to find that this thought no longer filled him with rage, but he'd found himself feeling quietly resigned. He'd wondered at this briefly. When he'd been younger, he'd been livid at the mere possibility of such a thing happening and he'd gone as far as to use MI-5 equipment to spy on his wife. The result had been the very near annihilation of his marriage. Of course, he'd known how hypocritical it had been for him to react like that when he'd been the one to stray first with Juliet, but his ego had been unable to accept that Jane might be cheating on him. Then, however, he'd found himself thinking that perhaps it was inevitable. At any rate, he hadn't cared enough to find out the truth and do something about it, which says it all really. But then Ruth had joined his team and Jane seemed to open up to him again and they'd began to have sex more often, so he'd thought nothing of it any more and assumed he'd been mistaken.

And now he's the one who's strayed again, and this time, like with Juliet, it isn't for the sake of an operation or to cultivate an asset. It's because he's in love – desperately, hopelessly in love. And unlike with Juliet, he knows it won't burn out – this is the real thing. This is stronger, all consuming, more powerful and tender than anything he's experienced before. Not Jane, not Juliet, no other woman has come close to making him feel like Ruth does. No one else has impressed him, intrigued him, surprised him, amazed him, dazzled him, and captivated him like she has. No one has seemed to understand him, no one has challenged him, pushed him to be a better leader, a better person, a better man, no one has accepted him, his strengths and his weaknesses, his triumphs and mistakes quite like Ruth has – with pleasure, with pride, and with compassion and understanding. She believes in him, does Ruth, and her faith makes him strive to do better, to do more, to be more than he is.

He stops walking, rubbing his face with his hands before letting them drop to his sides with a deep, heartfelt sigh. He's lost. He really doesn't know what to do to fix this. It'll have to wait until the morning, he decides, pushing aside any further thoughts of Ruth as he lifts his wrist to glance at his watch, noting with surprise that it's already two in the morning. He wonders if he should just go straight into work, but then he thinks better of it. He needs to get some sleep – not least because he has to face Ruth in the morning as well as everything work related and he knows he'll need his wits about him for that. He calls a cab and almost an hour later he walks through his front door.

He goes straight upstairs to use the bathroom and have a shower before crawling into bed next to Jane. She stirs as he slips in beside her and asks sleepily, "What time is it?"

"Late," he says. "Go back to sleep."

But apparently that's the wrong thing to say because she turns to look at the clock before exclaiming, "It's almost three in the morning, Harry! Where have you been?"

"Work," he replies abruptly.

"What happened?" she asks, reaching a hand over to him and rubbing it against his naked chest.

Normally he wouldn't mind this. In fact, the main perk of being married, in his opinion, is having someone on hand for sex and Jane is still an attractive woman who knows how to please him. But after what's just happened with Ruth, the last thing he wants is Jane's hands on him. He shifts onto his back, causing her hand to slide off him and states, "If you must know, I lost one of my officers. Now, please, let me sleep."

"Oh Harry," she whispers, her voice gentle and compassionate. He's not sure what it is about the way she says it, but it touches a nerve, the part deep inside him that's raw with grief and he begins to unravel, his whole body shaking with sobs as he drapes his arm across his face to cover his eyes. "Shhhhh..." she murmurs softly and pulls him towards her, and after resisting her for a few moments, he gives in and rolls onto his side nestling his face into her neck as she strokes his back, his neck, his shoulders. He'd been so caught up in helping Ruth through her grief earlier that he hadn't allowed himself to express his own until this moment, and he understands suddenly why he's still married to Jane despite all the difficulties they've faced over the years. He stays because he doesn't want to be alone, because he needs Jane for moments such as this when everything gets too much for him and he needs a shoulder to cry on, or a woman to make love to, someone who knows him and cares for him just a little.

When his tears stop and his breathing quietens, he feels her pull back to look at him in the light coming in from the hall. She smiles and leans forward, pressing her lips against his and he responds instantly, pulling her close and pressing himself against her, taking comfort from the familiar feel of her lips and body against his. It's when her hand reaches down to cup him that he suddenly pulls back as an image of Ruth's face as they made love swims to the forefront of his mind.

"What's wrong?" Jane asks.

"I'm just... not in the mood, Jane," he murmurs. "I'm sorry. I'm exhausted."

She frowns at him but seems to accept his explanation. "Go to sleep then, Harry," she replies and lies down beside him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as he rolls onto his back. He wonders briefly if she suspects. After all, it's been years since his body hasn't responded to her touch, and that time too it had been because of a honey-trap, because he'd just had sex and his body hadn't recovered yet. But then he realises that it doesn't matter anyway. He's not having an affair. Ruth's already made it perfectly clear that she considers their love making to be a mistake, a moment of weakness that she won't be repeating. His heart aches at the thought that he might have lost her already before he's had a chance to really be with her. He closes his eyes, but despite his distressed and feverish thoughts, he falls asleep almost immediately.