A/N: I have missed writing one shots. As a writer they are by far my favourite story form. In this offering for New Year I am aware of revisiting some old themes, but the tone and context of this is such that I feel I can get away with this story being unique in its own way. Happy Harry New Year to you all.

The Grid, London – Thursday 31st December 2009 – 9.56 pm:

Harry knows he should have left hours ago, but other than home he has nowhere to go, and he's been seeing in the new year on his own for too many years now. There is part of him wishes to welcome in 2010 surrounded by people he cares for, and who care for him. He'd hoped some members of his team may have stayed behind to share a drink with him when midnight rolled around. Apart from a skeleton admin staff, all of whom are busy, he is the only one left on the Grid.

He'd hoped that Ruth would have kept him company on this night, if only to commiserate the horror that had been 2009 … for him, but chiefly for her. All he wants is for this new year to be different from those which had gone before, the ones he'd endured while she'd been in exile. All he wants is for them to spend a little time together, just the two of them, to reflect on the year they'd shared, and hopefully, to move on. He'd wanted this evening to be special – a full stop to mark the end of a chaotic year during which so much more than lives had been lost..

His mobile phone rings, dragging him back to the present. He hopes the caller is Ruth. It's not.

"Catherine," he says cheerily, feigning a lightheartedness he doesn't feel, "it's good to hear your voice."

"I'm at your front door, Dad. Where are you?"

"Had you called ahead I would have made the effort to be home. But ..."

"Please don't tell me you're still at work." In his daughter's voice he detects her mother's disapproving tone.

"I thought I'd catch up on some paperwork, so ..."

"Dad, you really ought to get out more."

"I am out."

"I mean out out … with friends, colleagues, anyone. Look, I have to go. I have a people waiting for me. I just rang to wish you a Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year to you too, sweetheart .." But by the time he has finished speaking, his daughter has hung up. He closes his phone, placing it back on his desk.

Hearing a noise from outside his office he looks up to see his office door opening, not a tentative, hesitant opening, but a confident, brash, look-at-me kind of entrance. Only two people ever enter his office without knocking. One is Ros Myers, while the other is Ruth. His visitor is not Ruth.

"I can't believe you're still here," Ros says, planting her backside on the chair across the desk from his own, while Harry leans back in his chair, lifting one eyebrow at the sheer audacity of her entrance. "Lucas not back yet?" she adds.

Harry checks his watch. "He should be back at any moment," he says. "He rang me an hour ago to report that Shalhoub was a no-show."

"Mmm," Ros says thoughtfully, "Shalhoub's not to be trusted, but if he didn't turn up, then there's nothing can be done about it."

"Are you … meeting Lucas?"

Ros nods while examining the fingernails on one hand. "We're meant to be meeting at that pub Tariq was telling us about. I thought you'd already be there."

Harry turns his attention to the pile of reports on his desk. "I need to finish this lot."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

"Maybe I like being dull."

They hold one another's gaze, and Harry is sure he can detect the wheels of Ros's mind turning. When at last she speaks, her voice is quiet and silky smooth. "And you're hoping Ruth will miraculously turn up."

Harry sighs heavily. Is he that transparent? "Ruth left rather early," he says wearily. "I have no idea where she was headed, but according to Tariq she was in a bit of a rush."

"Hot date, perhaps?"

"That was Tariq's summation," he says, his tone that of a defeated man.

"You didn't ask her where she was headed?"

Harry shakes his head. "At the time she left I was in the loo."

"Great timing," Ros says, her steady eye contact confronting him with his own shortcomings. She only breaks eye contact when her phone rings, so she retrieves it from inside her jacket pocket. "Lucas," she says, before listening closely. "Right .. will do." She lifts her eyes to Harry. "He is. I'm with him now." She quickly ends the call. "That's me sorted," she says, standing, returning her phone to the same zippered pocket in her leather jacket. "Lucas says you should get out more. You're welcome to join us, Harry, but I know you'll say no."

Harry stands, accompanying Ros to the door. "You're right, but thank you for the invitation. Tariq had already invited me. He wanted me to meet Yasmin, his new girlfriend."

"Tariq has a girlfriend?" Harry nods. "And you're not curious?"

"Of course I'm curious," he adds. "It's just that ..." and then he drops his eyes. He can't make any more excuses, not when Ros knows perfectly well why he's hiding in his office on New Year's Eve. "Have a nice night," he says, and she nods. They don't touch. Harry and Ros never touch. "And don't drink too much," he calls after her, as she heads towards the doors.

"As if I would," is all she says before she is gone, the doors to the Grid closing behind her.

Harry slowly heads back to his desk. He could try ringing Ruth, but he's already called her number three times, and she's not yet picked up. Not being one to give up easily, he again calls Ruth's mobile number, but again the call goes directly to voicemail, so he omits leaving a message, having already left brief messages after each of his first three calls. It's now clear to him that another lone New Year's Eve awaits.

Harry has almost finished reading and signing the seemingly endless pile of reports when again his door opens, only this time his visitor enters his office quietly, an apology in her eyes. "I got your messages at last," she says, hovering just inside the doorway.

Suddenly the night is not so dull, and the evening no longer yawns ahead of him. "Ruth," he says, standing to meet her, "I thought you were out for the evening." He waves his arm in the general direction of the chair which only an hour earlier Ros had occupied. Taking her coat from her, he hangs it on the coat rack, next to his own coat. There is something comforting, something right about their two coats hanging side by side on his office coat rack.

Ruth sits, placing her bag on the floor beside the chair, and only then does he notice the cardboard drink holder in her hand. "I brought us each a coffee," she says, placing his insulated cardboard cup in front of him. "Black with two sugars for you, and a milky latte for me."

He'd rather be drinking something with a kick like a mule, something amber-coloured with around 40% alcohol content by volume, but a coffee brought to him by Ruth runs a very close second. They each sit back, sipping their coffee, occasionally lifting their eyes to one another. He needs to know where she'd gone in such a rush when he'd been in the loo.

"Tariq told me you had a date," he says quietly, his eyes on her, watching for any `tells'.

Ruth's eyes widen. "Tariq has a wild imagination," she says, "and just because he's dating, he believes the whole world should be."

"Have you met his girlfriend?"

"I called in at the pub on my way back to Thames House. He introduced me to Yasmin. She's lovely. If you can imagine a female version of Tariq, then that's Yasmin. She's quiet, intelligent, and a good listener, and she's very pretty. I think Tariq is a lucky man."

Harry drops his eyes. He still doesn't know where she'd been between leaving the Grid and meeting the others. Maybe she had a date, but it went badly. Maybe ….

He sits up straight, placing his coffee on his desk. "Did tonight go badly, Ruth? Did someone upset you?"

Ruth watches him, frowning in her attempt to interpret his meaning. "Tonight?" Harry nods. "Didn't I tell you?" When Harry shakes his head, Ruth places her coffee on the corner of the desk. "I was just around the corner from The Feathers – where the others have gathered. I was helping to serve meals at the homeless shelter. I helped out on Christmas Day, and they were short-staffed tonight, so I volunteered." Again she frowns at Harry. "I was sure I'd told you."

Harry is feeling ridiculously happy, but he manages to hide it. He shakes his head. "That's the first I've heard of it," he says, feeling his whole body relax. He could still do with a drink. After all, it's New Year's Eve, and who doesn't like a drink at New Year? "Did Ros … speak to you … when you called into the pub?"

Ruth drops her eyes, and he sees a hint of embarrassment. "She did," Ruth admits, "and she wasn't terribly subtle about it. I was on my way here anyway. I turned off my phone while I was helping at the homeless shelter, but turned it on again once I reached the pub. You made four calls, Harry. Four."

Now it's his turn to hide his embarrassment. "I was worried about you," he says lamely.

"You must remember that I wandered around Europe on my own for the best part of three years. I think I can manage the streets of London at New Year."

Harry's head has only just caught up with where she'd been. Her reasons for helping to serve meals to street people twice in the space of a week is obvious to him. Ruth harbours guilt, so she volunteers to assist people less fortunate than herself. His guilt, also seeded in the events of the day Ruth had returned to London, has him working long past the end of his normal working day, denying himself much needed rest and relaxation. Had Ruth not arrived on the Grid when she did, it's possible he would have found reason to stay at his desk for much of the night.

This has to stop, he thinks.

"Ruth," Harry begins carefully, and she lifts her eyes to his, her attention on him, "you know that your job here is one in which you make a tremendous difference in the world … don't you?"

"I think we should take our drinks to the sofa," she says, getting to her feet, having ignored Harry's question entirely. He nods, rising wearily from his chair to follow her. "Bring your coffee with you," she instructs, not looking at him.

They sit on the sofa, close to one another, but not so close that they touch. Harry leans forward, his elbows on his knees, while he holds his coffee between his fingers. His eyes focus on a spot on the dark surface of the coffee while he devises another way to crack her veneer.

"You have little reason for guilt, Ruth," he says quietly, turning his coffee cup between his fingers. "You were dragged into that room against your will."

"And I seem to remember you being tied to a chair, Harry, so neither were you a willing participant."

"So why are you continuing to -"

"Punish you? Punish myself?" Harry's nod is oh so slight, but not so slight that Ruth doesn't see it. "Because had it not been for me and my past … with you … George would not have been dragged into our mess, and he might still be alive." Ruth places her coffee cup on the floor by her feet. "You know, as bad as this sounds, on that day I could have tolerated your being killed. Had you, I would have been distressed beyond any imagining, but at least you belonged in that room."

"But you didn't belong there, Ruth."

"But I did belong there, due to my ... association with you," she replies, holding his eyes. "I just wish …." and she drops her eyes to her hands, taking her time. "I just wish Mani had killed me instead of George."

What is she saying? Is she harbouring a death wish? Is that the reason for her moods, her silences? "Why, Ruth? Is your life not worth living? Do you not still have moments of satisfaction .. of happiness?"

She lifts her eyes to him then, and he sees the sadness and distress, while her enduring optimism and love of life fights to remain alive. "Right now, at this moment, I know I was meant to live, but sometimes … sometimes, Harry, it's all too much for one person to bear."

"Then let me help you," he says quietly, hopefully. "Let me bear some of that pain for you."

She has been watching him, her eyes sad. "But you already do, Harry, and I love you for it, but no matter how much of my burden you bear, I'm still the one who brought George and Nico to London."

She certainly has a point there, but Harry can't get past her alluding to her love for him. Where has she been hiding that? "But I'd been under the impression you hated me," he says quietly, turning towards her to see her eyes on him.

"Hate and love are often hard to separate. Both are powerful human emotions, and during these past months I have experienced both … towards you, although now, on most days, it's … love which ... triumphs." By the time she utters the word `love' her voice has almost faded.

Harry doesn't know how best to respond to that. He'd like to tell her that he still loves her, but he is sure she already knows that. He reaches down to grab her coffee cup, almost empty, but not quite, and stands, taking both cups to the bin behind his desk. Then he turns towards Ruth to see her watching him.

"What?" he asks, hesitating before turning to take the whiskey decanter from the shelf.

"You," she says quietly. "I just told you I love you, and you appear unmoved."

"I'm not unmoved," Harry replies quietly, not looking her way. "Would you like a whiskey, Ruth?" he asks, turning to check that she's heard him. She nods. "A splash, or a pour?"

"Just a small splash, thank you."

Harry carries their glasses back to the sofa. This time he sits closer to her, handing her her drink. "To us," he says, lifting his glass towards hers. "May we leave what happened earlier this year in the past, and may we learn from it, so that it never happens again."

"I'm not sure that's even possible."

"Nor am I," he replies, taking a sip from his glass, "but I'd like to think that it is."

A long moment passes during which they are both waiting for the other to say something … anything. It is Ruth who breaks the silence.

"Have you nothing to say about what I said?"

"Just that I'm surprised, Ruth … and moved, and .. that you have an odd way of showing it."

"As do you."

He smiles, lifting his glass towards her. "Touché," he says softly.

Ruth is distracted, and she begins to go through the contents of her bag until she finds her phone. "Just as I thought," she says, turning the phone so that Harry can see her lock screen. "It's 2010. In fact, it's been 2010 for almost ten minutes."

"To 2010," he says, lifting his glass towards her, his eyes holding hers, "and ..." he hesitates for only a moment, "to love."

"To love," Ruth repeats, clinking her glass against his. "May we never lose sight of that."

Harry recognises a significant moment when it occurs, and this is one such moment. Taking his eyes from Ruth for only a moment, he carefully places his glass on the small table next to the sofa. Then he watches her closely before reaching out with one hand to glance his fingertips across her cheek. He is relieved when she presses her cheek into his hand. With the pad of his thumb he caresses her cheekbone, before gliding it along her cheek to her bottom lip. He is aware that he is being presented with an opportunity which may never happen again, so he leans a little closer to her, all the while maintaining eye contact … closer, and then closer still. When she closes her eyes he reaches down to place his lips on hers. His touch is gentle, and he feels her lips responding to his. Then she reaches around to the back of his neck, and draws him closer. Harry hesitates before intensifying the kiss. He puts his heart and soul into that kiss. They are both taking a risk, but knowing that their next kiss may be days or weeks, or even months away, he considers the risk to be worth it. While one of Ruth's hands has slid around his neck, her fingers sliding through his hair, she rests her other hand against his chest. He feels this hand slide down his chest to wind around his waist, before she presses against the muscles of his back, pulling their upper bodies even closer. He feels the soft swell of her breasts against his chest. When she opens her mouth beneath his he hears her moan, just as their tongues touch. This is exciting, arousing ... and just so unexpected, more so because they are in his office, the stark, soulless heart of the counter-terrorism department. It is hardly the place for a romantic, sexually charged encounter.

While Harry had been the one to initiate the kissing, he is also the one to end it. He doesn't want to be losing control, not when there are still so many unanswered questions. He pulls away from her so that he can see her eyes. She is gazing up at him, but he can't determine what it is she's thinking.

"What does this mean for us, Ruth?" he asks, really needing an honest answer from her. His hands are on her back, while one of her hands is still at the back of his neck, winding his hair between her fingers. He notices that her eyes flick from his mouth, to his eyes, and then back to his mouth. He could kiss her again, allowing them the luxury of losing themselves in one another, but perhaps that wouldn't be fair.

"I ..." she begins, moving her gaze to his shoulder, and then back to his eyes. "I can't make … a commitment to you .. to us .. quite yet. It's ..."

"It's too soon. I know that, Ruth. It's too soon after ..." and he can't spoil this moment by uttering the names of Mani or George or Nico. Any further mention of them could shatter the delicate, diaphanous cocoon they've woven around themselves, and he couldn't bear were that to happen.

"But I do want to, you know. I want what we … almost had before I left London." Ruth says quietly, her eyes now holding his, so that he is at last aware of her raw and heavily protected love for him.

"What we have now is so much better than that," he murmurs, hoping he is not kidding himself about the two of them.

"It is?"

"At least now we know that we are each loved … by the other." Harry waits while she digests his words.

"I suppose you're right," she says at last, "so what happens next?"

"I'll drive you home, and I'll kiss you goodnight -"

"But not until after I invite you inside for coffee."

Harry smiles into her eyes. Dearest Ruth. She is inviting him into her home for a coffee, and a coffee will be all that they'll share. Maybe by this time next year they will have progressed to something more … something more intimate and binding. He is a man of some optimism; he has held private hopes for them for such a long time now. Without his hopes he is just any public servant, in love with a woman who is still to come to terms with her losses.

"Shall we go?" he says, running his hand up and down and around her back.

"I suppose we should," she says, and this time he detects disappointment in her tone. "It's just that .."

"What, Ruth?"

She sits up straight before looking around the office, and then back at him. "I feel safe here … with you."

Harry sighs. How ironic that the event which had most shattered her sense of being safe in the world had been shared with him, but still she has sought him out on this night. What a night of miracles this has been.

"That's good," he says, leaning across to place a brief, soft kiss on her lips. "Now I'd best take you home."

"For coffee."

"For coffee," he replies.

Harry knows that coffee is all that will be on offer, but after the year they've had, that will be enough … for now. In the meantime he will maintain optimism. To do otherwise is unthinkable.