This was dashed off quickly while I twiddled my thumbs at work this evening waiting for a phone call. I hope that much isn't obvious! Enjoy...

All eyes turn towards the pods.

Harry emerges, bloodied, pale, obviously upset. He scans their faces one by one: Beth, Tariq, Alec, Dimitri. 'He jumped,' he says. Their eyes widen, and he sees questions forming on their lips. 'Later,' he says, his voice not entirely steady, and he makes his way to his office. He closes the blinds then pours himself a generous measure of Ardbeg, which he downs in one, still standing. A second, similarly generous, measure he carries over to his desk, and he slumps into his chair.

His reverie is interrupted by a knock on the door.

'Not now!' he roars, but it slides open to reveal a contrite Beth. 'Sorry, Harry, sorry,' she holds her hands up, 'it's just...look, I've no idea what's gone on between you two, but I think maybe you should be the one to tell Ruth that you're back, that you're okay.'

Harry glowers at her, and takes another slug of whisky. 'I dare say she'll find out soon enough.'

'No,' Beth persists. 'It should come from you.' She sees his face darken, and adds hurriedly, 'She's in bits, Harry. She thinks you're dead. She thinks...oh, I don't know what she thinks, but Tariq said she's been in floods of tears practically since you left.'

Harry gazes into his drink and tentatively probes the gash on his forehead with his fingertips. 'Right.'

Beth hesitates for a moment, wishing she could physically drag him from his chair. 'She's up on the roof. She's been there for nearly an hour.' He doesn't respond, and reluctantly she leaves, pulling the door closed behind her.

Just what I need, thinks Harry. Another bloody rooftop showdown. He finishes his whisky and wearily pushes himself to his feet. The team are still huddled round Dimitri's desk and once more all eyes follow his progress across the Grid. As he climbs up to the roof he steels himself for whatever is to come, although nothing, he concludes, can be worse than what he's had to face in the past few hours.

The view across London, still bathed in early evening sunshine, is breathtaking, but he only has eyes for the figure leaning against the railings. Despite everything she's said, his battered old heart still turns a somersault at the sight of her.

'Ruth,' he says quietly.

He sees her stiffen, then slowly she turns round. Her eyes are red from crying, her lips swollen, and she stares at him for a few seconds in disbelief before the tears start to flow once more.

'I thought you were dead,' she whispers. 'I thought you were dead. I said all those awful things to you, and just let you walk away, and I thought you were dead! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!' She takes a step towards him, arm outstretched, then realises she may have exhausted the limits of his forgiveness. Her arm falls to her side and she stops, face crumpling, eyes beseeching.

'Ruth,' he repeats, and she half runs, half stumbles, into his arms. He holds her as she cries, murmuring reassurances, his head bent to hers. When finally the last of the hiccuping sobs subside and she pulls away from him, he feels a moment of panic that, shock over, she will revert to business as usual. But for once her eyes meet his.

'As soon as you left, I knew. It hit me like a... bloody train. I just knew that whatever you've done I can't bear the thought of your not being in my...messed up life.' She gives him a watery smile, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. He is sure he has stopped breathing.

'Can...can you forgive me?'

'Ruth,' he manages, and winces at his inarticulacy. 'I don't...I can't...ohhh!' His head rears back and when his eyes meet hers once more they are bright with tears. He sees the dazed expression on her face and realises she is thinking the worst. He shakes his head. 'No, no...I mean, oh Christ, why is it you always make me spout such utter bloody rubbish?' He takes in a lungful of air. 'Yes, I forgive you, but it has to be now or never, Ruth. We have to be now or never. I can't...'

She says nothing, just stands on her tiptoes and, cupping his face in her hands, she kisses him. This time, though, it is not a kiss of farewell and regret.