Title: Fever
Fandom: Spooks
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Ruth
Rating: T
Warnings: Some inappropriate thoughts from Ruth at times. Nothing major though.

Summary:
It's Harry's turn to be ill, and Ruth takes it upon herself to take care of him. Sort of a companion to 'Sick'.

Disclaimer: I don't own Spooks. If I did, Harry and Ruth would be happily retired in that house in Suffolk. The franchise and its characters belong to Kudos and BBC and I am not making any money from writing this.


Chapter 1

Ruth was at her desk, tying up a few loose ends in her final report. Glancing around she noticed that the team were flagging; hardly surprising really considering most of them have been on the go for over 48 hours, herself included. But that's what happens when rogue Iraqi soldiers go on the rampage in central London, taking out people at random with a sniper rifle. She looked towards Harry's office wondering how he was; he'd looked shocking when he'd returned from Whitehall after debriefing the JIC. The blinds are still down but Ruth made a decision. Leaving her computer to run its current and final analysis, she headed into the kitchenette.

She returned a few minutes later armed with a tray full of cups of tea and coffee, a sugar bowl, some milk and a plate biscuits for the team which she placed on Zaf's desk.

"Thanks Ruth," he said looking up. "You didn't have to do that."

Ruth shrugged, "Good for the soul to get the tea every once in a while." She added some milk and sugar to one of the mugs and turned to Harry's office. "I'll take one in for Harry," she said. Zaf didn't comment but it didn't go unnoticed by him that:

a) she knew exactly how he took his coffee, and
b) that she took a mug for herself too.

He merely smiled and made a mental note to alter the odds on his book.

Ruth entered Harry's office without knocking as had become customary for her but it was only when she went to place his coffee down on his desk that she noticed he was asleep. Slumped over his desk, his head resting on his arms, he was snoring lightly. Ruth was concerned; this wasn't like him. He'd gone for much longer without sleep before and had never once fallen asleep at his desk.

Having put the mugs down, she moved to him and gently placed her hand on his back. She stood for a moment, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breaths, soothed somehow by his steadiness. She didn't want to wake him, but she couldn't just leave him there. He didn't look comfortable and she knew from experience that if he stayed like that for too long, his neck and back would be in agony.

"Harry," she said quietly. He stirred, but didn't wake. She leaned closer to his ear and put her hand on his head. He felt warm and his skin was slightly clammy. "Harry."

This time he heard, and lifted his head. Groggy, he put his hands over his face, rubbing hard. Ruth stepped back and let him get his bearings. When he realised what had happened he looked embarrassed. "Uh…Ruth? I…Oh…I must have dozed off."

Ruth looked at him intently; he did not look well. His skin was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes. "Are you okay Harry? You don't look well."

"I'm fine."

"Harry!"

"Okay, I feel a little…off kilter," he finally admitted.

"You need to go home," Ruth stated.

"I can't; I need to see the Home Secretary."

"Bugger the Home Secretary," Ruth quipped, retrieving Harry's coat from the rack in the corner of the office. "It's almost 5, you've not slept in over 48 hours and it's quite clear that you are ill.

"Ruth," he began to protest, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Stand up," she instructed in a no nonsense tone, holding out his coat. Harry reluctantly did as she asked and as he stood the room began to spin. He closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. When he opened his eyes once more Ruth was looking at him, concern etched on her face. "Come on Harry. I'm taking you home."


When they arrived at his house, Harry had managed to summon up enough energy to remove his coat and climb the stairs before flopping down on his bed, exhausted. She'd removed his shoes and socks, got him a glass of water and then left him to rest. She hadn't gone far though; taking up residence on his sofa. She couldn't explain why she'd felt the need to stay, but she had. She'd tried to tell herself that she was repaying the favour from when he took care of her when she had the flu several months ago, but deep down she knew it was more than that. Over the last few months she and Harry had become closer and she was beginning to feel things for him that one shouldn't feel for their boss. And now he was sick and she was worried about him. She'd never seen him ill before. Injured yes, but not ill; not really. There had been that time during the EERIE exercise that he'd pretended to be dying but that didn't count as he was only playing a role.

She looked at the clock; it had been nearly an hour since they'd gotten back and she was beginning to get a little peckish. Meandering into the kitchen, she found Scarlet asleep in her bed. She bent down to greet the Jack Russell, stroking her gently behind the ears. "Do you think your master would mind if I helped myself to some food?" she asked.

Scarlet gave a whimper which Ruth took to mean, "Not at all," so after filling the dog's bowl she began to scour the cupboards for something to cobble together into a meal. She found herself pleasantly surprised by the contents of Harry's kitchen cupboards; all the evidence pointed to him being rather talented in the kitchen. She wondered what other areas of life he was talented in and found herself daydreaming about him cooking for her and then showing just how talented he was in certain other areas; kissing, touching, fu-…

The creak of a floorboard upstairs pulled her from her fantasy. She shook her head, telling herself to stop it; he's her boss after all, before making her way to the bottom of the stairs, her quest for food forgotten. She listened for further movement and it quickly became obvious that Harry was up and about. She climbed the stairs quietly, not wanting to startle Harry who had probable assumed she'd left. About half way up she announced her presence but when she arrived at the top she couldn't see him.

His bedroom door was open, so she peered in. "Harry?"

At her voice he stepped out of the adjoining bathroom. Ruth looked at him; he was holding onto the doorframe and he looked worse than before, something she hadn't thought possible. She approached him and he let go of the doorframe, staggering into her. The force pushed them both backwards into the bedroom. What caught her attention, shocked her even as they fell, was not the dead weight of his body but the heat of it. He was radiating. Waves of heat poured off him, onto her, soaking through her thin blouse. Desperately she tried to keep him upright but the sheer weight of him overcame her small size and they tumbled onto the bed. His face, hot and sweaty, buried in her neck. Mumbling. Unintelligible into her skin.

"The fields are blue. Call base. I left already. He's gone."

Fear for him choked Ruth so much that she couldn't think for a moment. Using all her strength she rolled him off her and sat herself up.

"Bill. Help Bill. I couldn't help him. I left him. They'll kill him."

He was delirious; probably due to the fever that was taking over his body, causing it to tremble and shiver. She may not have paid full attention as a child when her father spoke of his works as GP but she'd listened enough to know that a fever as high as Harry's was not good. She had to cool him down and fast.