"We couldn't be more together than we are right now," she says, her beautiful, blue eyes looking into his shining hazel ones that are brimming with tears that he refuses to let fall. He feels a lump in his throat and takes a deep shaky breath. You're wrong, he thinks. He wants to scream and shout, he wants to shake her until she comes to her senses, and then he wants to kiss her senseless. But he does none of these things. He opens his mouth to say something, anything to change the subject, but what comes out of his mouth surprises them both.
"You're wrong," he whispers. He sees her eyes widen in surprise but she says nothing, just continues to look at him waiting for him to elaborate though her gaze has turned wary. He takes a deep breath and says, "We could be more than this, Ruth. So much more..." She opens her mouth to contradict him, but he raises a hand up to silence her and ploughs on, his voice getting more steady and confident as he speaks. "I know we can't have what you've just described, but that's not what I was proposing. I don't care where we live and I don't give a fig about the neighbours, Ruth. I hardly speak to mine. Do you invite your neighbours round to tea, Ruth? Do you? Because I know I don't. Hell, the only reason I know who they are is because they've been vetted. Most nights, I get home so late that I barely have time to take the dog out and have a bite to eat before I go to bed. And as for needing to hide what goes on here... well, that's probably a good thing. Most people don't want to take their work home. They go home to relax, to be with their loved ones, to talk about anything other than work," he continues in an exasperated voice.
His eyes are blazing and intense as he speaks, and he takes a step towards her, but she turns and looks away over the city. Taking deep breaths, he forces himself to calm down.
"I know my timing was awful. I was a little emotional after Ros's funeral. I wish... I wish I could take it back. But you must know that it wasn't a spur of the moment decision, Ruth. Ever since that day five years ago when you accepted my invitation to dinner, when I found out that you returned my feelings, I have thought of no one else. I have wanted to be with no one else. I want more than what we have here on the Grid where, no matter how we feel, I'm still your boss and we can never have a relationship of equality. I want to be able to go to dinner with you, to go to museums together, to the opera, to the cinema, the theatre. I want you to be the last person I see every night and the person I wake up next to every morning. I want to get to know you. All of you, Ruth. Not just the brilliant analyst, but who you are deep down inside. What are your passions, your fears, your likes, your dislikes. I want to be able to touch you, to hold you and kiss you. I want to love you and make love with you," he says gently, almost pleading with her.
He watches her face, but he cannot read it. Her eyes are still turned from him towards the bright city lights. He's bared his soul to her, and now that it's done, he doesn't regret it. He has nothing left to lose because, without Ruth, his life is empty, he is empty.
He sighs, and turning to look out over the familiar view, he continues, "I can understand what you're saying, Ruth. That you don't want me; that you only want a platonic relationship with me. You obviously don't share my desires, and I will respect your wishes, but please don't tell me that we cannot be more together than we are right now... Because it's a lie." He pauses and takes a beep breath before continuing, "I'm not young any more, Ruth. I know I will never meet someone else. So, if you ever change your mind and would like to try again, just let me know. We can start over from the beginning and see where it leads us. Ask me out for a drink or dinner or something." His voice breaks as he says, "I'll say yes. I'll always say yes to you."
Harry takes one last look at her, and then he turns and walks away. His heart is broken and he feels empty, but he somehow also feels lighter now that he's finally spoken openly to her.
Ruth has no idea how long she stands there, but when she finally moves to head home, she's freezing, numb and exhausted. When she reaches her house, she has no recollection of how she got there, so lost is she to the outside world. Moving on autopilot, she puts down her bag, takes off her shoes, hangs up her coat, feeds the cat, and goes upstairs. She undresses by the bed, letting her clothes fall to the floor, and pulling back the covers, she slips under them and shuts her eyes. But she cannot sleep. She hears his words over and over again in her head, the hurt and desperation in his voice. They are both so changed, so broken. Tears begin to slide down her face onto the pillow, and soon she is sobbing, crying for herself, for Harry, for the missed opportunities, for the hurt and pain that is wedged between them, keeping them apart. She cries until she has no more tears left, and then slowly, mercifully, she falls into a deep, albeit restless, sleep.
Weeks pass and life continues following it's usual patterns, almost as if the conversation between them on the rooftop had never happened. Harry's resolved that things won't change. He knows that, despite everything, he still had a small hope left in him that his words would change something between them, but that hope is dead now. He feels so incredibly sad. If he was doing any other job, he'd probably concede that he's depressed. But, in this job, you don't have the luxury to be depressed. In fact, you don't really have the luxury to feel anything. That fact that he's found love in this difficult environment is a small miracle in itself. The only people in his profession that he knows who have succeeded to have a life together are Adam and Fiona. He thinks that their success was a result of their daring and almost happy-go-lucky attitude to life, which neither he nor Ruth possess.
Ruth has not been unaffected by Harry's words though on the surface this may appear to be the case. She's thinking deeply about what he said. She concedes that he's right; they could be more together than they are now, more together physically. It comes as a surprise both that Harry craves that physical intimacy and that she doesn't. She's never been a very physical person, but she remembers that, when she first fell in love with Harry, she'd felt a strong physical attraction towards him and that it had been one of the reasons that she'd refused a second date with him. She hadn't quite known how to deal with the strength of the desire she'd felt for him. Since her return to England, however, physical intimacy has not been something she's needed or craved. She finds it strange that she hasn't noticed this before, and she wonders why this is the case. She spends a lot of time analysing it.
She also wonders how Harry can desire physical intimacy with her and yet never once attempt to initiate physical contact between them. Even before she'd left, Harry had been physically awkward with her, unable or unwilling to express his feelings for her through touch. Even after he'd come to her house when she'd been shaken up from witnessing Mik Maudsley commit suicide, he'd been so awkward with her, giving her a pat on the shoulder and making her sweet tea, whereas anyone else on the team would probably have given her a hug. Even Malcolm, she believes, might have done so in those circumstances.
She was the one who'd kissed him on the docks, and since she's been back, she's been the one to touch him. She wracks her brain but cannot find any instance when he has taken the initiative, and yet apparently he wants to. He wants to hold her, kiss her and make love to her. She spends almost all her free time pondering his words and what they mean for her and for him.