A/N – This is completely fluffy and completely unoriginal and completely unlike what I normally do but I had a mighty need to challenge myself and get out of my comfort zone, especially because I am thinking of starting quite a big original project and I think I will have to be getting out of that zone way more often. So, this is a plea – please be as honest as you can, because this is kind of for science and self improvement purposes :)

Harry had not slept well for the past few days, Ruth knew.

He had come to bed stressed and exhausted, but she knew from his tossing and turning that the insomnia which so often plagued him – but recently had been kept at bay by, he insisted, her presence – had returned with a vengeance. She could do nothing to help him when it did come, other than let him hold her when he wished or take no offence when he left the bed to seek out distraction. She had found him this morning, hunched over his laptop at just gone six, his eyes red and his thinning hair standing on end where his hands had been pulling at it. Ruth handed him coffee with a small, sympathetic smile and vowed, to herself at least, that she would find a way to help him.

The length of the ensuing day had not been kind and Ruth sat at her desk, finishing up with a few translations that Lucas insisted could not wait until tomorrow. With one eye and only half her mind on the Arabic - routine stuff, nowhere near as important as the Section Chief made out – Ruth was free to watch Harry with the other, unoccupied half. They'd fallen so unexpectedly into their relationship, following an ill-timed proposal which she was bound to refuse, but one that showed her, beyond all reasonable doubt, that Harry was going to wait for her, as long as it took. She had not slept the night of the funeral, replaying the sound of his voice, the warmth of his breath as his whisper washed over her ear, and by the morning she knew that they would not be married but they would have to be together.

It had all seemed so simple after that and she knew the joy on his face, unreserved and whole, when she drove him back against the door of his office and kissed him for only the second time in their lives would be the last memory she would cling to if all her other faculties ever decided to abandon her.

He was sitting with his head in his hands now, staring down at the file on his desk, and the only way she knew he wasn't asleep was that his lips were moving as he read the words on the page. It was that which made her decide to abandon the Grid for the day; when Harry was reduced to being barely able to read, it was probably time for home.

Closing down her system, Ruth shrugged into her coat and picked up her bag; if she was ready to leave, he was much more likely to follow her. She slipped into his office and stood before him. Harry had a pen in his hand but he was staring at it in a slightly bemused way, as though he wasn't sure why he had picked it up or what he was supposed to do with it.

"Harry," she said gently, "I think it's time to go home."

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to her face. They were red rimmed, as they had been that morning, and he raised a hand to rub at them wearily.

"There will no arguments from me today, Ruth."

His voice was rasping but he cleared his throat and shook his head as though to clear it, and when he stood up he looked a little more like his normal self.

"Come to my place," Ruth got to his coat before he did and handed it to him with a smile, "I'll cook you something."

"Now there's an offer I can't refuse," he said, "Throw in a glass of wine and I'm all yours."

Ruth drove his car and it was a sign of how tired he really was that he did not even put up a fight about this, when he usually always did. There was something about men and cars that Ruth would never understand, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that old fashioned notions of men from Mars and women from Venus was unbearably dated and often offensive. Harry was so much more than male bluster and arrogance and pride but, sometimes, he really wasn't. She was coming to accept that now, to accept that as well as she could know him, there would always be more that she never would understand. He was a secretive soul, by nature as much as by profession, and that he chose to let his guard down for her…there were no words. No words for him. Not really.

She pulled into a spot outside her house, grateful that the gods of London parking had deemed for once that she wouldn't have to walk a mile from where she left the car. Ruth didn't mind so much but she didn't think Harry would be able to summon the energy even for that tonight. His eyes were closed, his head leaning back against the headrest and Ruth smiled, allowing herself a small moment to watch him.

"Why are you staring at me?" he muttered, cracking one eye open to look at her.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep at last."

"No hope of that," he said wearily, "I was just thinking about the Patel file. I should have asked Tariq to cross check his employment records with the list of front companies that Richard sent across from Six."

He looked so perplexed that Ruth had to laugh, and he furrowed his brow slightly. His lips curled into a half smile, a small and uncertain thing, as though he wasn't entirely sure if she was mocking him or if he was allowed to share the joke.

"What did I say?"

"Nothing," she said, reaching out and taking his hand between hers. It was warm, as warm as if he was running a fever, or would be soon enough. It was definitely time for him to be going to bed.

"I already asked Tariq to run that check," she continued, "And Dimitri has it all covered. You have nothing to worry about tonight."

"Thank you."

They made their way slowly into the house and Harry collapsed at the kitchen table, head resting in his hands.

"What do you want to eat?" Ruth asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, eyes soft and warm, liquid gold under the shine of the kitchen light.

"Something that requires next to no effort on my part."

"Scrambled eggs, coming up."

He ate slowly, as slowly as if it actually pained him, and Ruth didn't rush him, even when she had finished her own before he was halfway through his. Harry was under so many pressures, so much of the time and she couldn't bring herself to add to them, even over something as simple as a plate of scrambled eggs. The fork weighed in his hand as though it was made of lead and Ruth wished she could offer to help him. Instead, knowing there was only so much mothering he would accept, she took the kettle to the sink and filled it.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you," he said, finally placing his fork on his empty plate. She felt his eyes on her as she moved about the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dishwasher, making her own cup of tea. The food had momentarily perked Harry up and he asked her some more questions about the op, things he had already been told that afternoon but seemed to have forgotten.

"And you ran the translations for Lucas?" he yawned, "The ones from the Rydal Road tap?"

"I did," Ruth smiled, "Nothing inflammatory, I'm afraid. We'll have to look elsewhere."

"Bugger."

"Yes. And now, I think it's time you went to bed."

It was rather new for them, Ruth giving Harry even something that sounded close to an order, and she couldn't help but notice how he seemed to bristle slightly. He stood though, after a few vital seconds, and took a step closer to her, so their bodies were almost flush. She fought the urge to shiver. Such proximity was still novel, still a little bit elicit. On this night now, it just felt intimate and gentle.

"You're right," he murmured, his hand running up her arm to cup her elbow, "I'm so tired, Ruth."

"I know," she whispered, standing on her toes to whisper the words against his lips, "Let me look after you tonight. Let me help."

Barely supressing a yawn, he nodded and let her take his hand. She led him across the kitchen and up the stairs, her fingers curled firmly around his. Ruth was not sure she had ever shown him such resolution but he didn't seem to mind. She had a feeling that he needed her to be this person, tonight.

She took him to her room, savouring for a second the wonder of the familiarity that having him here brought to her now, and pushed him gently down onto the bed. He sat wearily, his head hanging heavily, and Ruth knelt to remove his shoes and socks. He might have fallen asleep there and then because when she glanced up at him, he was looking at her in surprise, like he wasn't sure how she had come to be on the floor.

Harry looked oddly vulnerable sitting there fully dressed except for his bare feet, and he was aware of that vulnerability, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. Ruth nudged his knees apart and stood between them, pressing her lips to the top of his head. She tangled the fingers of her left hand in his short, thinning curls and with her other hand began to stroke the back of his neck. Harry sighed and her lips curled into a smile. She didn't know if it was his years alone with little human contact or if she was egotistical enough to believe it was her own hands that moved him so, but Harry loved to be touched. She had found his weakest spots almost straight away – the back of his neck and the delicate skin behind his ears – as quickly as if she had known where they were all along.

Eventually, she slowed her hand on his neck and slid it round to the front, coming to rest on his tie. She took a step backwards and began to unknot the silk, taking care to brush her fingers against his throat as she did. His face was a little red but she thought it was from the heat of the room rather than from anything else. Harry looked up at her as she slid her hands under his jacket and pushed it from his shoulders, his eyes soft and so grateful that she felt her breath catch in her throat. He leaned forwards, leaning his forehead on her stomach. Her hand, on its own accord, went back to his neck and she allowed one finger to brush behind his right ear, delighting in his shiver.

After a tender moment, she pulled him to his feet, reluctant as he was to stand again, and unfastened his trousers, helping him to slip them off. If there was still any doubt as to just how tired he was, the state of his underwear even after her ministrations was enough to convince her.

"You're exhausted," she murmured, easing him back down, "You're starting late tomorrow."

He opened his mouth as though to answer but she caught the words with a kiss, reaching down at the same time to slip the first button on his shirt undone. With every button she loosened, she moved her lips and kissed his face. On the last, she bent down and kissed that pressure point behind his ear, and he whimpered, a tiny thing in the back of his throat but a whimper nonetheless. A month ago she never would have believed he was capable of such a sound.

"Time for bed," she whispered, allowing him to slide under the duvet before she dropped it into place. He watched through half closed eyes as she changed into her own pyjamas and then she left, to brush her teeth. When she came back, he was still awake as she slipped in besides him.

"Roll onto your front," she said softly, and when he complied, she laid a hand once more on his neck and began to stroke it gently. Harry sighed and she watched as his muscles began to relax; fingers, legs, arms, back. His eyelids were the last to go, fluttering closed, and soon the only signs of life were his slow breaths and the gentle pulse she could feel in his neck. Protectiveness was not something that Ruth had ever found easy but at that moment – she was almost overwhelmed by it. She settled next to him, as close as she could, and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, Harry" she breathed, "I love you."

Pulling back, she entangled her fingers with his own and closed her eyes.

"I love you too," was the last thing Ruth heard as sleep claimed her for its own.