Disclaimer: I don't own anything - it all belongs to Kudos and the BBC. If I did own them, this might have happened...
Author's Note: This is post 5.4 and is set in that happy AU where 5.5 doesn't exist...
Thanks to Em for the speedy beta :)
Happy Birthday Laurie!
Tread softly
Harry was only half-surprised to see Ruth's desk lamp still lit as the pod doors opened in front of him. She wasn't there though, and he wondered if she had gone home and left it on. No, that wasn't like her at all; she must still be about somewhere. He soon found her; she was in his office, sitting at his desk, fast asleep with her head resting on her folded arms. Harry couldn't help smiling to himself; she looked wonderful. He fought the urge to lean down and kiss her, admonishing himself for even contemplating it – he would be taking advantage of her vulnerable state.
He stood and watched her for a minute or two before he realised there was a small white envelope propped up by his phone. His name was written on it in neat, familiar handwriting. Harry hesitated for a moment before reaching over Ruth and carefully picking it up. He opened it and removed the sheet of writing paper it contained. He felt his breath catch as he read the words on the note:
'He wishes for the cloths of Heaven'
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
‡
I didn't tread softly on your dreams Harry, and that is something I shall always regret. I'm so sorry.
R
xx
It was a heartfelt apology and he knew she had probably spent a long time considering how best to deliver it, although being asleep in his office when he found it probably wasn't part of her plan. Harry was now left with something of a quandary. Should he wake her or leave her where she was? Anyone else would have been hastily roused and told, in no uncertain terms, what would happen to them if they were found snoozing in his office again. But this was Ruth… The decision was taken out of his hands as she stirred and then opened her eyes. As she sat up straight, Harry gave a small cough to alert her to his presence.
"Ruth…" He didn't get a chance to say anything else.
"Oh God, Harry," she stood up hurriedly and smoothed her hands over her skirt. "Sorry, I, um, thought you were…" Her voice trailed off and she blushed furiously as she saw the piece of paper in his hand.
"You should go home and get some rest," Harry cursed himself inwardly. She knew he'd seen her note but instead of acknowledging it and discussing it with her, he was trying to get her out of the building. He ploughed on, "you've been here all night."
"So have you," she retorted, more sharply than intended. Bloody man! Wasn't he even going to mention her apology?
He smiled at her in the hope of relieving some of the tension between them. "Ah, but I had the joyful experience of a meeting with Juliet and the Joint Chiefs of Staff who were, I think, even more disgruntled than I was with being lectured at four o'clock in the morning about our perceived failings, so technically, I wasn't here all night."
"Pedant."
"Classicist."
He watched the corners of her mouth twitch a little and her posture changed as she relaxed slightly. "You've gone rather quiet Ruth."
"I was just wondering if you went to your meeting looking like that," she responded insolently.
Harry briefly surveyed himself, "so what exactly is wrong with the way I look?" His tone was teasing and his eyes glittered with amusement and something that looked very close to desire.
The intensity of his gaze was beginning to make Ruth feel rather warm. "Well," she began nervously, "your tie needs straightening, there are buttons undone on your shirt and you look…rumpled."
"Rumpled?"
"Yes." But God, you look good. She pushed away the inappropriate thoughts she was having as her fingers itched to remove his tie and slip inside his shirt.
"So you don't like the rumpled look then?" Harry had moved closer to her and Ruth was sure he was about to pin her to his desk; an idea that was growing more appealing by the minute.
"Well, I didn't say that did I?"
"Now who's being pedantic?"
She laughed softly. "Maybe." Her eyes returned to the piece of paper in his hand. "You found my note then?"
"Ah yes," Harry looked at the forgotten item he still held onto and Ruth was completely mesmerised as he read the poem to her.
As he spoke the final line, she had to blink back the tears she could feel forming. "I thought it seemed appropriate. I rather stamped all over your dreams didn't I? Crushed them…" she trailed off and her gaze dropped to the floor.
"I wouldn't say crushed; slightly dented perhaps, but nothing that can't be repaired."
"Really?" her eyes met his again.
"Really," he smiled at her and Ruth felt her heart lift as he continued, "I'm sure you know that poem is about a man who has nothing to give the woman he loves but his dreams."
"Yes," she said faintly.
Harry's right hand cupped her face and his thumb lightly stroked her cheek as he spoke, "dreams and love – they often seem to be entwined."
"They're both precious and should be treasured..." She didn't get the opportunity to finish as his lips, which were surprisingly soft, brushed over hers.
He tasted of whisky and something else, which she couldn't readily identify. Not that she cared; not when she could feel his tongue gently exploring her mouth and his hands in her hair.
Ruth was sitting on the edge of Harry's desk as he refastened the buttons on her shirt, albeit rather more slowly than he'd undone them. "The rumpled look certainly suits you," he whispered in her ear.
She blushed and her face felt as hot as the rest of her skin, which still burnt from his touch. "Harry!"
He chuckled as he moved his hands to her flushed cheeks and tilted her head up so he could look into her eyes. "I know you said you couldn't have dinner with me again but how about breakfast?"
"I would love to have breakfast. Together." Her arms snaked round his waist, pulling him closer, "but I haven't finished apologising to you yet."
As her mouth trapped his in a deliciously intense kiss, Harry reflected that, just occasionally, real life could be far better than any dream.
The End
A/N The poem is by W B Yeats
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