The inspiration for this fic was a song by S Club 7. I realize that Ruth is much bolder and less reserved in this story than she was in Spooks, but hopefully it's not too far fetched to believe that she might have felt free to live life more fully once she was away from Thames House and living in a new country and culture, under a new identity. After all, she was very different with George in the glimpse we got of her in Cyprus. Someone mentioned recently that there are a lot of fics with Harry being intimate with someone other than Ruth, but that poor Ruth doesn't often get that opportunity, so she does in this fic, but don't worry, I promise it has a happy HR ending. I hope you enjoy and please leave a review if you have time. Thanks, S.C.

It started out with just a postcard. She'd been gone a few weeks, keeping on the move, partly to avoid detection and partly because none of the places she'd been to felt like somewhere she could call home. She'd thought of him daily, especially in the quiet of the night after she'd switched off the TV or radio and turned out the light, just before she fell asleep. She wondered if he was thinking of her also, wishing that things could have been different, wishing that she hadn't cared so much about what the others thought of her, wishing that she'd given them a chance.

So one day, she'd plucked up her courage and sent the postcard, telling herself that, in his place, she'd want to know that she was all right, that she was safe. That's all she'd intended to say, but in the end, she'd said much more, essentially admitting that she loves him. Quos amor verus tenuit tenebit, she'd written. She'd almost thrown it out when she'd reread it, but she'd stopped herself at the last moment and posted it instead. She'd needed to tell him, needed him to know it now that she would, in all likelihood, never see him again. When they'd worked together, she couldn't because she wasn't ready to endure the gossip and telling him without agreeing to be with him would have been just plain cruel. Then, however, it felt good to say it, to let him know; it was like a weight lifting off her shoulders.

It's been four months since she'd sent the postcard and she still thinks of him every day. It's his birthday in two weeks and she wonders if Adam, Zaf, and Jo will be organizing a celebration for him like she'd done every year since Tom had left. It'll be the first birthday he's had without her and she wonders if he'll notice, if he'll remember, if he thinks of her as often as she thinks of him. "Stop this, Ruth," she tells herself, forcing herself to get up and wash up the breakfast dishes before she goes off to work. There's no point in dwelling on the past, wishing for things she can never have.

That night, Mario takes her out to dinner and she has fun, laughing at the jokes he makes, dancing with him exhilaratingly, enjoying life. He takes her home afterwards and she invites him up to her flat. She offers him coffee, but he declines; there's only one thing he wants, one thing they both want. They kiss passionately and make their way to her bedroom with practised ease, still lip locked, tumbling onto the bed as they tug their clothes off each other in haste. Ruth loves sex with Mario. He's a practised lover who can bring her to orgasm quickly and powerfully, and tonight is no different. His fingers are inside her and his mouth on her breast as he works his magic and finds all the right spots, causing her to writhe beneath his touch as he builds her up and she climaxes with a low, inarticulate moan.

"Sei bellissima, Tesoro," he murmurs in a low, husky voice as he pulls his fingers out of her and gazes down at her with passion filled eyes. He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the condom, slipping it on with practised ease. "Apri le gambe," he directs and Ruth complies, spreading her legs ready to take him inside her. He positions himself and grabs hold of her ankles, pushing her knees towards the bed and slowly pressing into her.

"Mmmmm," she moans as he enters her fully.

"Sì, Tesoro. Mi accendi come una luce. Come mi piace scoparti," he replies as he leans over her, moving inside her slowly, sensually, pulling out almost completely before gliding back in, filling her up again. His mouth dips down to her breasts, licking her most sensitive places just below her nipples. Her hands are gripping his strong arms tightly now, her breath coming in pants. Dear God, but he knows exactly what to do to make her body burn.

He lifts his head and begins to move faster now, murmuring in a soft growl, "Sì, Tesoro. Ti scoperò fino a farti esplodere di piacere."

"Oh God!" she moans as she clings to his arms, feeling her next orgasm fast approaching.

"Ti piace questo, e?" he growls. "Sì, vieni. Vieni, Tesoro mio," he encourages as he pounds into her and seconds later they come almost at the same time, thrusting their bodies together and groaning in ecstasy.

Afterwards, she rests her head on his shoulder for a little while, enjoying the delicious sensations still lingering in her body and the warmth of his skin against hers. He doesn't stay long; he never does, and that's another thing she likes about him. She walks him to the door in her dressing gown, kissing him goodnight, and closing and locking the door after him. Then she makes her way back to bed.

It's only once she's back in bed, alone, that she allows herself to think of Harry, and she finds that she always wants to think of him at night, even after sex with another man. In fact, paradoxically perhaps, all the Oxytocin that's been released inside her body from sex doesn't serve to bond her to her lover, but rather to a man who's miles away and it make her feel more in love with him than ever.

After she'd sent the postcard to him, she'd felt lighter and more ready to begin her new life, and a few weeks later she'd met a man that she'd began dating. The first time they'd had sex, she'd let herself imagine that she was with Harry, and though it had been wonderful at the time, afterwards she'd been so disappointed that it wasn't really him that she'd cried for a long time. So since that night, she hadn't let herself do it again. Fantasizing about Harry's something she does when she's alone, not with someone else. Her relationship with Jean Claude hadn't lasted very long, mainly because she hadn't been ready to move on yet.

After she'd left France for Italy, she'd realised that she might never be ready to move on from Harry, but that it didn't have to mean that she couldn't have a relationship with another man. She just needed to change what she was looking to get out of it. So when she'd met Mario, she'd been open with him, telling him that she was still in love with a man she'd had to leave behind and was looking for someone with whom she could share some fun times. Mario had been delighted. He was young, in his late twenties, and was also just interested in having a good time, so they'd hit it off.

They see each other about once or twice a week now, sometimes more frequently and sometimes less so, but they always have a good time and great sex. Her decision to live life like this for now has opened her horizons and Mario has taught her a lot about living in the moment. She's fond of him, but they have little in common and she knows she could never love him. Maybe, if she's lucky, she'll find love again, but in all honesty, she doubts it. She truly believes that Harry's the love of her life, which is why she suddenly decides that she's going to send him a present for his birthday.

Translation of Italian (Hopefully!)

"Sei bellissima, Tesoro," - "You are beautiful, Treasure."

"Apri le gambe," - "Open your legs."

"Sì, Tesoro. Mi accendi come una luce. Come mi piace scoparti," - "Yes, treasure. You turn me on like a light. How I love to fuck you."

"Sì, Tesoro. Ti scoperò fino a farti esplodere di piacere." - "Yes, treasure. I will fuck you until I make you explode with pleasure."

"Ti piace questo, e? Sì, vieni. Vieni, Tesoro mio," - "You like this, eh? Yes, come. Come, my treasure."