A/N: I originally wrote this in late October for Harry's birthday, but since I'd already published two stories for Harry's b/day I thought three to be overkill. This was then adapted to fit into the Christmas season.

December 23rd, 2009:

Ruth was keen to reach the George to share a drink to farewell Harry before he took leave for two weeks. She had considered crying off altogether, but was surprised to find that she didn't want to. Harry almost never took leave, and so would likely view her absence as rejection, and she had no wish to hurt him, not any more. She was over an hour late. Choir practice had gone well over time, and then Dennis, the choir master, had had a little word with her about how well she was fitting in. Ruth was aware of Dennis's interest in her, but she had no interest in him. He was a nice man, but … he wasn't what she wanted if, in fact, she wanted a man in her life, and she wasn't sure she did. In her relationship past men had let her down, cheated on her, or died, which had provided far more drama than she'd ever wanted or needed. And Harry had only ever been an `almost', so he didn't even count.

Public transport would get her to the George some time in the next millennium, so she splashed out for a taxi. As she entered the lounge bar of the George the usual pub noise assaulted Ruth's ears – the thrum of voices punctuated with the staccato of ready laughter, the clink of glassware, all woven together by the soundtrack of an Adele song. By comparison, the tenors' apparent inability to sing Beethoven's words in sync was forgivable. Christmas decorations hung from every available light fitting, rafter and rail, garish and gaudy and kitsch as ever. Groups of people sat around the larger tables, party hats askew, drinks freely flowing, and kisses being exchanged between people who barely spoke for the rest of the year.

Then to her left she heard young female voices calling, "Skol, skol, skol," and sure enough, it was Heidi, Nicci and Gabi from admin playing a drinking game while Tariq looked on. Ruth looked around the room, expecting to see everyone else passed out under the table, but no, everyone was upright and in a state which could only be described as tidy.

Lucas spied her and stood, grabbing a chair from an adjoining table. "Sit next to me, Ruth, and tell me all about it." Clearly Lucas was a wee bit under the weather.

Ruth did as she was told and sat next to Lucas, who promptly headed to the bar to get her a drink. Ruth took the opportunity to observe the others at the table. She was surprised by the presence of Malcolm Wynn-Jones, who had retired at the time George had been murdered. He had watched her as she approached the table, and nodded and smiled when their eyes met. Ruth felt a strange pain in her belly. His presence brought back so many memories which she had believed she'd quite successfully put behind her. Next to Malcolm sat Ros Myers, and they appeared to be deep in conversation. For a brief moment Ruth wondered what the two of them had to talk about, but soon let that thought go. It really was none of her business. Tariq and the younger ones formed a small clique of four at one end of the table. Watching them for a few moments it was clear to Ruth that Tariq quite fancied Gabi, and was attempting to impress her, while she was clearly more interested in consuming as many Bacardi Breezers as her small body could tolerate before sinking into a coma.

"Here, wrap yourself around these," Lucas said, placing two large glasses of white wine in front of her.

"Two glasses?" she asked.

"You have some catching up to do, girl."

"Lucas, I haven't been a girl in quite some time."

"Then pretend you are. It's Christmas."

Ruth smiled at him. As much as she didn't quite trust Lucas, just for that night she was prepared to tolerate him. "So, what have I missed?" she asked, having made inroads into her first glass of wine.

"For a start, you've missed Harry."

"What?" Ruth looked around the room, and true enough, there was no Harry to be seen. "What happened?"

Lucas shrugged, and then took a healthy swig from his pint glass of lager. "He said he was tired, and he had work to do before he takes leave." Lucas then leaned close to Ruth, closer than the two of them had ever been. "My theory, for what it's worth, is that he was upset you hadn't turned up."

Ruth distracted herself by gulping her wine. She carefully placed her glass on the coaster and then lifted her eyes to Lucas. "There's no truth to that, Lucas. Harry and I were once close, but these days we're .. barely friends."

"I have eyes," he said, pointing to his left eye, "and I've watched you. I think you're lying." Lucas turned his head when some music played over the loudspeaker. "That sounds like Take That. Ros, we have to dance to this."

Ros frowned and then shook her head. "I can't. I have a broken leg."

"So your broken leg will match my broken heart," he quipped before grabbing Ros's hand and pulling her reluctant body towards the dance floor.

Ruth moved a couple of seats to sit next to Malcolm. They had so much catching up to do.

An hour and a half later Ruth had polished off three glasses of wine and was on her fourth, and still in conversation with Malcolm. She had listened while he told her about his three or so years of retirement – during which he seemed to not have actually retired – his mother and her failing health, his trips to China, Japan, Sweden and Thailand, and his immediate plans. Ruth commented occasionally, relieved at not having to talk about herself.

Rather than directly answer any of Malcolm's careful questions about life on the Grid, Ruth turned the questions around. "How did Harry seem to you?" she asked.

"Tonight?" Ruth nodded, grabbing her glass and taking a swig. "He seemed … distant, and disconnected."

"That's not unusual for Harry."

"I thought him more remote than usual … morose."

"Morose is Harry's second name."

Malcolm smiled. "He barely spoke to anyone."

"Well .. he has a lot on his mind these days. You know how it is."

"I think when he left here he went back to work. Anyone who was looking forward to his leave would be at home packing."

"Harry has never been like other people."

With that, the subject of Harry was closed. Within fifteen minutes the four youngest members of the Grid left to find a karaoke bar, and Malcolm began making excuses about needing to go home. Ros and Lucas were still on the dance floor, dancing to Lily Allen. Ruth decided she also should leave. So much for it being a farewell drink for Harry. Ruth saw little point in staying.

Ruth walked briskly to Thames House, as much to keep warm as to get there before Harry headed home. As she stepped on to the Grid all was quiet, and the lighting low. The light was on in Harry's office, his mobile phone on his desk, but he was nowhere in sight. He could be in the loo, or …

Ruth chose the `or' option. It took her less than three minutes to walk upstairs to the roof balcony. On the way there she pulled her gloves from her coat pocket and tugged them on, and as she stepped through the door into the night she adjusted her scarf so that it protected her neck and her chin. Sure enough, Harry was standing at the balustrade staring out over London. He was punching one gloved hand into the palm of the other, while the lights from the building opposite cast a glow over his profile. "The Christmas lights are lovely this year," she said, announcing herself.

Harry had no need to turn. He'd felt her presence the minute she'd opened the door. Maybe it was the change in air pressure, or perhaps they were linked by a fine thread, forever drawing them towards one another. As much as he found her presence painful, it was an exquisite pain, almost as necessary to him as air for breathing. She stood beside him, close but not touching. "I thought you had choir practice." He turned just enough to make eye contact, and then returned to surveying the city – his city.

"I'd planned to make it to the pub in time, but .. the tenors. I don't know why they struggle so. It's just The Choral Fantasy."

"Beethoven?"

"Yes. The Allegro."

"Lovely. That's the one with the variation on Ode To Joy."

"Yes. It's … rather beautiful, and we're all ready ... apart from the tenors. We have our performance tomorrow night, and as a choir we're not ready." Ruth gazed at his profile, noticing the smile on his lips. Harry had such a beautiful face, although she'd never tell him so. "I went to the pub, but you'd already gone. I hope you're feeling .. happy about your leave."

Harry twisted his mouth as he watched her with melancholy eyes, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. "Happy?" he said. "I can't remember when I was last happy, Ruth. I almost was when they brought you into that room nine months ago, but then everything went to hell, and the hell hasn't stopped. I haven't been truly happy since."

"We missed one another all day," Ruth rattled on, not wanting to address the source of Harry's angst. If she could just steer the conversation away from everything to do with George's death. "I had two of Jo's assets to meet, while you were … where were you?"

"Communing with the back-up Royal security team .. the ones who are about to take over from Team One." His voice was flat, emotionless.

Ruth had little idea how to deal with morose Harry – so distant, almost beyond her reach. "You must have friends, Harry, people you need to catch up with before you leave. Your family?"

On the word `family' Harry turned fully to face her, and she could see the hurt in his eyes. "Ruth .. do you know who my friends are .. my family?" Ruth watched as he held in his emotions, keeping his jaw steady. "Outside this building, this place of work there is no-one. Besides you, I don't really have friends, or friends I can trust like I trust you. As for family .."

"Surely you've contacted your children."

Harry looked away and took a deep breath. "My children. Well, I've screwed up there .. again. I haven't seen either of them in a while."

"How long is a while?"

Harry took his time, and Ruth was certain it wasn't because he was adding up the weeks – or months since he'd seen them. Again he sighed heavily. "Over a year for both."

"Harry .. that's .."

"Terrible?"

"No. I was about to say it's sad. You have children. You need to make time for them .. even if it's difficult."

"It's always been difficult. I'm busy, Catherine's overseas, Graham is working late shifts and sleeping during the day. We don't seem able to coordinate our respective schedules. They both manage to make time to see their mother, but when it's me… I can't say I blame them. I'm not always good company."

There was a reality to what Harry was saying. Feeling sad for him, Ruth removed one of her hands from her coat pocket and slid it through his arm, grasping his coat in case he pulled away. Rather than pull away, Ruth felt him lean a little towards her. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being .. kind."

"Is your world so dark, so empty that my being here and .. listening is the kindest gesture you've received today?"

Harry didn't answer her question directly. "That's the way it's been for .. some time." He wasn't about to confess that it had been that way since she left over three years earlier. "I'd dearly love to see more of my children, but ..."

"But what?"

"I fear I'm not good for them."
"That's not true. You're a good man. You're their father. They only have one of you. You must see them, Harry. If necessary you must move heaven and earth to see them." Ruth felt a knot of emotion in her belly, but she kept going, swallowing deeply. "You must at least try," she said, her voice breaking before two heaving sobs escaped her. She took the deepest of breaths and grasped the sleeve of Harry's coat, clinging to him with both hands while she breathed slowly and deeply, attempting to push down the knot of grief.

She couldn't. It was too much for her to carry, to again and again push to the back of her throat whenever someone mentioned children, or children without fathers. Catherine and Graham shouldn't have to join the many lost children whose fathers were either disinterested, too busy or dead - like she had been lost after her own father had died, like Nico was now lost since losing his father. So many children floating around untethered. Ruth bent over a little, her hands still grasping the sleeve of Harry's coat, and allowed herself to feel. It hurt. God, it hurt so much she feared she would snap like a twig. She sobbed some more, gulped, swallowed again, and then she allowed herself to cry.

Once she had calmed and her hacking cries had eased she couldn't have described how it was that she came to be enveloped in Harry's arms, his face close to hers, his voice deep and soothing. She had no memory of it, or of the words he had spoken, words which provided solace and hope. All she knew was that she wanted them to remain that way, embracing in the cold night air, to never again be apart, and this surprised her far more than had her ready tears.

Once her crying had stopped, Ruth sighed and grasped the lapels of Harry's coat in her hands. "Thank you," she said quietly, moving slightly to step out of the embrace, unable to look him in the eye.

"Don't," he said, tightening his arms around her, one hand pressed against the small of her back. "Don't move."

Again Ruth allowed herself to sink against his body, to feel warm and safe and needed, her cheek against his shoulder, her nose so close to his skin. His coat smelled of the moist December night air, but there was also his unique male smell. In spite of everything, she loved his smell. They stayed that way for some time, until Harry spoke against her temple, his voice sending tremors through her whole body. "Let me take you home, Ruth. You need to be somewhere familiar."

Harry drove her home, the car cruising smoothly through the suburban streets to her flat.

"Thank you," Ruth said after they had been travelling in silence for fifteen minutes or so.

"For what?"

"For being there. For caring .. despite the way I've treated you ... these past months."

"I could never blame you for that, Ruth. You lost everything."

"Not quite everything."

He pulled up outside her flat, a former safe house. How had this fact escaped his attention? Surely it was time Ruth had somewhere better .. more permanent to live. "I'll see you to your door," he said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Ruth invited him inside for coffee and he accepted. As they sat at Ruth's small kitchen table, hot cups of coffee in their hands, Ruth talked quietly about how it was Nico she missed so much more than George. She talked of how much guilt she had carried over Nico's loss of his father, and how this guilt had found a voice as anger towards Harry. She talked of her life with George, and how despite it's surface appearance as idyllic, it had already begun to slowly unravel, and would not have lasted the year.

"It was Nico I loved most," she said quietly, looking up into the eyes of the man she had missed, despite herself. "My life was lovely, but it wasn't built to last. I would have come home eventually." She had to look down to say the next bit. "I believed I loved him … George .. but loving him was like loving the boy you meet when you're holidaying in Margate. It wasn't quite real, and it was not made to last."

They sat in near silence while they finished their coffees. Harry felt a kernel of pain in his belly. He wasn't sure whether he was hurt because Ruth had wanted to love George, or because she had so readily moved in with him. "I should go home," he said at last.

"You don't have to. You can stay." Harry's face showed his shock and surprise. "I'm not propositioning you. I have a spare room."

"I am tempted, Ruth, but as much as I'd like to stay, I won't. I .. I'd like it .. if you agree .. were we to see one another again away from work. We've both changed during these past three years. We've each suffered ... losses. I don't want us to .."

"Jump straight into bed?" He nodded, eyes cast down. "Neither do I. Perhaps we should aim to spend some private time together."

Harry looked up, surprised. "Yes. I'd like that. We should do something .. soon, perhaps when I return from leave."

"Where are you headed? You haven't said."

"I'd planned to visit Italy, but .. I'm not quite up to it. I thought I might stay home for a few days. I need rest. Then perhaps I'll head across the channel for a week or so. The south coast of France might be nice."

"It's hardly the best time of year for a holiday, Harry."

"It is if you don't want to be rubbing shoulders with the rest of humanity."

"What are you doing Christmas Day?"

He looked up at her then. Should he tell her the truth? "I hadn't anything planned."

"Spend the day with me," she said quietly. "It's silly for us to each be on our own for Christmas."

"I'd like that."

Feeling that he had just bared his sad and unworthy soul to the woman he loved, Harry stood, taking his cup to the sink, where he rinsed it and placed it on the dish drainer. He then turned to see Ruth standing beside the table, so he joined her, standing close enough to her for him to breathe in her musky perfume and the fruity scent of her shampoo. "I'm sorry," he said.

Ruth reached out to grasp his hand. They stood in Ruth's small kitchen each looking into the eyes of the other, neither quite brave enough to say what was really on their minds. "Why?" she asked.

"For disappointing you."

"You haven't .. disappointed me."

"I feel like that's all I do, Ruth," and she shook her head in reply.

Harry was just about to turn from her and leave when she reached up to place her palm on his cheek, her thumb circling the skin close to the corner of his mouth, her fingertips rasping across his unshaven cheek. He could barely breathe. Was this Ruth? Did she mean this? She then reached up to kiss him, and Harry reached down to meet her, closing his eyes as his mouth met hers, savouring the moment, just in case it never happened again. The kiss was sweet and lingering. He wanted so much to pull her against him, but he didn't. They would take whatever-this-was slowly and gently. That was best. They were in no hurry, after all.

"Thank you," she said softly, "for being .. you."

"Did you mean it .. about Christmas Day?"

"Of course I did. We can spend Friday together, and then you can go off on your own for two weeks, avoiding humanity."

Harry swallowed, feeling slightly embarrassed that Ruth knew him so well. "I'd be happier were you to come with me," he said quietly.

"I have to work. Besides, we're supposed to be moving slowly. I think spending Christmas together might be enough .. for now. Ring me tomorrow, and we can organise a time."

Harry nodded, and feeling braver than he had in some time, he reached down to kiss Ruth. This time the kiss was longer, and there was ample time in which to create a memory to carry with him while he was away from her. He slid his arms around her, moving his hands over her back, committing every rib and muscle to memory. By the time the kiss ended both were very warm, their skin flushed.

Harry really didn't want to leave, but he knew he must. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said before he bent down to place a soft kiss on her cheek. He pulled away to gaze into her eyes for a long moment while he fumbled to find her hand, squeezing it between his fingers. Dropping her hand, he turned and walked down the hallway to the front door. He took his coat from the hook by the door, shrugging it on while he unlocked the door. He glanced back to look at her one more time before he left, quietly closing the door behind him. As holiday seasons go, this one had already been about as good as it gets.

As he drove through the night he fiddled with the radio until he caught the vocal strains of the Allegro to Beethoven's Choral Fantasy. He smiled in the dark. If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.

A/N: This was written as a one-shot, but I now have a couple more chapters written to round off the story. These will be published early in the new year.