Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC. I'm just letting them have some fun between series…
A/N – This is just a bit of fluffy fun set in a fluffy AU – enjoy.
Ruth spotted the MI6 officer who had tried to chat her up earlier heading in her direction. Deliberately ignoring his attempts to catch her eye, she moved towards the terrace. It was a relief to get outside, although the night air was only marginally cooler. A pergola provided some privacy and took her out of the direct sightline of the ballroom. She settled herself onto the small bench that was tucked away in the honeysuckle-scented darkness and waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the night.
A slight movement further along the terrace caught her attention. It was Harry; he was leaning back against the balustrade, one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other tugging at his collar.
She stayed in the shadows and watched him. For Ruth, one of the few highlights of attending official functions was the opportunity to admire Harry in his formal evening wear. And at this precise moment he was looking particularly good, having finally undone his tie and opened the neck of his shirt.
He started to walk towards the other end of the terrace so she craned forward to watch him. When he abruptly turned around, she was forced to duck back out of sight. She sat, heart pounding, and prayed he hadn't seen her.
"Are you going hide in the shrubbery all evening Ruth?"
The heat rose in her face and she was glad of the darkness to mask her embarrassment.
"I'm not hiding," she lied, unconvincingly. "And this isn't really shrubbery."
"All right then." He sat down next to her. "Are you going to spend the rest of the evening amongst the Lonicera Japonica, trying to avoid being seen?"
"I was just getting some fresh air. The ballroom is incredibly hot." Ruth fanned herself, somewhat ineffectually, with one hand.
Harry leant closer to her. "Let's go for a walk down by the lake. It might be a bit cooler there."
He smelt of aftershave, malt whisky and expensive cigars. It was an attractive and intoxicating combination.
"Ruth?"
"What?" she questioned, inelegantly, realising her thoughts had strayed into dangerous territory.
"Would you like to go for a walk by the lake?" he responded, clearly amused.
"Y-yes, yes, I would."
They walked slowly along the gravel path that led from the terrace to the lake, stopping for a few minutes to look at the lights from the hotel reflected on the water's surface.
"You were right. It does seem cooler here," Ruth ventured.
"Very beautiful," Harry replied, rather enigmatically, his gaze fixed on her face.
She opened her mouth and then closed it again, not trusting herself to say anything sensible. "Let's, um, let's…" she pointed into the darkness and started to walk again.
They hadn't gone far when Ruth stumbled, her foot catching on the edge of the path. Harry made a grab for her arm and prevented her from completely losing her balance.
"Are you all right?"
"Ow, no. Bloody shoes," Ruth muttered.
"Come on, let's sit you down for a moment." He looked around hoping to find a bench but there were none to be seen. "You'll have to sit on the grass."
With some difficulty, he manoeuvred her onto a reasonably sound looking patch of turf and knelt in front of her. "Here," he said, gently lifting her leg up, "let me see if there's any damage."
Ruth leant back, propping herself on her elbows. The pain seemed to lessen as Harry carefully examined her ankle. His touch was surprisingly light and she found herself wondering what it would be like to feel his hands-
"I don't think you've torn any ligaments; it's probably sprained though so you're going to have to rest it."
Harry's diagnosis interrupted Ruth's thoughts.
"Rest it, right, OK," she replied.
He stood up and held his hands out to her. "I'll help you to your room."
It took them a while to get back to the hotel. The last few yards were a struggle as Harry had to carry her across the gravelled courtyard, Ruth having discarded her shoes. It wasn't that she was heavy, far from it, but holding her close to him, her arms twined round his neck, was a fantasy made real. And very distracting.
By the time they got to her room, Harry was feeling decidedly hot and bothered.
"Are you OK?" Ruth enquired, noticing the sheen of perspiration on his face and his rather laboured breathing.
"Fine," he lied, quashing the impulse to sweep her into his arms again, and kiss her senseless. "I'll leave you to get some sleep."
"Oh…yes, I suppose I should." There was a note of disappointment in her voice.
"Night Ruth."
"Night. And thanks, Harry."
He smiled and Ruth thought he was going to say something else but then he turned and headed back down the corridor to his own room. She watched him go and sighed, wishing she could be braver where he was concerned.
---
Harry discarded his jacket the moment he entered his room. Unbuttoning his shirt, he walked over to the French windows and opened them. It made little difference to either the temperature of the room or him. He stepped onto the balcony and peered into the darkness. It was eerily quiet; a distant flash of lightening offered some hope of a break in the weather but there was no subsequent rumble of thunder.
Disconsolately, he wandered back into the room and eyed the contents of the mini-bar. He retrieved one of the miniature bottles of whisky and a clean glass. Sipping his drink, he paced around and considered the evening's events, toying with the idea of going back to Ruth's room and declaring his feelings for her. He drained his glass and crossed the floor. As his hand came to rest on the door handle, he realised the alcohol and his overactive imagination had very nearly got the better of him. What he needed was a shower, a cold one probably, not an assignation with Ruth. He took a deep breath and turned towards the bathroom.
More soon..ish
