Hello :)

I have about 8 unfinished fics floating around my laptop. How does one combat the dilemma? By starting a brand new fic of course :D This is based the day after 9.8, when the enquiry hasn't quite commenced and little has changed Grid wise except – obviously – the departure of Lucas-John-North-Bateman.

It's one of those lonely evenings when the only two left on the Grid are the in infamous Harry and Ruth. WA-HEY. Enjoyyyyyy :)

This time, she took it upon herself to knock on his door. There had always been the opportunity to form a joke from her inability to do so, but this time she felt a duty to start a more serious interaction right from the off. The whole Grid was locked in a state of despair. Jokes did not exist. They were to be formal and formal only. This time, with Harry, she was to knock because it was proper.

He looked up immediately from his desk, pen still in hand and offered an instant smile, albeit weak. She took it as permission to enter and closed the door behind her. Neither spoke before she was seated opposite.

As she did so - the flashback of Clive McTaggart smacked her. Harry alone and beginning to grieve in his office when she entered to ask of him. No tears had been shed that time but this time there had been, and she felt the pressure ignite, spying from the corner of the room. He watched, waiting for her to speak. When she didn't - eyes transfixed by the red and black forehead mark - he enquired.

"Everything alright?"

To which she met his gaze swiftly.

"Hm? Yes. Yes, fine with me. I just wanted to see how you were doing really."

He sighed.

"I've been better."

"Mm. Haven't we all."

"How's the team?" his path of vision briefly scanned the grey grid. Solemn faces, an atmosphere of desolation thick enough to slice.

"They're... coping," she replied, "We're all coping in our own way really, as usual. I'm surprised how quiet Tariq is."

Harry nodded. "Jo was the first one he lost. Then Ros. Lucas is only the third; he's not used to it. Sometimes I think he wont last another year." At that, he stood heavily as if struggling against an increased weight on his shoulders and padded over to the all familiar drinks cabinet. "Drink?"

Ruth made a point of sighing loudly as he began to pour for himself.

"No thanks. You wont find a solution in the bottom of a tumbler Harry, come on."

"You think I don't know that."

"W-"

"Solution to what, by the way?"

The words were sharper than he foresaw, and sharper than she was prepared for. Slightly taken aback, she stiffened when he turned round and perched on the edge of his desk waiting for her response.

"A solution to the grief and guilt you feel thrust upon you every time we lose an officer to the service. For an MI5 head, your face is surprisingly easy to read tonight."

He chuckled and took a mouthful of the liquid, "You know me too well."

"Sometimes," she dipped, "I wish I could know you more than I already do, actually."

"Oh?"

Frustrated by the fact that their conversation had already entered 'dangerous territory', she began twiddling with her skirt and stared with a frown at the floor. "It might sound stupid but sometimes I..." she almost stopped under his intense stare. "I... just can't work you out. I mean, obviously now we can all see you're grieving. But sometimes I look at you and wander if I'm just seeing what I want to see."

"Which is?"

"An untroubled soul."

"That's very Wuthering Heights."

She laughed gently as he took another mouthful and finished the drink. It was true - no solution lay at the bottom of the glass.

"What I'm saying is," she pursued, "I want to offer myself to you, for support, as a friend and not a colleague. Because you're strong - everyone knows that - but I don't believe you're unbreakable. You once said to me that you understood the emotional side of our job; self control, self denial. Sometimes I think you're denying yourself the urge to open up."

The three replies he could have given streamed across his expression too quickly for her to comprehend. He stood, promptly.

"I did open myself up to you once Ruth, remember. And you turned me away. Why do you want me to pour my heart out to you all over again? What makes today any different from before?"

"Harry, I just... I don't..."

"I know that I could tell you anything and everything in confidence. But right now I don't want to. Maybe I'll never want to. If you care for me so much, why didn't you say yes?"

Fail or ok? A review would be marvellous if you have the time.