A/N: A one-shot, set 4 months after the end of my last one-shot, "Are They?" (and by extension, also 4 months after the ending of multi-chapter fic, "On The Other Side Of Despair") Note the M rating... Completely AU, a massive indulgence on my part.

Ruth hadn't meant to stay late after choir practice, but the offer of a cup of tea and biscuits at the home of Garry, the choirmaster, was generous, and she welcomed any offers to socialise with those who lived in Hastings and surrounds. She enjoyed choir; the people were pleasant and well-read, they knew their music, and didn't pry into her life. So she'd texted Harry to let him know she'd be late home from choir; she had to, otherwise he'd panic about her, perhaps even come looking for her. He wasn't jealous (to her eternal relief), but he was concerned for her safety – and with good reason. He'd already lost her three times, even though she'd eventually found her way back to him.

Those in her choir knew she lived the other side of Fairlight with her partner, and they had only lived there since earlier in the year. They had no need to know more. They had no need to know that her partner was a retired section head at MI-5, and that the London Olympics which had flowed so smoothly, and for which all English people had felt pride, had only 4 months before been threatened by a conspiracy within the Conservative party, and it had been this which had led to mass resignations in government and the security services. They had no need to know that she and her partner were both still involved in the security business, being in partnership with Malcolm Wynn-Jones and Jude Trinder. They had no need to know that as recently as three months ago, she had uncovered evidence of a store of Yersinia pestis bacterium – the same bacterium responsible for the Black Plague in the 14th century - at a private laboratory in South London owned by a group of Egyptian investors. They had no need to know that what had been reported in the news as `contamination' in some stores of the influenza vaccination at a South London facility had really been the Black Plague. They had no need to know that her checking and rechecking of what she'd seen as an anomaly had led to the securing of the bacterium, so that it would never be used against the population either in the UK, or further afield. They had no need to know her long and fraught history with her partner – the long periods of time apart, the inability they'd each displayed to openly declare how they felt about the other, the fact that just over a year earlier, Ruth had been stabbed, declared dead, and her partner (who at that time had been her former partner) had attended her funeral, his grief at her loss weighing heavily on his shoulders and his conscience. They had no need to know that only five days earlier, Harry had asked her to marry him, and that she'd joyfully said yes. They also had no need to know that she and Harry were one – two halves which together made one pure soul – and that they have vowed to stay together, no matter how severe the tests they faced in their future together.

The choir were to sing carols at two different churches in Hastings on consecutive nights – December 23rd and 24th – and Harry had made it clear that he would be attending on both nights. She knew he was proud of her. She knew he wanted to be a part of her life in every way possible. She knew Harry meant well. She knew that for the second performance he would be bringing Catherine and Mark. It would be his way of showing her off, of saying, `Look what a brilliant woman my Ruth is... and she loves me …... me, this battered old body in my battered and damaged life. How amazing is that?' What she knew and Harry didn't know was that she had arranged for one other person to accompany he and Catherine and Mark to the performance. This surprise was to be part of her Christmas gift to him.

They had also invited Malcolm and Jude for Christmas Day, but Malcolm had coyly declined on his and Jude's behalf, stating that they'd planned to spend their first Christmas together, as a couple, alone in Malcolm's house. She and Harry had looked at one another knowingly at the words, `our first Christmas together as a couple', relieved that they were working things out between them. Their partners in business were now a couple, and as convenient as this was for Harry and Ruth, they both hoped that Malcolm and Jude were even half as happy as they themselves were. Both Malcolm and Jude deserved to be happy together.

The house was in darkness, so Ruth switched on the light over the cooker, and made herself a cup of tea. She had no need to creep around in the half-dark. Were Harry awake, he'd soon be joining her in the kitchen, and were he asleep, no amount of illumination or banging around in the kitchen would wake him. The house was warm. Harry had insisted they have the heating on for all except the hours 1.00 am until 6.00 am. It was proving to be a bearable winter thus far, with daytime temperatures hovering around the mid 40's, and never dropping below the upper 30's at night, but it was still winter, and the air outside the house was bitter.

Ruth tipped the last half of her cup of tea into the sink, and turned off the light over the cooker. It was close to midnight, and she'd not seen Harry for almost five hours, and so she missed him. As she saw it, she'd spent more than enough time apart from Harry, missing him, longing for things to be different between them, misunderstanding his feelings, her own feelings …... and so further time spent apart – even if measured in minutes – was unnecessary. Ruth quickly climbed the stairs, and slipped quietly through the door to their bedroom. Believing that looking at Harry sleeping in their bed may wake him, she crept through to their en suite to go to the toilet and clean her teeth. After rinsing her mouth and washing her face, she scrutinised her face in the mirror, pleased with how relaxed she looked, the worry lines and gauntness from a year ago now gone. She smiled at her image in the mirror. "You're not at all bad for 42," she whispered to herself.

Back in their bedroom, Ruth was surprised to see that Harry had left the bedroom curtains open wide, the light from the streetlight outside their house beaming through their bedroom window. She was about to close the curtains when she noticed Harry's sleeping form on their bed. Ruth was so profoundly affected that she quickly lowered herself on to the armchair under the window, and gazed at the man she loved, her heart rate increasing slightly.

Harry was lying on his back on his side of the bed, a sheet covering him to his knees. Other than that, his naked body was on full display, a study in Rubensian beauty. His right leg was straight, while his left leg was bent at the knee, his foot hooked under the calf of his other leg. His right hand rested on his broad chest, while his left hand reached over her side of the bed, as if reaching for her, and his face in repose was turned towards her pillow. It was as if, as he fell asleep, he was turning to her to ask her something. His thighs were apart in such a way that his genitals were openly displayed, nestled amid his nest of light brown pubic hair. She briefly contemplated how it was that a piece of his flesh which looked so benign, even comical, could – when used skilfully – bring such pleasure. His stomach was still rounded, despite his having lost weight since they'd left London. They walked, they made love often, they were happy, and happiness had brought Harry's body into balance. He drank less, ate well and regularly, and exercised almost daily. For a man late in his sixth decade of life, Harry's body was still remarkably tight, still muscular, and still had the power to arouse deep passions in her.

She had never seen him quite like this before …... lying naked and open, his legs apart, unaware that he had a spectator. Ruth turned her head away and stared out the window into the night, experiencing a surge of guilt for watching him without his knowledge. She stared at the streetlight, hoping to suppress the arousal which was swelling inside her belly. How was it even possible that a mildly overweight, middle-aged man with a scarred torso could affect her so? Ruth took some deep breaths into her lungs before she looked back at the bed. A pair of hazel eyes drowsily watched her, while a smile began to form on his lips.

"Last time I looked you were asleep," she said.

"So you've been looking." It was a statement, rather than a question. His smile broadened then, and he stretched both his arms out to his sides, and straightened his legs. The sheet slipped further down his legs, so that even more of his body was on display. Ruth found it impossible to take her eyes from him.

"You're not lying like that by accident are you?" she asked

"Are you getting in here with me, or do I have to come and get you?" he said, his tone playful.

Ruth was already under his spell. She stood, and began to remove her clothes, her eyes still on him – his eyes, his mouth, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his genitals, his powerful legs …... It all added up to Harry, and for her, Harry was a turn-on.

They hadn't made love for four days, and Ruth was keen to end the drought. Four nights earlier, on Sunday night, they had been sitting side-by-side on the sofa, each dressed in track pants and bulky jumpers, having spent a luxurious hour soaking together in the bath. Their bodies were loose, and they had each been aroused by the warmth of the water, and the close proximity of the other's body. A shared kiss had led to hands under jumpers, thrown off to expose skin. Ruth had lain back against the pillows at one end of the sofa, while Harry had stretched out beside her, his hands under her camisole, his lips on her neck, his growing arousal against her hip. They'd tugged off the remainder of their clothing, until Harry was naked, and she wore only her camisole. She left it on because it was white and almost sheer, and she knew it took Harry's breath away whenever she wore it. That night was no exception; he could barely take his eyes from her. Ruth had adjusted her body so that she lay on her back, and as he entered her from above, she felt him shudder, his eyes on hers, in awe that they were doing this, here, on their sofa in front of the fire. They had started slowly, but had then thrown themselves into the moment. `I want you to fuck me, Harry,' she'd whispered in his ear as he moved slowly and gently inside her. `Are you sure?' he'd asked, his brow creased with doubt, and she'd nodded. He'd then pushed himself into her, and she'd gasped and grunted as he did. Momentarily she'd wondered whether there was something wrong with her that she enjoyed sex with her lover in this way. He could be so gentle with her, and yet more and more she was asking for him to connect with his inner caveman. There was some primal part of her, a DNA memory of times when humans could only couple rapidly and hard, for fear of being attacked by their enemies. She'd never enjoyed raw sex with anyone before Harry. She supposed that she allowed this, and enjoyed it so much because she trusted him. She'd wrapped her legs loosely around his waist, grasping his shoulders with her hands. She came before him, arching herself up to meet him. As her fingernails tore the flesh of his shoulders, he'd pushed himself deeper and harder, emptying himself inside her. They'd collapsed against one another, panting hard, sweat pouring from their skin, broad smiles of satisfaction on their faces. `God, I love you, Ruth,' he'd breathed into her ear as he'd settled beside her.

Now standing next to the bed, Ruth removed her bra, allowing her breasts to sway freely. Her eyes moved over his nakedness, and she noticed the first stirrings of his arousal. His eyes were devouring her body, just as she had enjoyed his only minutes earlier. She was about to join him in bed, when he lifted himself on one elbow, and leaned across to slide his fingers under the waistband of her knickers.

"These have to go," he said, pulling them over her hips, sliding his fingers between her legs as he did so, one finger quickly dipping into her. "We need a level playing field, Ruth. If I'm showing you all I have, then you have to do the same."

Ruth obeyed, pushing her knickers down, and kicking them towards the chair where she'd left her clothes in a heap on the floor. Naked, she kneeled on the mattress, and reached across to kiss Harry on the mouth. He returned the kiss, opening his mouth under hers, and snaking his arm around her neck to draw her closer. Ruth was enjoying the kiss immensely, but there was something she simply had to do before they became totally lost in one another.

Ruth reluctantly pulled out of the kiss, and took her mouth down Harry's body, covering his skin with quick kisses, and nips of her teeth. She took her time over his chest, an expanse which would likely take her hours to thoroughly explore, although on this night she would give it a few minutes, no more. As she slid her tongue over his stomach, she looked up at him, and saw the arousal in his eyes, along with his naked adoration of her. Ruth briefly wondered what she had ever done in her life to deserve such happiness, and such devotion from this man. Her mouth soon found his penis – or maybe this part of his flesh had some kind of tracking device within it which sought her out wherever she was. In one of his slightly mad moments, Harry had once suggested that this was so. "It's how I knew you to be the one," he'd said. "What …..." she'd replied, "you'd waited until your cock found a woman for you? Wasn't that what was wrong with your previous relationships?" He'd smiled at her then, and quietly uttered, "Touché."

Ruth shifted her body so that she could watch Harry's face while she took him in her mouth, and slowly eased him in as far as she could comfortably manage, and then lifted her mouth until only her tongue slid over his tip. She slowly repeated the movement. When his eyes closed, and she saw the effort he was making to not push himself inside her mouth, she slid her body up the bed, and lay beside him, her fingers feathering his skin from his upper thighs, across his scrotum, up the underside of his penis, and then over his belly and his chest to his shoulders, and then to his throat. Harry groaned, his body twisting towards her when she lay against him, allowing him to thrust one of his thighs between her legs.

Their mouths again found one another, and as their kiss became deep and soulful, Harry groaned in to her mouth, while she ground herself along his thigh. Afterwards, Ruth had little recollection of what happened and when. Eventually she found herself lying on her side, facing Harry, her leg slung over his hip, their mouths joined in a deep kiss, and his penis moving inside her. Harry thrust slowly and deeply, teasing her, frustrating her, his eyes holding hers. She'd been aroused and ready as soon as she'd removed her knickers, and now here they were, taking their time. She knew this was good, and she knew she'd thank him later for slowing them down, but what she really wanted at this moment – a half hour after midnight – was for Harry to take her fast and hard.

"Remember Sunday night?" she said, having waited until his eyes were on hers before she spoke.

"You want it like that again?"

"Please," she nodded.

Gradually, Harry increased the speed of his thrusts, and he became less careful, more driven by his own lust. "Go easy on my shoulders," he whispered against her mouth. "The scratches are still healing."

Ruth had been proud of the scratches on his shoulders. They had reddened and were now forming scabs. As she saw it, Harry had suffered much more severe wounding in his time than a few surface scratches from his lover's fingernails during sex.

This time, Ruth's hands were on his back and his sides, her nails preparing to dig in should she feel the need. She was fast losing track of time and place. She only had the sensation of Harry sinking himself into her in a fast and steady rhythm. She loved this man completely. He was prepared to love her slowly and carefully. He was prepared to hold back his own desires when she was not in the mood for sex – which was rarely. He was prepared to pound himself into her when she wanted to reach the oblivion which they each sought. Her whole pelvic area became tight and pregnant with her release.

She allowed herself to tip over the edge, as her climax took her, and her tears fell, the emotion of the moment too much for her to hold it inside. Harry cried out her name, and his climax was long and drawn out, his breathing loud and laboured. After he'd finished, he grasped her in his arms, and pulled her against him. Noticing her tears, he asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm just …... really …... happy."

"That's good," he said, and then he reached down and gently placed his lips on hers. "It's time we slept."

He reached down to pull the duvet over them both, and with their arms wrapped around one another, they slept.

Eleven days later - Hastings - 24th December 2012, evening:

The choir had closed the service by singing `O Holy Night', and as the last notes rang out, Ruth could feel the stirring in the congregation as they nervously wanted to applaud, but being in a church, they'd not been allowed that luxury. As the members of the choir filed out of the choir loft, Ruth began to again feel a sense of anticipation about seeing Harry again. Catherine and Mark and the third guest had been due to meet Harry outside the church before the service began, after Ruth had gathered with the other members of her choir. As she left by the side door, she was suddenly enveloped in a pair of strong arms, and pulled against a solid chest.

"I love you," Harry said against her temple. "I love you so much. You know that, don't you?"

Ruth pulled back just enough to meet his eyes with her own. She smiled and nodded at him.

"I know you love me, Harry. You demonstrate that amply on a daily basis."

She grasped his face between her hands, and looked into his eyes. "You're happy about this?"

"Ecstatic," was his reply, breathed into her mouth just before he kissed her slowly and softly.

From the corner of her eye she caught the stares of some of the other choir members. Eileen, a widow in her mid-sixties, beamed broadly at she and Harry, and lifted her hand in a small wave.

It was what Ruth saw over Harry's shoulder – who she saw over his shoulder – that broke the moment. Ruth pulled away from Harry's embrace, but still held one of his hands in hers, as their three guests approached.

"Catherine …... Mark …... it's lovely to see you again." She kissed them each, and received their hugs.

Behind Catherine and Mark stood a young man with short brown hair. A little taller than Harry, he had his mother's clear grey eyes, and a mouth which pouted as perfectly as his father's.

"Graham," Ruth said to him, holding out her hand to shake his. "I'm Ruth. I'm delighted to meet you at last."

Graham Pearce ignored her hand and drew her into a hug. "I knew the woman who'd managed to tame the old man would need to be something special …... and you are," he said against the side of her head.

Harry smiled on them both, but to his mind, Graham had hugged her for long enough. He stepped close to Ruth, and drew her out of the hug by putting a proprietary arm around her waist, and pulled her against him. "That's enough hugging," he said, as he leaned down to give her a quick kiss. "Home?" he said, to her and to their three guests.

"Home," they said in unison.

Harry was spending Christmas with his two children – and his daughter's fiancé - and the woman he had loved for years, and who only two weeks earlier had agreed to marry him. They were together at last. Thanks to this extraordinary woman, he was surrounded by his whole family. Life was good. It was about to be the best ever Christmas.

A/N: Things got a bit schmaltzier than I'd planned there at the end, but I hope you'll forgive me this brief indulgence.

And thank you to theoofoof for reminding me that you needed an update on Malcolm and Jude, which I added briefly to this story after I'd written it.