AN: This started as a random question I asked a few friends on Facebook, one that has been plaguing my mind for a week now. And grew from there. Sadly, it's not the M-rated smut fic I had initially planned; though the lines that go with that are still there; my muse has decided she doesn't like writing smut fic anymore.

~ H | R ~

The lion was her fall.

The bitter acidic taste of bile and acid filled her throat, permeated the air about her as white knuckles gripped the metal railing. Slowly – and deeply – Ruth breathed in the harsh cold air of winter through her mouth, down her burning throat, and into the depths of tender lungs and churning stomach. Silently she begged her stomach to stop rolling, to settle, as she pleaded with her mind to forget the images she'd just seen.

Begged to infuse it with picture of something else – anything else.

But it refused to overwrite the photos of tortured human beings. To replace the sight of sliced, burned, and stripped skin. To forget woman being raped by masked men; of swords cutting the surprisingly thick cartilage and bone of men's necks; of limbs being stretched until they fell from bodies;, of children being left in hunting grounds of female lions, drug screaming to dens of hungry cubs.

She retched again, her grip on the railing tightening even more as the last remains of her stomach fought to expel themselves. Vacantly she wondered how she would clean the roof below, thought to look about for some garden hose, but the weakness filling her body rendered that idea unlikely. Tears filled the corner of eyes staring blankly out over the darkness of London and she longed to sink to the ground, to forget the images she knew would haunt her long into the night.

A hand touched her back. Caused her to tense. To realize just how far out of touch she was with her surroundings as she'd not heard the metal door slam shut, nor felt the presence of another. For a fraction of a second, she braced herself, ready to turn, to see who was witness to her humiliation. And relaxed as the sturdy arm she'd grown accustom to holding her close in her sleep wound about her waist, as the large hand splayed across her stomach.

She should have known Harry would seek her out; would have known he'd never leave her alone if her mind had been thinking.

But it hadn't. Not on anything except the horrible images burned into her mind. She shivered, her stomach rolling again and she swallowed, eyes drifting closed as she pleaded to not be sick in front of him.

"Do you think a penis gets tired," his throaty voice asked, breath playing across her cheek as he stepped behind her. His solid bulk pressed comfortingly to her back, the stubble upon his cheek brushing against her softer one as he let his chin fall to her shoulder.

"What?" she asked, his warmth slowly seeping into her weakened body as she relaxed, forgetting for the moment the images that had caused her to flee to this lonely stretch of roof. The shaking stopped as she drug in another breath, slower this time as her eyes drifted open.

"It's a valid question. Does a penis get tired?" His hold tightened, free hand moving to cover the two hands gripping the metal before them. Soothingly he ran his thumb across bare knuckles, felt her fingers start to release their death grip. He pressed closer, engulfing her small frame with his bulkier one, drew her into the warmth of his loosely tossed on jacket.

His spicy scent; that mix of cologne put on hours before and the uniqueness that was his alone; flooded her olfactory senses, chased away the sour smell of vomit. It wrapped around her like a cloak, slowly pushing away the haunting images so quickly burned in her mind. She grappled now, the cylinders churning to switch to his train of thought, her mind struggling to following him. "Does a penis get tired?" she repeated, her lip slowly curling up in confusion.

"That is my question." Fingers slowly beginning the process of prying hers free, he felt a shift in the tension coursing through her body.

A pregnant pause rested between them, her mind grabbing onto the completely random question, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What does a penis have to do with anything?" she asked.

It was the simpleness of his answer, "Everything", muttered with just a hint of huskiness to it that had her shifting. "I don't see," she said, his fingers sliding under hers, "what a penis," felt them moving in his grip to rest between his hands pressed on her stomach, "has to do with anything."

"So, so much Ruth." Her name was like velvet on his lips, and a different kind of shiver ran down her back. "Think about this morning, what you were moaning, as I…"

"Harry!" Embarrassment flooded her as her gaze shifted from the city before them to meet his, the brown full of amusement – and a hint of passion – as they met hers in the dim light.

"Hmm," was his response, a hint of question and something else filling the syllables, "it's a natural thing we've done this morning."

"It is – but not something to be discussing on the roof at work!"

He shifted now, crossing their arms in an X to hold her tight. "I suppose you have a point." He cut her off now, knowing she'd have some mildly witty answer, one that would amuse him more, deterring him from his mission. "Take the penis out of that context. Without it, life would cease to exist; human life at least; as man and woman would not be able to procreate."

"I'm sure science would find a way," she muttered now, the hints of a smile pulling at her lips, "especially as man cannot function without his best friend."

"Cheeky. Though probably very accurate."

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

"I have," he said, arms moving as she turned to face him. Holding her at arm's length, he let his gaze travel over her face. "Are you alright?"

It was her turn to 'hmm' him, though in question and not thought, confusion filling her for but a moment as she'd managed to put the horrors they'd witnessed from her mind.

"Hey, stop thinking," he said, his voice firm as he held her eyes with his. "there's no reason to be thinking of anything right now."

"But those pictures. The atrocities that were inflicted upon those people…"

"I know," he said, cutting her off as he drew her to his chest. "I know. We see such horrible things – do some horrible things – in this job. With time, much of it we can set aside. Separate the horrors that is from the lives that we live, but other times, we can't. It's those times we can't that are the most dangerous."

"They were horrible," she said with a shutter, tears springing to her eyes, the warmth of them lost in his the material of his shirt. "And I couldn't get them out of my mind. Especially the children."

"It's always the hardest when it's children," he said, letting his cheek rest on her hair. "Or when it's someone that you love." His voice is lower now, not more than a whisper, as just for a second the images of something happening to her fill his mind. And then he pushes them away, buries them deep in the recesses of his mind, in a place he tries so very hard not to visit.

"So," he said, a hint of laughter filling his voice. "You never answered my question – does a penis get tired?"

Her response is cut off by the pressure of his mouth on hers in a kiss filled with laughter and love.

~ H | R ~

AN: I do hope you've enjoyed this little fic that fits absolutely nowhere within a timeline except for the world within my head. Please leave a review to let me know what you think; love it, hate it, indifferent – it matters not.