There seemed little point in his hanging around the hospital, not after Jane had made it clear he was not welcome. Of course, he could have kicked up a stink, and used his knighthood as leverage with the staff, but he doubted that would work this time …... not that it ever had. He hurried out of the building to his car, and found himself in early evening traffic, headed for a place where he hoped he could seek some understanding from another, perhaps even temporary solace.

By the time he'd parked outside the small building in which Ruth and Beth shared a flat, he realised he was so weary he could barely think, so he leaned back in his seat, turning his head towards the front door of the flat, and closed his eyes …... just for a minute or two until Ruth came home.

Hearing a knocking beside his head, Harry sat up suddenly, and turned to see Ruth at his window.

"Either come inside and get warm, or go home to bed," she said to him, after he'd opened his window.

"I need to talk to someone," was all he was able to say.

"You can come in if you like. Beth's staying over with her latest man."

"Anyone I know?" he asked, as he followed her up the steps to her front door, and then into the flat, dark and cold after having been closed all day. "Beth, I mean. Is her boyfriend anyone I know?"

"Most likely not. I can't keep up," Ruth replied, turning on the gas fire, and indicating with her hand that he should sit on the sofa opposite. "Her ability to quickly form and then suddenly end relationships with men makes my head spin."

Without thinking about it, he sat down where she indicated, and felt the world-weariness leave his body. His sigh as he leant back against the cushions could have been heard in the neighbouring flats, so deeply did his body need to rest for a while.

"When did you last eat?" Ruth asked, as she brought a glass of whiskey in to him from the kitchen.

"I can't remember. Maybe this morning."

"And when did you last sleep?"

He eyed her then, wondering whether she cared, or if she was judging him for not looking after himself better. "I had a few hours last night, before I was called back on to the Grid."

"And then you disappeared after you received that phone call."

"Yes. It was …... personal. I …... that's why I need to talk to you."

Ruth turned and headed back into the kitchen, where he heard the sounds of her preparing to cook something."

"You don't have to do this, you know," he called to her. "I can go home, and eat something there."

Ruth suddenly appeared at the door to the sitting room. "You're here now, so you may as well stay. Do you want eggs with bacon, or eggs on their own?"

"Ruth …... I don't expect you to feed me."

"Someone has to, otherwise you'll die."

He smiled weakly in her direction, and nodded.

"Eggs with anything I can find in my fridge?"

He nodded, and smiled again, although the smiling part took a lot more energy than he had to spare, most of it being taken up by the need to keep his eyes open. He nodded off again while Ruth cooked their dinner.

"Thank you, Ruth. This looks wonderful."

Harry tucked into a large serving of eggs, bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms, all on three slices of toast. He was hungier than he'd thought, and the food was not only satisfying his hunger, but forcing him awake. He'd almost finished his meal before Ruth had even begun eating. He looked across the table at Ruth, who had one egg, one slice of bacon, and half a tomato on one slice of toast on a small plate.

"I'm not as hungry as you," she explained, "and I ate lunch, while I suspect you didn't."

"I was at a private hospital where my son had been admitted after a drug overdose."

The words slipped out quietly, and for a moment, he thought Ruth had not heard them. He looked up to see her eyes on him, shock visible in her expression.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. Is he alright?"

"Graham hasn't been alright since he was sixteen or so. He only regained consciousness at three o'clock this afternoon, but that's a good sign, so I'm told."

Ruth put down her knife and fork, and looked at him closely. "Did you talk to him? Was he …... well?"

Suddenly, Ruth's obvious genuine concern for a young man whom she had never met, but who could have become her stepson, moved Harry in a way he'd not expected.

Suddenly, he felt the emotion well up in his body, the tears building behind his eyes.

Suddenly, he wished they were much more than colleagues, and that she had said yes instead of no.

Suddenly, he wished he'd not had a past which she'd found reprehensible.

Suddenly, he wanted to hold her close – a warm and desired body – so that she could help him through this.

Harry dropped his eating utensils on to his plate, and leaned his head forward to rest on his hands, hiding his eyes, his shoulders shaking with unexpressed emotion. His tears fell silently without his bidding. He could not have held them back, even had he tried. He couldn't look at Ruth, for fear she'd be embarrassed, or perhaps horrified by his uncharacteristic display of emotion.

The shaking in his shoulders eased once he allowed his tears to fall freely. It was only then that he sensed Ruth beside him, and then he felt her hand circling his back, consoling him, and he heard her quiet words of reassurance. This was the reason he'd driven to Ruth's flat. He'd yearned for her touch, her soft words. It's just that he hadn't expected them.

After a while, Harry's tears stopped, and he sat up and wiped his face with a bunch of tissues which Ruth handed him. She was sitting close to him, on the chair next to his, and her hand was still on his back, warming him, comforting him.

"Tell me about it, Harry. There's more, isn't there?"

He looked at her then. Her face was so close to his that he could have kissed her. He wanted to kiss her – badly – but to do so would have risked the delicate, gossamer connection they had made in the previous half hour. Besides, he hadn't showered for almost twenty hours, so to be any closer to her wouldn't be right. And she'd said no to his proposal of marriage. That had spelled the end to any chance of physical intimacy between them. So why was her hand still on his back? Why was it that every minute or so, she rubbed her hand in circles over his jacket, sending shivers of pleasure through him?

He nodded. "Yes, there's more." He waited, hoping she'd want to hear more – the endless saga that was his relationship with his son, and his ex-wife. It was none of her business. She no longer had any interest in his private life – if, in fact, she ever had. He waited, looking into those deep blue eyes, waiting for the cue to continue.

"Tell me, Harry," she said, her hand again circling his back, so that he could barely think straight for wanting to be closer to her. "Tell me what happened."

.