A/N – Technically, this is a sequel to my fic 'five letter word' but it can stand alone. All you have to know is that Ruth and Harry have had a chat on the roof of Thames House and decided to give themselves a second chance. Set post-9, AU, rated T (for now).

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Chapter 1 - History

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It was frigidly cold, when Ruth arrived back home. Her hands shook as they fumbled around in her handbag for her keys. Her skin was still half-numb from her walk back from the bus stop. Her shoulders were still tense from her day at work. It had been a long week, punctuated by three bomb threats, a missing foreign dignitary and an escaped right-wing terrorist. With disaster averted, Ruth had hoped to crawl back home and sleep but duty had called, one last time, in the form of a background check commissioned by the Home Secretary.

It had taken two hours to compile a report on the matter, by which time all non-essential personnel had drained off the Grid. Ruth had soldiered on alone, with only young Tariq Masood to assist her. Once done, she had dismissed the young technical officer and ventured into Harry's office alone, to hand their report over and beg leave of the Grid. He had grumblingly agreed, muttering something about payscales not being proportionate to hours put in, and there being precious few perks to being the most senior ranking officer.

The thought of her boss – now no longer just her boss – made Ruth smile slightly. He had not been in the best of moods when she had left and still had to run that report over to Towers, before he retired for the night. Ruth could only hope that the Home Secretary would express his undying gratitude, for the report, when Harry delivered it. It would be highly awkward, she thought, if Towers were to be found strangled in his office, tomorrow morning. Ruth wasn't entirely sure she would feel comfortable with providing Harry an alibi. That said, there were some days she wanted to strangle William Towers as well.

Pushing politicians and their pointless paperwork from her mind, Ruth managed to find her keys, nestled in the deepest part of her coat pocket, and pulled them forth. Unlocking the front door of her apartment, she quietly let herself in, pulling off her scarf and coat and hanging them near the door.

The house was deathly silent. Ruth paused, after removing her outer layers, peering around it a little anxiously. The locks had all been in place and the alarm system approved by Tariq himself, but she had grown wary of everything, over the past couple of years. And since Beth had moved out, several months ago, she had found this place somewhat too large and too empty to feel completely at home. It was a three bedroom apartment, with one rattling around in it. Ruth didn't even own much of the furniture. Everything she would take with her, when she left, could fit inside three suitcases.

Part of her missed Beth Bailey – and all her mess and clutter. It was quite dispiriting, coming back to an empty house. Still, it made the place easier to navigate in the dark. She began to pick her way carefully towards the kitchen, where a soft noise at the door had announced Fidget's presence.

At fourteen years old, the cat was old and tired but, unlike his owner, had lost none of his joie de vivre. As Ruth opened the kitchen door and flicked on the light, he tottered happily over and wound himself around her legs, proudly offering her the tail of some unfortunate rodent he had caught in the garden. Ruth picked it up between two fingertips and deposited it in the bin, where it belonged. The cat looked nonplussed, but soon forgave her when she turned her attentions to adding food to his bowl.

Ruth straightened and leant back against the counter top, watching him eat. Fidget was an old friend but, as nice as it was to watch him nosing around in his food bowl, she couldn't help but still feel a little lonely. Apart from the cat's gentle crunching, the house remained as quiet as when she had entered it. There was no Beth, to call out a greeting, no team members, jesting like family as they did during slow days on the Grid... no Harry to-... Ruth cleared her throat. No Harry.

Giving a slight sigh, she turned to the fridge and began to search through her meagre choices for sustenance. It was late, but she should really eat something before retiring for the night. She had to work in the morning, after all, and no doubt she would be up far too early to feel like eating then. There was half a plate of lasagne on the bottom shelf, leftover from dinner the day before, which looked plausible, so she chucked it into the microwave and left it to heat up. Leftovers would do. She wasn't terribly hungry. She was tired more than anything – tired and mildly frustrated.

Her thoughts fell back to Harry.

It had been almost a week, she thought, toying with the sleeves of her jumper; a week since their discussion on the Thames House rooftop, since they had made the decision to try and make something good from their broken relationship. Ruth could not have imagined a worse week for a fledgling couple to take their first steps. Throughout the string of national (and political) emergencies, they had barely had time to talk to one another, let alone anything else. They had drank coffee together, on New Years day, but it was only on the Grid, so Ruth supposed that didn't really count as a date. They had kissed twice.

The first time, she had been meeting him and the rest of the team, to give them a file. The others had left after the meeting and Harry had pulled her to one side and kissed her, before they had headed back to the Grid. It had been a light kiss, gentle and fleeting. Still, it made her blush slightly to remember it. It made her blush harder, to remember the second kiss.

The microwave pinged and Ruth reached inside of it, checking on the lasagne. Feeling that it was still half-cold, she shoved it back inside and set it for another turn, her thoughts still revolving around Harry.

The second time they had kissed had been late at night. They had been walking down the corridor outside his office, with Calum Reid and Dimitri sleeping next door, on the camp beds set out in the briefing room. Tariq had been slaving away on some program or another, in his lair. Erin Watts had been dispatched over to meet a contact at Six, while everyone else on the Grid had been sent home, to grab a few hours of rest. The mood in the air had been one of adrenaline and fear. It had been one of those awful few hours, during an operation, where all they could do was wait. There had been no new leads, no movements on either side of the playing field. Ruth had been explaining some cross-referencing process to Harry. They had been walking down the corridor, behind his office, and he had stopped in his tracks – so she had stopped – then he had turned and pressed his lips against hers.

She could still remember the taste of him, if she cared to. She could remember the feel of his chest brushing hers, too, though all cognisant thought abandoned her at the time. She had let herself be steered back against the wall, felt it hard against her shoulder blades, as Harry's was soft against her front. The kiss had not been chaste and not been fleeting. It had been slow and deep and, even after he had pulled back from her, it had taken a good ten seconds or so before she had realised where they were, and what they should not be doing, and nudged him away.

"Harry," she had whispered his name in reproach.

"They can't see. We're in a blind spot," he had told her, with burning eyes.

"Oh," Ruth had murmured back, going red.

Somehow, she couldn't find it in herself to be surprised that be had a CCTV blind spot, just outside his office. He was Harry Pearce, after all. It had probably come in useful more than once, in his time as Section Head. Probably never for this, though, thought Ruth, biting her lip.

They had stood still, watching one another, for another few seconds, and then Ruth's nerves had got the better of them.

"Someone could come by," she had whispered, edging gently away before, on impulse, nipping back in to give him another brief kiss. "Sorry," she whispered as they parted and stepped off, ahead of him, down the blue-lit corridor.

"Don't be." Harry had followed her, a few paces behind. When she glanced back, he was smiling. "I was having a terrible day," he murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear. "You just made it better."

They had parted and gone their separate ways, after that, and it had taken Ruth's heart rate a full ten minutes to slow to normal.

Her cheeks remained red for nearly fifteen.

Though Ruth was glad that the Grid had been empty of their colleagues, when Harry had pinned her against the corridor wall – and even gladder that they had been in a CCTV blind spot – she could not quite bring herself to feel sorry for what they had done. Harry had felt so good against her. He had made her feel good, too. And it wasn't wrong, she reminded herself, not anymore.

Ruth sighed as a strange feeling fluttered up from her stomach, a mix of relief and longing and maybe a little lust. It was quarter past two in the morning, far too late for her to call him, but she was already starting to regret her request to move slowly with their new relationship. She should have invited him back here, she thought, cursing herself for being prudish. There had been a chance, earlier that night, when he had told her to go home and get some rest. They been talking about the clean-up operation and the report he needed to deliver to the Home Secretary. She could have asked him then, Ruth thought, asked him to come by her place after he had handed over his report – asked him back to share her bed. He would have accepted, she knew he would have. They were tired, not dead, after all.

Giving a sigh, she watched the microwave plate turn slowly. The more pragmatic part of her mind countered that she would have no idea what to do with him, once she had him here. The dreams she had dreamt of Harry, over the years, had not even nearly prepared her for having his hands play over her neck, her back, and her sides. Every time they touched, it had felt like she was burning, like it was nowhere near enough. At the same time, it also felt very close to being too much.

Some part of Ruth was glad that they had had events to hold them apart, this past week. Years of want and longing had inspired powerful lust and she did not want that to be their first experience of each other, something quick and cheap and desperate. They weren't that. On the other hand, she had grown quite used to the idea of having Harry in a way she had not had him in the past. Over the last week, they had found moments just to stand and talk. More often than not, they talked about work, but it had been nice – personal rather than professional. They found excuses to brush against one another and hold each others' gaze, they talked softly and laughed at each other's jokes, and, for the first time, Ruth did not feel guilty.

It was okay, she had realised with a rush of joy, to touch him, now. It was okay that he was watching her with hungry eyes. They had talked about what they wanted on that roof and agreed that they were going to try and make this work. Finally feeling it was okay, for them to act like a couple, also made Ruth reconsider just how slow she wanted to take this. Seven years had been a long time of wanting him. And it had been nearly three since she had been with a man. She wanted this almost as much as Harry's eyes said he did.

The microwave pinged, interrupting Ruth's increasingly heated thoughts. Emptying out the lasagne onto a plate, she stood back and frowned at it for a second, then poked it with the end of her fork. It bounced back from her touch, rubbery.

"Lovely," she murmured, investigating the way the cheese had melted off the top and pooled greasily around the sides. Perhaps she would just have toast, instead...

Fidget purred and rubbed against her ankle. Ruth prodded the lasagne's rubbery surface one last time and then shoved it to one side. Yes, toast would do. She was not that hungry anyway. Memories, of past, sweet entanglements with Harry, had left her feeling frustrated and on-edge. She did not want food. She wanted him. It was maddening.

"I know," she told Fidget, bending down to scratch behind his ear. "I'm being an idiot. I said we should take this slow, so we should take this slow... but it's Harry." She appraised the cat, wondering if he would remember Harry, who had fostered him during the few years Ruth had spent 'dead' in Cyprus. "You remember Harry. My boss. Your old housemate. We've liked him for quite a while..." she told the cat.

Fidget purred in reply but was then promptly distracted by the movement of a speck of dust, and padded away. Fickle creature, thought Ruth, with a sigh. Without him there, however, she felt even lonelier. Deciding to distract herself by filling her belly, she tossed the lasagne into the bin and proceeded to dig through her cupboards, eventually coming upon a slightly stale scone. With butter and jam applied, it wasn't half bad. Ruth made some tea and went to sit at the table, prising off her boots as she went.

Her feet and her back were aching from the past two days, spent rushing between the Grid, archives and various safehouses. It had been a very long week. She wondered whether Harry had presented her report to the Home Secretary, yet. Had he returned to the Grid afterwards, or gone home? As if they did not belong to her, Ruth's eyes slid back over to where her phone lay on the counter and she debated with herself over whether Harry would still be awake. No normal person would be, this early on a Sunday morning, but Harry was no more normal than she was. So, perhaps...

She broke the last few bits of the scone into pieces and toyed with them, watching the phone resolutely, now. It wouldn't do much harm to send him a message, surely. If he was asleep then he could check it in the morning. If not, then she might get an answer right away. What the hell she wanted say, she was not sure, but she wanted one last point of contact, before the evening was over. (Or 'morning', she should really say morning now, it was nearly three, after all). God, she would be getting up in just four hours.

Her mind was almost made up to message him when her mobile chirped happily and vibrated against the table.

Ruth gave a little jump. On the other side of the room, Fidget turned in a somewhat confused circle, searching for the source of the noise. The poor cat was half-deaf, but sudden, loud noises still unsettled him. This noise unsettled Ruth as well, and simultaneously filled her with joy. Discarding the last few bits of scone, she rose again and shuffled over to the phone in stocking feet, turning it over and unlocking it deftly. Her heart leapt a little more. It was Harry's number. Harry's message.

Her stomach twisted as she opened it.

'Sorry for disturbing you so late. Was just wondering if you fancied coffee, before the Wood meeting, with the Home Sec tomorrow? I can pick you up.'

Coffee, of course Harry would ask her for coffee. It was less emotionally loaded than dinner and more intimate than lunch, which could so easily be work-related. Ruth cleared her throat, feeling it tighter than usual, drier too. Her skin was tingling slightly, with a mixture of surprise and delight. The thought of her and Harry doing something normal like going for coffee felt surreal, after so many years. What would they talk about, if he ruled out work as a topic?

Don't be stupid, she reminded herself, they had had plenty to talk about over dinner. In fact, he had surprised her with how easy dinner was. They had worked as well together there as they did on the Grid. It was the bit afterwards that was difficult, the returning to work and facing the talk. But Ruth was prepared for that, now. She was older, wiser, (well, sort of) and, despite her nerves, there was no question over whether she wanted to go.

She took a steadying breath.

'Sounds good,' she typed in. 'You can pick me up around seven, if it suits you.' Her fingers hovered over the send button for a moment, and then moved back to the text box and added, 'why on earth are you still awake?' signing her initial at the end. It felt too soon for a kiss, but she wanted to end it on a personal note and it seemed fitting.

Ruth had never had much time for texting, in the past, but it was something the younger members of the team seemed to prefer to short phone calls. So, she had grown used to it. Outside of work, nobody but Calum really sent her messages. He was the friendliest of the new team. Every few days, he would send her a joke – or a dirty limerick, if he was feeling particularly mischievous. Malcolm occasionally checked up on her, too, especially if he had heard something terrible on the news. But he was more like to call than text.

Harry had only really communicated by phone calls, before. Ruth was just wondering whether the younger team was having an effect on him too, when the phone began to vibrate in her hand and she dropped it in a momentary spate of panic. It bounced off the table and clattered to the floor, tipping over twice before settling at her feet. Ruth scooped it quickly back up. Thankfully, the glass front of the screen had not cracked from the fall and she could still read the caller ID.

Harry's name printed across the top, next to the word 'calling'.

Harry.

Ruth swore quietly to herself. Then, pulling on as much composure as she could manage, she unlocked the phone and answered, trying to keep the breathless edge from her tone. He really needn't know how terribly out of practice she was at this.

"Hi,"

As soon as the word left her lips, she cursed inwardly. Why 'hi'? What a stupid way to start things. She never said 'hi', she always said 'hello'. Who was this woman she had turned into, with all of these nerves and insecurities?

Harry's voice on the other end of the line, however, drove her self-deprecating thoughts away with one word. "Hi," he echoed her greeting, perhaps to make her feel more comfortable. Ruth felt a swelling gratitude towards him and a wave of another emotion, a lot more familiar. After a moment of silence, Harry continued. "Why aren't you asleep?"

He sound tired. Ruth could hear the hint of a yawn in his voice and wondered whether he had left the office, yet. Surely he had.

"Just got back and I was hungry. Thought I'd eat something so I didn't fall over," she explained.

It was strange, having a friendly conversation with Harry at half two in the morning, strange but not unpleasant. Late night tete-a-tetes had long been banned and Ruth did not doubt, now, why Harry had done so. There was an undertone, to his innocent questioning. It was late, they should both have been asleep. Both were tired and vulnerable, yet they chose to seek each other out. The undertone, to their situation, was one of mutual need. Ruth's heart was pounding against her chest.

"You said you were going home," she admonished her boss, softly.

"I am home. This is a non work-related call." He sounded pleased, at being able to say that without repercussion.

Ruth felt her heart beat a little faster. There was a little bit of a silence, as they sized each other up. Non work-related left this conversation open to a lot of things, things they had not yet had the chance to pursue, what with the intensity of the week that had just passed. Ruth was not sure what to say. Thankfully, Harry soon took the decision out of her hands and spoke up first.

"Messaging you was a passive-aggressive way of seeing if you were awake," he admitted, softly. "I didn't want to disturb you, but I wanted to make sure you made it home okay."

And check that you were allowed to call me? Ruth bit at the inside of her lip. That was part of the reason she had wanted to call him. What had happened between them, up on that rooftop last week, still did not seem real and neither did anything which had occurred between them since. The gentle touching, the kisses, the newfound ability to talk to one another – it all seemed like an obscenely pleasant dream. Ruth half expected to wake up at any minute. The pain of biting at the inside of her lip, however, did not wake her and the table felt solid under her fingertips. Yes, she was definitely awake.

"You should be asleep," she murmured, because she knew she needed to say something, even if it wasn't something important. As happy as she would be, to sit and listen to him talk all night, Ruth decided she should try and not sound like a love-struck fool. "Did you manage to get the report to Towers?" she asked, smothering a yawn.

"Yes," Harry replied, sounding almost as exhausted as she felt. "The bastard had the audacity to scold me, for keeping him up so late."

Ruth gave a soft noise of disbelief, but said no more.

After a moment, Harry continued.

"I just got back ten minutes ago. Calum and Dimitri are holding the Grid, for now, with some junior analysts in tow. They'll call me if anything sinister comes up but, knock on wood, everything has worked out the way we planned. The detonator and supplies are in custody and the remaining perpetrators..." Harry paused to yawn and never quite finished his sentence.

Ruth let it slide.

"All is well, then?"

"All is well."

Ruth knew how terrible the world could be – she had had plenty of experience of it, after all. Still, when Harry said all was well, she could not help but feel a little safer. Perhaps it was his voice, or just the fact that he was Harry Pearce. She forgot sometimes, because she had known him for so long, but Harry Pearce was considered a formidable figure in their world. His name demanded a lot of respect and a healthy dose of fear, amongst his colleagues. Yet here he was, voice almost purring down the phone line, for her. Ruth's lips curled into a happy little smile, at the thought.

About ten seconds passed in silence, punctuated by the sound of their soft breathing.

"Ruth?" Harry eventually asked.

"Yes?"

"Do you want me to go, so that you can sleep?"

"No," she answered, a little too quickly. Flushing pink, she forced herself to slow down and explain. "No, Harry, don't go. I'm glad you called, I'm just-,"

"-Tired." Strangely, Ruth could tell that he was smiling, when he said it. It gave a distinctive tension to his voice, an edge that she could never tire of hearing. "I know," Harry continued, "I could sleep for a month."

"We've been through worse," she told him, trying to brush it off. "I've been more tired."

"Baghdad?" Harry asked, voice soft as silk.

"Yes," Ruth agreed, her stomach twisting slightly within her. "Baghdad was bad."

In danger, sleep deprived, hot as hell... and close enough to Harry that every day had been a test of willpower. Ruth was still surprised they had made it through Baghdad without pinning each other against their cheap hotel wall. It had been a close thing, once or twice. One particular moment stuck in her mind, an almost-clinch in the doorway of her hotel room. He had touched her neck, brushing away a stray lock of hair, or a fly – she could no longer remember why he touched her, just that he did – and they had gravitated towards each other, sharing an almost-kiss.

Harry's phone had rung then, however, and Ruth had pulled sharply away. They had plunged themselves back into work and she had managed to stay a little further away from him after that. Three days, two nights, no sleep. They had fallen asleep against one another on the plane journey home and, when they had woken in London, they had both refused to talk about it. Baghdad was a long time ago, now, though.

"I've had worse than Baghdad," Ruth sighed.

"The 'Incident' with the Russians, in 2007?" Harry asked.

"Surprisingly not my worst few days on the Grid," Ruth told him. "Good choice, though. That was a ghastly weekend."

In the silence, Ruth could almost feel him frown, his natural curiosity piqued. The thought of it raised a smile, to her lips. Her companion was a spook, through and through; Harry Pearce, asker of questions, solver of problems. He saw the world as a puzzle and it all had to be questioned to death before he could let it lie. Ruth secretly loved it about him but hoped that they would become close enough, soon, to tell him off for it. His ego could do with a good nudge back down to earth, now and again, and it was just the sort of domesticity that she was craving.

After half a minute, or so, her spook relented and asked her the question outright.

"Okay, then," he sighed. "When were you most tired, on the Grid?"

Ruth smiled. "That bloody lockdown drill, last year."

It had been one of the longest nights of her life. She had barely managed to keep her eyes open, under the intensity of their faked national emergency. Lucas had caught her drifting off more than once and Tariq had had to save her ass when she missed a cross-check on one of the personnel files she was vetting.

Harry hummed, softly.

"Yes, I remember that." He sounded fondly reminiscent. "You were not best pleased."

"I was seething," Ruth stated.

"So I remember." He yawned again and then added, "It was only one night, though. Surely you've been more tired?"

"It was one night for you," Ruth accused, gently. "You had just rolled out of bed. I had pulled a double shift, just before."

"Well, it was hardly my fault that you were flouting ethical employment regulations."

Ruth decided to hold back the fact that she had been working back-to-back weekend shifts and nights in order to avoid seeing him. At the time, it was the only way she felt capable of working but it seemed a little juvenile, now. It also seemed like it might put a dampener on the conversation and she was enjoying him so much. The informality of it all, the soft way he said her name and laughed, it warmed her from the inside out. It warmed her elsewhere, too, but Ruth had resolved not to concentrate on that warming, on that ache. They were supposed to be taking this slowly – no matter how much she didn't want to.

She let herself yawn loudly, to distract herself from the growing need to ask him to come over. The first yawn seemed to catch on another and she gave herself a little shake to finish it off. It was one of those heavy yawns, which left your ears popped and your head about ready for slumber. Giving a little sigh, she wandered through to the living room, sitting herself down on the couch.

Harry asked, again, if he should leave her be. Again, Ruth replied to the negative.

"I'm exhausted, but I don't think I could sleep," she sighed, arranging herself against the couch's many pillows. "My mind is too full."

"A common occurrence, for an analyst, I'm sure."

She smiled. "Is it not for a Section Head?"

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised by how gloriously empty my head is, at the end of a day."

Ruth chuckled, instead of refuting his claim, though she suspected it was far from the truth. Her companion had more skeletons, ghosts and regrets than the rest of their team put together. She hoped that, in time, she could lighten them a bit. There were a hundred things he could never tell her, but there were also a few he could. And she could remove the guilt he felt over her, at least. Giving another yawn, she nestled further into the couch, body sinking into a happy state of torpor.

"But I'm not keeping you from your empty headed sleep, am I?" she asked, softly. "I wouldn't like to impose."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not imposing. I called you," Harry pointed out, "remember?"

A not unpleasant blush crept up Ruth's neck, fanning out across her chest and cheeks. "Yes," she told him softly. "I know."

There was a comfortable silence for a little. Ruth listened to the soft sound of Harry breathing, wondering if it was at all feasible to ask him to stay on the line. If she closed her eyes, now, she knew his breaths would lull her off to sleep. In the end, however, she decided not to ask. It did sound a little creepy and she wasn't nearly brave enough, besides.

"What time does the Home Sec need us, tomorrow?"" she yawned instead.

"Half nine. I managed to get us a lie-in."

"Do I need to prepare anything else?" Ruth asked, to distract herself from her sordid imaginations of what they could have done with a lie-in.

Harry made a noise that she interpreted as negative. "No, nothing else. Your report, on Wood's current security plans, was more than satisfactory and we can work out a proper threat assessment once we have all the details." Harry yawned. "I'd like you to pay attention to Neilson, tomorrow. I want a second opinion on what he is up to. I haven't been able to find any hint of why the SIS want him in on this. He's had no previous dealings with China – not that I know about, anyway. I can only assume that whatever Wood was doing out there was rather important and the idea of its discovery has ruffled feathers in higher management. Neilson is the dog they've sent in."

Neilson. Each time he said his SIS counterpart's name, Ruth detected an undertone of resentment, lending weight to the rumour that their relationship was not a particularly harmonious one.

"Six are showing far too much interest in our involvement," Ruth's boss continued, after a pause. "If Towers knows why, he's not telling me."

"A little counterproductive," Ruth murmured, knowing exactly what Harry needed from her, right now; confirmation.

"But keeping me updated would be far too sensible."

"Of course," she agreed, quietly.

"I'm only his bloody Head of Counterterrorism, after all."

Another smile drew across Ruth's lips. There was that ego again. Would he like her to stroke it a little? She could stroke...

"He probably thinks you'll figure it out by yourself," she told him, voice a little softer than usual. "You usually do."

"Perhaps I should just leave them to it," Harry suggested, "see what happens?"

The smile stretched a little across Ruth's face. However much her boss complained, she knew he would never just 'leave them to it'. Harry would be in there, tomorrow morning, digging and prodding and pushing his weight around, to find out what was happening. It was his job and he was very good at his job.

On the other end of the line, he yawned again.

"You should be in bed," Ruth murmured, fondly.

There was a few seconds gap in the conversation and then Harry spoke up again, somewhat cautiously.

"I am in bed."

"Oh."

The light-hearted nature of the conversation vanished, in the space of a second, replaced with sudden tension.

Ruth's stomach squeezed uncomfortably, inside of her. Harry was in bed and he was calling her. There was no intentional expectation in his words, yet the implication was heavy in the air – for both of them. This was something they had never done before. It was brand new territory and somewhat more intimate than Ruth was used to. He was calling her from his bed, possibly more undressed than she had ever seen him.

No, scratch that last thought, thought Ruth, giving her head another little shake. She wasn't ready for the warmth that would roll through her, from it.

"Too much?" Harry asked her, nervously, after she had not spoken for some time.

"No," Ruth forced herself to reply.

It was not a lie, just an exaggeration. It was not too much – she wanted more, after all – but it was also more than she had been expecting. Never in her life had she wanted anything so much as she wanted Harry, now, but old habits were hard to kill. She had spent so long running away that it was hard to turn towards him. It was hard to shake her nerves, over having a conversation with Harry in bed. Perhaps it was simply because she had not been in his bed yet. Ruth had never been shy with previous lovers but, then again, she hadn't spent seven years convincing herself that any relationship with them was inappropriate.

This thing with Harry was going to be different, Ruth reminded herself gently, but that did not mean it was wrong. She was just going to have to stop trying to compare, stop trying to act as she would with a man she had just met, just fallen in love with.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she relaxed into the couch, closing her eyes and leaning the phone against her cheek. This was Harry. This was 'them', something she had wanted for seven years. She knew what 'them' entailed, of course. They were riddled with holes. Their foundations were cracked and broken. They were two people, made of secrets and lies, trying to come together to from something whole and good. That was never going to be easy, Ruth told herself. There were trust issues and history issues and a host of other issues they had yet to confront, or even discover. She just had to accept that they were starting at a different level to all her previous relationships.

Beneath her nerves, Ruth knew she did not really mind that Harry was calling her from his bed. It implied trust and want, and she was glad he felt that for her – especially the last part. Once over the initial surprise, she realised it was okay for her to admit that, now. They were together. They had decided to try and make this work. It was a good thing that they let each other know what they wanted. They both already knew how each other felt, besides, and it wasn't like they were rushing into this. They had had seven years to get to know each other and, though they had only had a week to come around to the idea of being a couple, Ruth knew that she was more than ready to move a little faster. She had slept with George after three dates, after all. Her experience with Harry was more than equivalent.

"I'm looking forwards to coffee," she told him, truthfully, after she had managed to calm her voice. "And I'm glad you called."

Harry continued to hold his silence.

Ruth spoke up again. "It wasn't too much, Harry, I'm just tired and this is all so new."

"If it ever is, you have to say," he told her, softly. It wasn't often that Ruth heard the great Harry Pearce unsure but unsure he certainly was, right now. The realisation was oddly touching. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You don't," she assured him, gently. Not in any way she didn't enjoy, anyways. "Honestly, Harry, I'm glad you called. It was nice to hear your voice."

And, with that, the ice was broken. An admission of need was all it took, Ruth realised, and resolved to express her need for him more often. Curling deeper into the soft of the couch, she nestled the phone into the crook of her neck and they talked on, about nothing in particular, until Harry's half-smothered yawns became more frequent. Then, Ruth decided it was time she forced him off the line.

"I should go, Harry," she told him softly. "If we don't get to sleep, soon, there'll be no point coming in tomorrow at all."

"Normally, I would give you the day off," her boss began, apologetically, "but..."

"...The meeting, I know." Ruth nodded to herself.

Personally, she was glad that she was needed at their meeting with the Home Secretary, tomorrow – it prevented Harry from letting personal feelings get in the way and offering her the day off. He would have asked it in a professional manner, of course, but Ruth still felt a bit uneasy about the situation. She rather doubted he would grant any of their other colleagues the same leniency. She couldn't imagine Calum or Dimitri getting the day off because he was tired and had stayed up chatting to a prospective lover on the phone.

"If I had anyone else who could handle the workload, I would give you the time." Harry assured her, bringing a small smile back to her lips. "You've already been on the Grid through both Christmas and New Years', after all."

"I know," she repeated again, softly. "I don't mind, Harry."

"There is nobody else on my staff who can translate Wu Chinese, Mandarin and multi-task so efficiently."

Ruth felt her cheeks redden slightly. "Well, that has more to do with your lax hiring strategy than anything else," she muttered, clearing her throat to hide her pleasure at the compliment. She was a spaniel, she thought, just like she had once overheard Juliet say. She would crawl on her belly if it meant Harry would give her a pat the head. It was a little pathetic, Ruth knew, but she had never been able to help herself. "We run three analysts short of the other sections, you know," she told him.

"If I hired more of you, I'd have to pay you all less," he teased her back.

A soft noise of disbelief escaped her. "If you paid us less it would be indentured servitude!"

He laughed out loud at that, the sound low and rich and melodic.

Ruth pushed her head a little further into her pillows, smiling to herself. The awkward tension in the air had faded away again, leaving only warmth. A few seconds passed in comfortable, sleepy silence, their combined, soft breaths the only sound down the line. Then, Harry sighed and spoke again.

"I can pick you up tomorrow, then?"

"Around seven?" Ruth asked.

"Half past. We'll be slightly late in, but I'm sure your boss won't mind and I need the sleep."

Her smile stretched, her skin warm, her muscles relaxed against the softness of the couch. And, above all the comfort of her body, her mind was singing with pleasure. Harry was on the line, Harry was talking to her softly, joking with her gently, loving her quite openly. It felt strange, incredibly strange, but also wonderful.

"I'll sell him some lie about missing my bus," she told him, hiding her smile against one of the couch's many pillows.

Harry sighed, softly – happily, Ruth was almost sure. "Goodnight, Ruth," he murmured to her, down the line. "Sleep well."

"You too."

The urge to ask him to come to her, or to jump in her car and drive to him, was almost overpowering again. Forcing herself past it, Ruth lowered the phone from her ear and pressed 'end call'. The line blinked then went dead. Her heart sank a little, into her stomach, but she stopped short of feeling truly saddened. She would see him in about five hours, after all. They were getting coffee – like two normal people, on a normal date. If she managed not to act like a complete idiot, then coffee could lead to something more. It was not going to be easy, but Ruth knew that. She and Harry had enough baggage to scare any sane person senseless. Still, they wanted the same thing, now, and there was love there, love which had survived all the pain and the years. She wanted to fight for it. He did too.

Deciding that her body was too tired to walk upstairs, she turned herself on the couch, shifting around until she was comfortable. Then, reaching over the side, she flicked the lamp off and the room was plunged into darkness. Her phone screen remained lit for a moment, as she set an alarm and checked her inbox one last time. Then, giving an enormous yawn, she turned that off too, placing it on the side table. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, the exhaustion of the day hit her and her body sunk deep into slumber. Her heart beat slowed, her breathing evening out. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

Her dreams, for once, were pleasant.

.

Note; Many thanks to wannabe2 and natesdate, who were kind enough to help me with spooks trivia and ideas on where I should take this. Your input was greatly appreciated. =)