I thought Harry was a bit brusque in knocking Ruth back in 4.5, and got to pondering what might have happened if he hadn't had those phone calls to return, if he hadn't had such a knee jerk reaction to Ruth's offer...

Usual disclaimers apply, and I have pinched some of the actual dialogue from the episode. Hope you enjoy that at least! ;)

She alone noticed his face sag as they watched the news report. After the meeting ended, she watched him return to his office in silence and saw him slump into his chair. Later still when she looked up again he was sitting staring into space, disbelief and incomprehension mingling with his grief.

Saving the report she was working on, she stood up and went over to his office. She knocked, and as he looked up she smiled and went in. He was reading a printout of the article on Clive's death from the BBC website.

'Are you okay?'

'Yes.' His eyes dropped from hers.

'How well did you know him?'

'As well as anyone, I suppose, which isn't saying very much.' He placed the printout on his desk. 'We worked together several times over the years. Although he wasn't exactly the most gregarious man I ever met.'

Ruth picked up the article. 'He wasn't married?'

'No. Probably considered himself married to the service.'

'Oh, that's all right then. I was worried he'd died alone and lonely.'

Harry gave a rueful smile.

She hesitated. 'If you feel like you want to talk to someone...I-I don't have any plans later.'

Taken aback, Harry looked up at her.

'I mean...I - I don't wish to presume, but I just thought...sorry, ignore me, that was...'

'A kind offer, Ruth. I'd like that. Shall we go out for a meal tonight since you've been thrown out of your kitchen?'

'Oh! Yes! That would be lovely. Wherever you like, I mean I'll eat anything. Well, not anything obviously, but Chinese, Indian, French, Italian, Outer Mongolian...'

For the first time, Harry noticed the way her face lit up when she smiled, the dimples that played at the corners of her mouth.

'I know an excellent Chinese.'

'Good, good, that sounds good. Well, give me a shout when you're ready to leave.'

As he watched her walk back to her station, he realised he was smiling.

Just after 7pm he signed off the last of the reports with a sigh. Stretching to ease the tension in his back he glanced over towards the one area of the Grid where a light still burned. She was tapping away at her keyboard, frowning in concentration, a pen clamped between pursed lips. He cleared his desk and switched off his computer then headed over to her station. Absorbed in her task, she started when she realised he was standing next to her.

'Harry! Sorry, I didn't see you...'

'Sorry, I shouldn't creep up on you like that. Are you about ready to go?'

'Uh, yes; be right with you.'

Hurriedly she switched off her Mac and locked the files she was working on in her desk drawer.

'Anything interesting? You were totally engrossed.'

'Just doing a search of Clive's operations to see if there's anyone in particular who might have a vested interest in burying his book.'

'A lot quicker to look for someone who hasn't,' said Harry drily.

Together they went through the pods and along to the cloakroom. 'I didn't thank you for my birthday present,' he said. 'I'm sorry, it was very kind of you.'

Rooting in her coat pockets for her gloves, Ruth gave a mischievous smile. 'Glad you liked it. Bet it's long gone though.'

'Ruth, when your boss is about to take you out for dinner it isn't best practice to accuse him of being a raving alkie. Four bottles of malt is going to last me...' he sucked his teeth, 'ooh, at least a week.'

Outside it had begun to snow, and as often happened, it seemed as if every taxi in the city had vanished. After a few minutes of fruitlessly scanning up and down the street they began to walk, Harry's good mood evaporating with every cloud of his breath. Beside him, Ruth's bright chatter faded as she realised that his mind was elsewhere.

'Tell me about him,' she said suddenly.

'Hm?'

'Clive. Tell me about him.'

Harry thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. 'I thought tonight was supposed to be about cheering me up, not making me even more maudlin.'

'Well, talking about him might help, and my nattering on about everything but doesn't seem to be doing the trick.'

He looked abashed. 'I'm sorry Ruth, I'm just feeling sorry for myself and even sorrier for Clive. Oh, hang on.' Spotting a taxi up ahead he jogged into the road and hailed it. 'Thank god for that,' he muttered as it indicated to pull over. 'I thought at this rate we'd be reduced to a late night kebab.'

By the time the main course arrived, Harry's jacket was off, two shirt buttons undone, and as he tipped the last of the bottle of wine into Ruth's glass, he could feel his shoulders beginning to sink back down from his ears.

'Harry, it's a school night,' Ruth admonished him, 'and I've got to go back to the safe house. Zaf will have a fit if I've been getting pissed with you while they've been babysitting Gary.'

'You're here under orders,' said Harry, signalling to the waiter for another bottle. 'And talking of Hicks, how do you know him? I wouldn't have thought a red top journalist who can't keep his mouth shut was a likely candidate for your social circle.'

'We were at university together. We had a bit of a...thing. I was smitten but not really his type. As far as he was concerned I was just...' her fingers fluttered, 'sex.'

Harry frowned. 'Are you okay about staying in the safe house with him?'

'Oh yes, it was all very amicable. And a long time ago.'

'Well, if you're sure.'

The relaxed atmosphere had somehow in a moment been replaced by a frisson of awkwardness, and both bent their heads to their meals. Eventually the conversation drifted onto safer topics, literature, theatre; and slowly the easy banter returned. As Ruth told him about her turn as Lady Macbeth he couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. Eyes sparkling, face aglow, she looked, he realised, utterly beautiful, and for the first time he wondered about how the evening might end. He banished the thought as soon as it entered his head. Wine talking. For all she was attractive and funny and good company and almost intimidatingly intelligent, she wasn't his type, and he was her boss, and he doubted very much if she was into sleeping with men she wasn't in love with... He shifted in his chair, and realised she was looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

'Sorry?'

Her eyes softened, obviously assuming his thoughts had turned to Clive. 'I was just asking if we should get the bill. It's getting rather late.'

He glanced at his watch. 'Good grief. Yes, we better had.'

The snow was still falling, and was now deep enough to crunch underfoot. Harry's fears that they might have to phone for a driver proved unfounded, however, as they saw a taxi heading along the road towards them, its for hire sign glowing eerily through the swirling whiteness. As they watched it approach Ruth huddled deeper into her coat. 'So, your place or mine?'

'Well, I...'

It was only as she glanced up at Harry's stunned face that she realised what she'd just said.

'Oh, god, no sorry, that's not what I meant, I was thinking in terms of who'd get dropped off first, I didn't mean...I wasn't trying to...sorry, that was a completely inappropriate...'

'It's okay, Ruth,' he responded, tamping down the brief flutter of elation. 'You get this one, I'll get the next. We're going in different directions after all.'

The taxi pulled up in front of them, and she hesitated.

'Look, don't be silly, the weather's getting worse and you know how difficult it is...'

'On you go.' He patted her on the shoulder. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

Before he could change his mind he spun on his heel and walked off. Ruth stood for a moment, debating whether to call him back, then with a sigh of exasperation opened the door and clambered into the taxi. As it drove off she looked back, but all she could see was his hunched figure trudging off in the direction they had come. She then turned round, and neither she nor he noticed the black Mercedes that pulled away from the kerb and slid into the traffic a few yards behind.