A/N: For anyone who might also be reading 'Keeping Chickens', I am carrying on with that. This is just a quick one-shot that I'm churning out to avoid the laborious task of drying and straightening my hair for New Year's Eve tonight.

Starts off Series 4, ends up Series 7 sometime.

- - -

It was ten o'clock, and there was a pain in his neck.

But it wasn't important. He had piles of documents to cast his eye over, forms to sign, phone calls to make. He needed to have a least three good arguments to throw at Juliet in their meeting tomorrow, and once those were formulated and ready, he had to…

But then, there was that pain in his neck.

And he was sure he could feel the beginnings of headache forming at his temples, provoking salty water into the corners of his eyes.

Harry sighed and threw down his pen; the country wouldn't fall to pieces if he had five minute break.

As if on cue, he heard a quiet cough from somewhere in the vicinity of his office door. He looked up, and saw Ruth stood alarmingly close to his desk for him not to have noticed, her jacket spattered with rain, a Tesco Express carrier bag in her hand.

"I thought you'd gone home," he said.

Ruth smiled. "Not very good spook behaviour," she noted, "I left my desk light on. I never leave my desk light on."

"Alas," sighed Harry, "It's not one of my more alert evenings, I'll admit."

Ruth smiled again at his dramatic manner. "Well, good sir, fancy giving it another attempt? Where have I been?"

He feigned deep thought, making a great show of looking her up and down for clues, before letting his eyes rest on the carrier bag. "Aha!" he cried triumphantly, "You've been to the shop!"

Happy to encourage his forgetting the black mood he'd previously been in, Ruth solemnly adopted an air of admiration.

"So," said Harry, looking a little more serious, though still happier than he had been, as he crossed over to settle himself on the front of his desk, "What were you buying?"

Ruth dipped her hand into the plastic bag and pulled out some sandwiches. "Have dinner with me?"

- - -

Harry tucked into the sandwich greedily. He hadn't realised how hungry he was, but now it occurred to him that he hadn't eaten since having an early lunch with the Ambassador of He'd Already Forgotten Where Exactly, and had long since missed his dinner. Ruth had chosen well, too - steak and salad.

After a moment, he became aware of a gentle sound beside him and realised that said talented intelligence analyst stroke sandwich picker was in fact laughing at him.

"Hungry?" she asked, with a look of amusement in her eyes.

"Er, yes," he replied, somewhat abashed.

"Perhaps I should make a habit of this," she said neutrally.

Harry studied Ruth carefully, but she seemed oblivious to his glance, swinging her legs off the edge of his desk, happily eating her own (chicken salad) sandwich. Did she realise her most recent utterance was tantamount to flirting?

Knowing that it was Ruth, and if she didn't realise, making her do so would probably result in rather a lot of blushing and stammering, he decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction.

"Didn't you have something else in the bag?" he asked.

This time it was Ruth's turn to look abashed. "Yes, I did."

Harry waited, but she simply turned back to her sandwich.

"Well?" She looked blankly at him. "What was it, Ruth?"

"Oh, yes." Ruth reached into the carrier bag and pulled out a small bottle of champagne. "It was an impulse buy," she said quickly. "It was just sat there on the shelf, looking at me, and…well, you see, it's two years to the day since I started working at MI5."

She finished off limply, looking a little as though she wished she'd never seen the damned bottle, but Harry smiled.

"You're perfectly right Ruth; its certainly an occasion to be marked."

He slipped off the desk, and pulled from one of its drawers two whisky glasses.

"No champagne flutes, I'm afraid," he said apologetically.

Ruth smiled and starting stripping the foil from the top of the bottle. "I think I'd be somewhat confused if you did, Harry."

Harry smiled back at her, and in one fluid movement pulled the bottle gently from her grasp and slid the cork out.

"Very smooth, Mr Bond," said Ruth with a grin, as she watched Harry pour the champagne.

"Well," he said, passing her a glass, "Here's to two very satisfactory years. I'm proud to call myself your colleague, Ruth."

Ruth's eyes dipped modestly in acceptance of the compliment as she and Harry drank silently.

Once they had finished, Harry took Ruth's glass from her.

"Okay. In consideration of the occasion, I want you get into a taxi, and treat yourself to eight hours sleep for possibly the first time in two years."

"But I've got to -" started Ruth.

"No buts," interrupted Harry in an adamant tone. "Whatever you're doing will still be there tomorrow."

Ruth looked as though she might be considering arguing with him, but after a moments silent deliberation, she slid off the desk an headed towards the door.

"'Night, Ruth."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry smiled to himself as he watched her fetch handbag and switch her desk light off. When she was safely on her way to the pods, he turned back to the paperwork before him, reflecting on what a nice interruption she had been.

After a few moments, he heard a small knock on the door. He looked up and saw that Ruth was looking shyly back at him.

"I certainly saw you switch your desk light off this time," he said with a smile.

Ruth laughed softly. "I know - I'm leaving. It's just, before I left, I wanted to say…well…" she took a breath, "Thank you for having champagne with me, Harry."

"You're welcome, Ruth," he said warmly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

- - -

Three years later

Ruth looked up from her desk.

"You look very solemn," she noted. "Tough day?"

Harry sighed, and placed two champagne flutes before her. "Tough two years."

"Must have been," observed Ruth, watching him pour their drinks. "You've got the wrong date."

"What?"

"This isn't the date that you hired me."

Harry turned his eyes from her gaze. "No. It's the date you left. Two years today."

"Hmm," said Ruth. "You would be awkward and bring up the fact that I'm imaginary, wouldn't you?"

Harry laughed darkly. "That's me Ruth - awkward."

She didn't laugh. "Yes."

Harry turned back to look at her. "I miss you, Ruth. I miss your smile, and your laugh, and your fidgeting, and…your desk light."

"My desk light?" repeated Ruth quizzically.

"Yes, Ruth, your desk light. I miss seeing it through my office door, and knowing that you were there, like a guardian angel."

Ruth blushed. "I wouldn't go that far," she said embarrassedly.

There was a short silence before she spoke again.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"However bad it might have been, I just wanted to say…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for having champagne with me. Again."

Harry drained his champagne in a single gulp, before sighing at the still full one before him. A full glass on an empty desk in an empty room.

"You're welcome, Ruth."