Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC. Title is taken from 'To Autumn' by Keats. The Regency café is real but Jimmy and Dorothy are figments of my imagination.

A/N: Something vaguely autumnal, non-series specific and non-spoilery.

Harry paused on the steps of Thames House and watched the leaves blowing along the road. Despite the wind and the rain, it was unseasonably mild for November, something he found ridiculously irritating. Autumn was his favourite season but he preferred cold, crisp, sunny days that made your breath catch and reminded you that the world wasn't always an ugly place. And it had been a particularly ugly twenty-four hours. Three of his officers had come close to dying at the hands of a fanatic and it had only been Ruth's lateral thinking that had saved them, and the day.

Ruth.

They had been the last two on the Grid, which in itself wasn't unusual, but despite everything that had happened, and her obvious exhaustion, it had still taken him nearly an hour to persuade her to go home. Finally, she'd agreed but she wouldn't accept his offer of a lift and he'd decided not to push his luck by insisting.

Harry inhaled a lungful of damp, muggy air and ambled down the steps. Some subconscious instinct drew him towards Victoria Tower Gardens and he willingly followed. An early morning stroll would help clear his head whilst he waited to find out if there was a driver available to take him home.

He'd been walking for several minutes before he noticed a figure in the distance leaning against the riverside wall. It was Ruth; she'd obviously decided to ignore his advice to go straight home and get some sleep. No doubt she had viewed his suggestion as an order and this was her own, sweet, decidedly Ruth way of defying him. The thought made him smile.

She turned away from her contemplation of the Thames and started to walk slowly away from him, towards the Houses of Parliament. He almost laughed out loud as she kicked her way through a large heap of leaves, sending them scattering. It was a delightfully carefree, childlike action, and a surge of warmth filled his heart.

Ruth watched the leaves careen across the damp grass. It was an immensely silly thing to enjoy but something about booting them out of their neat, parks-staff arranged pile had appealed to her. A rare opportunity to turn something ordered into disarray. And it was rather ambitious of the council's maintenance workers to think they could tame mother nature anyway.

She was still kicking leaves about when Harry caught up with her.

"You assured me you were going home," he announced, authoritatively.

Startled by his sudden appearance, Ruth dispensed with formalities and launched immediately into her defence. "I am. I just decided to get some fresh air first."

"I see," Harry retorted, studying her. Droplets of rain clung to her hair, making it sparkle, despite the murky greyness of the early light. Her coat was quite damp and clearly not as waterproof as it was meant to be. "Don't you have an umbrella?"

"Er, yes. But I left it at home," Ruth replied, wondering if Harry had been practising conversation shifts.

"Weren't thinking of sneaking back into the office, were you?"

The thought had crossed Ruth's mind; the walk around the gardens had been partly to kill time as she decided whether give in to the urge to go home and sleep or go back to the Grid and deal with the mountain of paperwork she'd left.

Tired of waiting for her to answer or, more likely, aware of her inability to let go of duty and indulge herself for a few hours, Harry asked if she was hungry.

"Yes," she replied, having given the question some consideration. "I am."

"Good. I'm starving. Come on, I'll buy you breakfast."

-x-

It was, Ruth realised, a long time since she'd be in the Regency café. A visit to sample its menu was something of a rite of passage for anyone who came to work in the area and she had undertaken it in her first month at Thames House. And with the exception of one other time, that had been it.

"After you," Harry said, gallantly holding the door open for her.

An appealing collection of smells greeted Ruth and her stomach rumbled, appreciatively, but before she could decide what she wanted, Harry was ordering for them both.

"Two full English, please, and two large teas," he said to the young woman behind the counter.

"Bread and butter?" she asked, scribbling their order on a small notepad.

"Of course."

Within a couple of minutes, two mugs of tea and two plates of thickly cut slices of bread, generously spread with butter, were placed in front of Harry. As he paid for the food, a voice from inside the kitchen called his name. A heavyset man in his early sixties appeared beside the waitress.

"Hello Jimmy," Harry greeted him, offering his hand. "How are you?"

"Good, good," Jimmy replied, gripping Harry's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Lovely to see you. And you brought a…"

"Friend," Harry replied at the same time as Ruth said 'colleague'.

"Good friend," he qualified, ignoring the indignant look his favourite analyst was giving him.

"Lovely. Very nice," Jimmy replied, directing an admiring glance at Ruth. "Well, you two go and sit down. Breakfast will be about five minutes."

Harry led the way, choosing, by force of habit, a table near the back of the café with an uninterrupted view of the door.

"You might have asked me," Ruth said, as she struggled out of her coat.

"Asked you what?" Harry queried, taking her sodden mackintosh and placing it over the back of the chair next to him.

"What I wanted to eat."

"It's a Saturday, Ruth. We've been working for twenty-four hours straight. A full English will do you the power of good."

Ruth contemplated arguing with him but decided she was too tired and too hungry. She sipped her tea and looked around. The café was quiet; there were a couple of cabbies, obviously at the end of their nightshifts, sitting by one of the windows, and an elderly man with a mug of tea and the Racing Post happily ensconced at a table for four, right by the counter.

"You've been in here before?" Harry asked, aware Ruth would soon realise he was busy watching her watching their fellow customers.

"Yes, but not for ages. I take it you're a regular."

"Every now and then," he replied, ignoring the mildly accusatory tone of her voice.

"I hope your arteries forgive you," she muttered.

Harry was spared from answering as a shout from the counter announced their breakfasts were ready. He returned with two large plates laden with bacon, fried eggs, sausages and beans. He placed Ruth's in front of her and she eyed it suspiciously.

"Oh…"

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Black pudding," she replied, implying that was all the explanation he needed.

"It's good for you, Ruth."

"You do know what it's made of?"

"Of course." He winked at her. "Like I said, it's good for you, full of iron. Eat up."

-x-

Ruth and Harry were making good inroads into their meal when half a dozen men, who appeared to be builders, entered the café. They were in good spirits, laughing and joking as they ordered their food. The youngest member of the group found himself last in line and his response to the teasing he was receiving from his colleagues was to shout a much favoured Anglo-Saxon epithet in their direction.

"Aw, come on lads," Jimmy's voice boomed out. "There's a lady present," he added, leaning over the counter and pointing towards Ruth.

"Sorry darlin'," one of the older men called towards her. "Can't take Billy anywhere more than twice. And the second time's always to apologise."

The builders laughed as the crop-haired young man identified as Billy blushed a very deep shade of red. "Sorry, love," he mumbled, unable to meet Ruth's eye.

She shook her head and smiled. "Don't worry, I've heard far worse."

"And said it," Harry murmured.

Ruth raised her eyebrows. "Sorry?"

"I heard you swearing at the photocopier the other day. Very un-ladylike language. I was shocked. I'd never even heard some of those words before."

"Hah! Highly unlikely seeing as you were in the army. And I seem to remember you said much worse when your computer crashed last week."

She looked triumphant; and quite beautiful.

"Anyway," she continued, interpreting his silence as acquiescence, "there's something quite rewarding about swearing at inanimate objects."

"There's often something quite rewarding about swearing at animate ones, too."

"Typical ex-army," she retorted, enthusiastically spearing a sausage with her fork.

Harry winced.

-x-

He'd been right, irritatingly so, about the restorative powers of a full English breakfast.

"I don't think I shall need to eat for the rest of the weekend," Ruth sighed, pushing her plate away. "And I definitely need a long, long walk to burn off the calories."

"Rubbish. A couple of rashers of bacon and a fried egg aren't going to spoil your figure. You're in-" Harry stopped, abruptly, realising that if he finished the sentence as intended, he would be straying into very dangerous territory. Luckily, he was saved from embarrassment by the arrival of Jimmy's wife, Dorothy. Well, temporarily saved.

"All finished?" she enquired.

They both nodded.

"Can I get you anything else? More bread and butter? Tea?"

Harry shook his head. "Not for me, thanks."

"No thank you," said Ruth, "I couldn't manage another thing."

"Are you sure, lovey? Don't you worry about impressing 'im." Dorothy jabbed a thumb in Harry's direction. "Nothing wrong with a girl who likes her grub. And look at you! Slim as a wand and pretty as a picture. Another round of bread and a couple of rashers isn't going to make a bit of difference."

"Thank you but no. I couldn't eat any more," Ruth insisted.

"If you say so, lovey." Dorothy's gaze fixed on Harry. "Well, don't you go letting him take advantage of you," she advised, having completed her none too subtle appraisal of him.

"She's perfectly safe with me," Harry defended himself, stung by the accusation his behaviour would ever be less than gentlemanly.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Dorothy replied, before turning her attention back to Ruth. "Don't you get taken in by that smooth charm and those lovely brown eyes. Like my old mum used to say, don't take much for a twinkle to turn into a gleam and before you know it, you'll be in the maternity ward."

Jimmy emerged from the kitchen just as his wife finished speaking.

"Dot! Stop interfering," he chided, ushering her away. "It's none of our business." They continued to bicker as they disappeared back behind the counter.

"Are they always like that?" Ruth enquired, faintly, still not quite believing the direction the conversation had taken.

"Yes. And they've been married over forty years. It's quite amazing really."

There was something that sounded almost like wistfulness in Harry's voice and Ruth found herself looking directly into those lovely brown eyes. And there was definitely a twinkle in them.

-x-

They walked slowly back towards Thames House, Ruth once again refusing the offer of a lift home and insisting she could get the bus.

"It's the least I can do, Ruth, seeing as they've found me a driver."

"There's no need, Harry."

"Yes there is. And here we are." He gently gripped her elbow and steered her in the direction of the Lexus that was parked, engine running, in the side road at the rear of Thames House.

"Hello Paul," Harry greeted the driver. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you, sir."

"How's your wife, Paul?," Ruth asked, deliberately ignoring Harry's attempts to get her in the car. "Is she better now?"

"Fully recovered, thank you, Miss Evershed. It's very kind of you to ask."

There was a faint pink tinge on the driver's cheeks as he spoke and Harry wondered if Ruth was aware of the effect she had on men. He doubted it very much, and that made her even more attractive.

Having finally run out of delaying tactics, Ruth settled herself into the car beside Harry.

"We'll drop Miss Evershed off first."

"Certainly, sir."

Harry leaned closer to Ruth. "I'm considering insisting all my staff call me 'sir'," he said, quietly. "Instil a bit of discipline in the place. What do you think?"

"You're the boss, Harry."

"You're the boss, sir," he teased, keen to see if she'd take the bait.

She didn't.

"Have you got much planned for the weekend?" she asked, deftly changing the subject.

"Me and Scarlett will go for a run round the park as soon as I get home. Well," he continued, seeing Ruth's disbelieving look, "she'll be doing the running, I'll be trying to keep up. What about you?"

Ruth sighed. "Housework, shopping. Nothing exciting."

"I think we've had enough excitement recently to last us a while."

They lapsed into silence and by the time they arrived at Ruth's, she was asleep.

"We're here," Harry said, gently shaking her awake. "Home."

Ruth's brain was still in sleep mode and for a few moments, fact and fantasy combined and she thought he'd said 'we're home'. But then she realised where she was.

"Ah, right," she mumbled, avoiding looking at him as she reached for her handbag.

"Come on. I'll walk you to the door."

Ruth started to tell him that there was no need but he was already halfway out of the car. By the time she'd said goodbye to Paul, Harry was opening the door on her side of the car and offering her his hand.

His fingers were warm and strong, and somehow Ruth found herself still holding his hand as they reached her front door. She only let go of him to retrieve her keys from her bag.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Harry began, feeling a little self-conscious. "For all your hard work today…yesterday. Both. You saved lives, Ruth. You were amazing."

"I er, I was just doing my job," she replied, blushing at the compliment.

"It was more than that. You know it was."

She fiddled with her keys. "Well, I'm just glad it all ended well."

"Yes, me too."

Ruth looked at him and wondered what the stubble on his chin would feel like against her skin if she kissed him.

"Get some rest," he said, softly. "And no sneaking back to the Grid. I will find out."

She smiled. "I promise."

"Good. See you Monday."

As he walked back to the car she realised there had been more than a twinkle in his eye when he'd said goodbye; much more. And the thought made her very happy.

The End

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