I found this fic practically complete on my hard-drive last week and thought it would do nicely for Harry's birthday today. I think the reason I didn't publish it before is that it's far too similar to some of my previous fics, but hopefully, it's different enough for people to enjoy. I'd love a review if you have a moment. Cheers, S.C.

She watches him pace back and forth across his office, talking to some unknown person on the phone and she can't help but wonder what's taken her so long to realise how very much she wants him. As it is, she's having to struggle to keep the impulse to march into his office, throw his phone aside, pin him to the wall and kiss him senseless in check, knowing that this is really neither the time, nor the place.

She'd tried to do something about it last week when she'd asked him out for a drink. He'd looked so tired and as fed up with the events of the past few weeks as she'd felt - Nightingale, Basel, Samuel Walker, Sarah Crapfield (as she calls her inside her head), and finally the Home Secretary - that she'd just gone ahead and done it, voiced the thing she'd been thinking about for quite some time, ever since he'd sat on the bench beside her and told her that there would always be something else.

At the time, she hadn't reacted, somewhat stunned by his statement, especially as she'd still been grieving and blaming herself and him for everything. But as the weeks had turned into months, she'd come to realise what a miracle it was that their feelings for each other had survived this long, that she can still love him after everything and that he still feels the same way about her.

It's been months now since she'd lost them, George and Nico, and the grief is finally abating enough for her to smile, to laugh, to live a little, though the guilt is still crippling at times and she knows from experience that it always will be. For every one of their losses over the years, she's felt that guilt, survivor's guilt, and she knows it never really goes away. Danny's death had been the worst, but he'd been an officer of the security services, he'd chosen this way of life, and yet she'd still felt guilty, and deep down, she still does. How much more then will she feel for a civilian and a child that had been under her care, under her protection, and whom she'd loved?

They are so very alike in that respect, she and Harry. She knows that he feels it too, the gut-wrenching guilt, and for a while, she'd really thought that that's all he feels for her now – guilt; guilt that she'd sacrificed herself for him, guilt that he'd let George die, guilt that he'd failed to protect Nico and she'd lost him, guilt that he's pulled her back into the Service when she'd almost escaped into a happier life away from it. But now she knows better. Now she knows that they love each other, that they never stopped, and that they never will. And so it's time to overcome their limitations, their guilt, their reticence, their fears and just take the plunge.

Her attempt to ask him out last week had failed when fate, in the form of Tariq and Nightingale, had conspired to deprive them of their drink together, and it wasn't until Sunday night, yesterday in fact, that she'd suddenly decided that she's not going to let fate or anyone else get between them again, and that she's going to persist until they've had that drink, had dinner, had time together away from work, and perhaps most importantly of all, had sex. Not that she feels that that's the ultimate goal of their relationship; it's more that she believes that, if they finally manage to do that, everything else will fall into place and their future together will become a reality. It's the biggest hurdle, the water jump of their steeplechase, that stands between them and the realisation of their dream of a life together.

He's stopped pacing now and is standing with the phone still pressed to his ear, a look of unhappy resignation on his face, and she knows that he's been overruled by whomever is on the other end of the line – the DG, the Home Secretary, or perhaps the chairman of the JIC. She watches him disconnect the call and let his hand drop back to his side, a sigh probably escaping his lips as he lifts his other hand to rub his face, his shoulders slumping forward for a moment in defeat before he attempts to pull himself together, lifting his head and turning to look out the window at her. She smiles at him across the room and sees the pleasure infuse his face as he holds her gaze for long moments before his lips lift in a small smile of his own and he turns away, back to his desk, his posture strong and exuding confidence and power once more.

She's done that, she realises with awe as she watches him take a seat at his desk and turn to his in-tray, lifting the topmost folder out of it and placing it before him; she has the power to make him feel good in spite of everything else. And as she turns back to her own work, she shakes her head at her own stupidity in taking so long to realise how easy, how profoundly gratifying this simple act can be, and how much happiness it can bestow, not only on him, but on her too. It's the simple things in life that make it worth living.

She looks up as he approaches, her eyes unerringly finding his and her heart skipping several beats at the warmth she sees directed at her from their deep, hazel depths. He has such beautiful eyes, she thinks absently as he stops before her desk, murmuring, "How goes it?"

"Fine," she smiles. "I'm almost done with the Arabic translations you needed."

"Good," he nods. "Anything worrying so far?"

"No, nothing," she shakes her head and smiles at the relief that crosses his face. "We can both go home early tonight it seems," she adds.

He nods, his eyes suddenly intense as he asks softly, "Drink?"

"That would be nice," she replies and watches the smile spread across his lips. "I'll just finish up and we can go. Ten minutes?"

"Okay," he agrees before holding her gaze for a moment longer and turning to go back to his office, his shoulders squared and his step much lighter than before, his good mood lifting the shroud of fatigue that was weighing him down just moments ago. It's the simple things, she reminds herself as she turns back to her monitor.

"Another?" he asks, nodding towards her empty glass.

"No, thank you," she replies, watching his face fall in disappointment though he does his best to hide it. He doesn't fool her, however, she knows him too well, and she feels her heart fill with joy at this realisation. "At least," she murmurs softly as she leans forwards and places her hand along the back of his as it cradles his glass of whisky, "not here." She runs her thumb across his skin, over the side of his knuckles and along the soft skin between his thumb and index finger, marvelling at how warm he is and how good it feels.

His eyes are lowered, watching the movement of her thumb for a moment before he raises them to meet hers, his gaze simultaneously adoring and uncertain. He swallows before she feels him release the glass and pull his hand away, quickly replacing it with his right one that clasps hers so their palms connect, his own thumb now caressing her knuckles. His eyes have never left hers, their colour honeyed in the dimmed lighting as he gazes at her. "Would you like to come back to mine for a nightcap or a coffee?" he murmurs, his voice deep and velvety soft, and she has to moisten her lips before she can speak.

"Yes, please," she whispers somewhat breathlessly, fighting the impulse to kiss him and failing miserably as she leans slightly towards him as if pulled by a strong magnetic force. But he's always had that power over her, she thinks fleetingly as she watches his gaze flick to her lips briefly before he leans in and kisses her, a soft, sweet, exquisite kiss that has her aching for more. "Harry," she whispers softly and hears him hum in response, his hand releasing hers and lifting to cup her face, his fingers slipping into her hair and pulling her closer, his lips no longer soft and sweet, but hot and demanding against hers. Her hands lift to grasp his lapels, wishing to pull him closer as she parts her lips below his, opening her mouth and moaning when his tongue first brushes against hers.

The kiss seems to last an eternity, and when he pulls back, she feels a little dazed. He's smiling softly at her, his eyes dancing with joy. "Shall we?" he murmurs and, at her nod, beings to get up and slip on his coat before turning to help her on with hers.

She's on idea how the kissing began, who made the first move, but she knows she doesn't want it to end. Ever. His lips are perfect, his hands magical and the passion in his kisses so potent that it's rendered her putty in his arms, and she knows now that she doesn't want to go home tonight.

"I want to stay the night, Harry," she states boldly when they part for air, looking him straight in the eye as he freezes for a second. "I want to sleep with you... to make love... in your bed," she clarifies so there's no doubt in his mind what it is she's suggesting here.

"Ruth," he replies softly and she's sure he's about to deny her, to deny them both, because they're no doubt in her mind that he wants her.

"It's not too soon, Harry," she interrupts before he can continue. "It's been years in the making. And I know it's mostly my fault that we've never had a real relationship outside work, but I'm ready to change that now. I want you, I want a full relationship with you, and I don't much care in which order everything happens."

"Are you sure, Ruth?" he asks, pulling back to search her gaze, his breathing still heavy from their kisses.

"Yes," she states, gazing steadily into his gorgeous eyes that are darkened with desire. "I'm sure, Harry. It's the right time." Then she reaches up to cup his cheek and kiss his sensual lips once more, wondering how she ever managed to stay away from them. He groans and pulls her closer, his passion reaching new levels as he begins to devour her.

Somehow they make it off the sofa and up the stairs, various articles of clothing forming an erratic trail behind them, and she can't quite get over how much he seems to want her, how passionate he is, and how desperate. His lips are on hers, his hands stroking her body, pulling her closer against him. His naked chest against her flushed skin feels wonderful and she's so lost in the feelings and sensations that she can hardly stand any more. When they pull out of the kiss, she disentangles herself from him and turns away, lifting a corner of the covers and getting in bed, sliding over to the middle before turning to face him.

He doesn't hesitate before joining her, sliding across the sheet and stopping beside her, his legs brushing against hers as he props himself up on his elbow and reaches his hand over to cup her cheek. She smiles up at him and slips her left leg between his thighs, reaching her hand up to cover his as it rests against her cheek. "I love you, Ruth," he murmurs softly before he leans in to kiss her, and it is a kiss like no other, sweeter and softer than any she's experienced before, a tender kiss, full of love. She feels tears spring to her eyes as the emotions threaten to overwhelm her, but she doesn't want to cry. She wants to enjoy, to savour, to relish, to be consumed by passion and by him, to reach the pinnacle and fall into the abyss, to experience the bliss of climaxing with Harry inside her, surrounded by his love. So she pulls him towards her, delighting in the feel of the weight of his chest pressing into hers and the feel of his lips and tongue against her own as she deepens their kiss, moaning with pleasure.

Her nails rake against his back as his mouth leaves hers, following her jaw line round to her ear, sucking on her earlobe and making her moan softly. She's never been particularly loud in bed, but she's always been unable to control the soft sounds of appreciation that escape her, and this time is no different. Except it is different because she isn't even aware she's making them tonight, so engrossed is she in the feel of Harry's body against hers, his hand cupping her breast through her bra, his thumb running over her hardened nipple, his tongue licking her skin, his foot rubbing against her calf. She can feel him pressing against her hip with increasing insistence as the heat and passion rise between them and he grinds himself against her. And there is so much passion in each of their actions; they are such a perfect match.

Soon he slips his hand down her body, his palm gliding up across her hip to her belly, tracing the elastic of her knickers with a finger as he lifts his head to look at her. Then he slides his hand back down across her abdomen, under the elastic, until his fingers tangle themselves in her soft curls. "Ruth," he growls in a deep voice, laced with desire and lust, "my Ruth."

"Yes," she whispers breathlessly, pulling him towards her. "Yours," she confirms as his lips find hers. He groans, kissing her soundly as he grinds himself against her again and his fingers slip lower. She parts her legs in invitation and he groans again as his fingers glide delicately along her wet folds and dip into her core. She moans softly, arching her back towards his touch and he raises his head to watch her as he slips his fingers in and out of her tender heat. She feels the tension build inside her fast, her orgasm approaching with lightning speed, faster than ever before. "Now, Harry, please," she manages to says, but he doesn't stop until she clamps her thighs together around his wrist and brings her hands down to grip his forearm, stilling his motion. She opens her eyes to look at him and whispers, "I want you inside me. I want to come with you inside me."

She watches his nostrils flare as his eyes fill with lust and, when he speaks, his voice is so very deep and husky that it makes her tremble with need. "You will, my Ruth, but first-"

"No," she interrupts. "Not the first time. I want you in me for the first time. I want us to come together."

She sees his eyes soften, a look of such tenderness and love infusing his face that it takes her breath away. Gently he tugs his hand away, and realising that he's understood, she releases him and feels his fingers slip out of her. She watches him as he pushes down the covers and pulls his trunks off, followed by her bra and knickers, leaving them both gloriously naked. He takes a moment then to look at her, taking her in for the first time, his gaze travelling over her breasts, her soft, slightly rounded tummy, her wide hips and down to her dark pubic hair. "You're beautiful, Ruth," he says in awe as he raises his eyes to hers once more. "So beautiful."

She whimpers slightly with want as her own eyes glide over his body from his broad, strong shoulders to his scar-littered chest and down to his middle-age spread. In her eyes, he's gorgeous despite his imperfections and she can't help but be impressed by the size of him when her eyes finally settle on his erection. "You're beautiful too," she whispers as she lifts her eyes back to his.

He smiles, lifting his hand to cup her cheek, gazing at her adoringly for a few moments before he whispers, "Contraception?"

"I'm on the pill," she replies quickly. "I started it last week. I wanted to be... ready."

She watches his smile broaden as he leans in to kiss her softly before he pulls back and positions himself over her, pressing his belly against hers as he smiles down at her, murmuring, "Have you any idea how desirable you look right now and how very much I want you?"

She shakes her head gently before unconsciously licking her lips as she replies, "I'm yours, Harry. All yours. Take me please. I can't wait any more."

He exhales heavily and moves up a little, supporting himself on his forearms as he nudges against her sex and she wiggles a little under him until he's nestled against her entrance. Then she pulls him towards her with her hands on his bum and tilts her pelvis forwards to meet him as she feels him slide smoothly into her, filling her up completely. He groans at the sensation and she moans softly, murmuring, "God, Harry, you feel so good."

He stills insider her and she whimpers slightly with impatience. "You okay?" he asks softly.

"Mmm," she hums, "Just, please get moving."

He chuckles softly as he follows her advise and begins to glide inside her, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her at the sensation. They kiss again and again as she feels the tension build inside her, their kisses getting longer and more desperate as the passion surges between them once more. He's good at this, she thinks dimly as she pulls him closer, rising up to meet him with increasing desperation as she nears the tipping point. "Faster," she murmurs against his cheek and feels him move away from her as he shifts his position a little, changing the angle of his thrusts as he bends his knees more and lifts himself onto his hands. She moans as he presses into her again, the new angle setting her nerves on fire, and before long, she comes with a long, drawn out groan of ecstasy, the waves of pleasure spreading all the way from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. So focused is she on the sensation that she doesn't realise he's close until she hears him let out a low groan and he pushes into her deepest part before he collapses on top of her, his chest heaving from the exertion.

She hums contentedly, bringing her hands up to lovingly stroke from his shoulders down his sides and back again, blissfully enjoying the pleasant tingling that continues to linger in her body. Slowly their breathing and heart rates slow, and as he returns to himself, he sighs softly before attempting to role off her. She objects, however, murmuring, "Don't go. I like it."

"I must be squashing you, Ruth," he whispers, shifting his weight onto his forearms and lifting his head to look at her.

"I like to be a little squashed by you," she smiles, letting her eyes scan his face lovingly, taking in the sated, hooded look in his eyes, the soft smile playing on his lips, and the warm, happy glow that has infused his features. He looks younger and devastatingly handsome all of a sudden. "I love you," she whispers, then adds as an afterthought, "And I'm not just saying that because the sex was fantastic."

"No?" he queries, one eyebrow raised as a mischievous smirk lifts the corner of his lips.

"No," she replies seriously. She lifts her hand and begins tracing the contours of his face with her fingertips, marvelling at how beautiful and wonderful he is and feeling as if her heart could burst with happiness. "I think I've always loved you." He smiles down at her, his eyes tender and warm. "I feel so happy, Harry," she adds softly, dropping her hand back to his shoulder and looking into his eyes. "Promise me we'll make this work... whatever it takes."

"I promise," he agrees. "I love you and I'll do anything for you, Ruth."

She smiles, saying playfully, "Even squash me into the mattress?"

"Anything but that," he grins. "I'm almost twice as heavy as you, Ruth. I'd suffocate you and then where would I be?"

"You could shift a little so you're only squashing half of me," she suggests. "Then I'll still be able to breathe while I enjoy the feel of your weight on me."

He smiles and leans forward to kiss her softly before shifting over to the side, making her breath hitch as he slips out of her. Then he folds his left arm under the pillow, laying his head on it as near to hers as he can manage, draping his right arm across her waist and tangling his legs with hers before murmuring, "That okay?"

"Perfect," she smiles, turning her head to look at him while her hands reach up to rest on his forearm as it lies across her body. "Everything's just perfect."

"Well," he grins, "I try."

"You don't just try, Harry," she murmurs sleepily as her eyes drift closed, "you succeed."

"I'm really going to love this, Ruth," he sighs. "Not only are you good for me and my general sense of well being, but you're wonderful for my ego too."

"I try, Harry," she smiles, her eyes still closed.

"You don't just try, Ruth," he replies with a smile. "You succeed."

She laughs softly, turning her head towards him and kissing his lips. "I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too," he replies.