A/N: I recently re-watched the scene, late in 5.03, where Ruth tells Harry that they can't go out to dinner again. There is such tragedy in that scene that I couldn't bear it. This one-shot is my reply.

Zanzibar bar - London – Thursday 20th July 2006 – 6.47 pm:

There she was again – the brunette with the sad eyes. This was her third night out of four in Zanzibar (and no, the name had not been his idea), and she still wore that frightened, confused, hurt look of a woman who had just broken up with her lover or husband. He had noticed her the first night, chiefly because she wasn't a regular, and also because she'd left with Paul, one of the regulars, a man who preyed on women who gave off the pheromones of vulnerability. The second night she had turned down two different men – both regulars – and then left on her own, and he'd hoped she wouldn't be back again, but here she was.

She was not Zanzibar's usual type – the usual type being bold, heavily made up, loud talkers, fast drinkers – and for that reason, he'd noticed her, and she'd left an impression. He'd talk to her when she bought her next drink.

"You don't belong in a place like this, love," he said, when she ordered her next glass of dry white wine.

"Firstly, I'm not your love, and secondly, how do you know whether I belong here or not?" London accent, mellow voice in the lower registers, and rather sexy.

"Sorry," he said, as he poured wine into a fresh glass, and placed it in front of her. "It's just bar talk. I call everyone love."

"Even the men?" He saw the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

"Especially the men," he said, leaning closer to her, winking conspiratorially. She took in his short blond hair, his thin nose, his clear grey eyes. "Look …... I have a break in ten minutes. What say I buy you a drink, and you tell me all about it. This bar isn't the place for a woman like you to be drowning your sorrows."

She didn't say no, but when he came from the other side of the bar, he was surprised to see the brunette sitting alone at a small table in a dark corner, observing couples shuffling around the dance floor.

"May I?" he said, before she indicated with her hand that he was welcome to sit across from her. He put her glass of wine in front of her, and his small bottle of German beer on the coaster in front of him. "I'm Harry," he said, offering her his hand.

She lifted her head so quickly that he was afraid her head would fall off. Her eyes were fiery, rather than the smoky blue he'd noticed previously. "What did you just say?"

"My name is Harry, and that's a cue for you to tell me your name. It's a quaint social custom we have in this country."

"S-sorry …... it's ….. it's just that the name …... is that your real name?"

"Yes, it is, as it happens. Do you have a problem with men named Harry?"

"No. On the contrary."

"Well …... you can call me something else if you like. How about Steve? I often give the name Steve to men with whom I have a random shag. It's a lot easier."

"No …... no, I can handle calling you Harry. It's just that …..."

"His name is Harry, right?"

She nodded, before dropping her head, so breaking their eye contact.

"Look …... er …."

"Ruth. My name is Ruth."

"Look, Ruth …... I don't want to pry or open old wounds, or make you any more miserable than you are right now -"

"I'm not miserable." She lifted her eyes to him in defiance, but to his practised eyes she was clearly miserable.

"Whatever you say, Ruth. Is Harry your husband, boyfriend ….. what?"

"My boss. Harry is my boss."

"And you're in love with him."

"No …... I mean yes." Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "I don't know." He'd seen that gesture many times. It said: I love him, but I wish I didn't.

"So, tell me what the problem is with Harry."

Ruth dipped her finger in her wine, and then sucked on her finger, something he'd not seen anyone do in a while. Despite her being close to his own age – thirty-five – there was a fragile, child-like quality to her, and he wanted to protect her.

"He ….. he asked me out to dinner."

"And you've turned him down."

"No, I went to dinner with him. It was lovely. Perfect. He was lovely. The perfect gentleman. He was funny, caring, gentle, he paid me compliments, we found we had a lot of interests in common. I've never enjoyed having dinner with anyone as much as I enjoyed dinner with him that night."

"So …... I don't understand the problem. Is he married?"

"No. He's divorced – has been for years – and is a good deal older than me, but neither of us has a problem with that."

"He tried it on?"

"No, he didn't. As I said, he was the perfect gentleman. After dinner, he walked me to my door, and asked me could we have dinner again soon, and then he kissed my cheek."

"So he's gay?"

She laughed at that ….. a free and throaty laugh, and her eyes sparkled, and her face changed, becoming soft, and even beautiful. He'd never have considered her beautiful until she laughed. Her laugh chased away the sadness she'd carried around her shoulders like a cloak.

"No, he's not gay. He's very, very straight, and I'm sure you'd find him attractive, Harry Too."

"Harry Too. I like that. My name is Harry Craddock, but Harry Too …... yeah, I like it."

"He's older than me, he's my boss, and he's the head of a government organisation – very important – and he has to brown-nose it with officials and politicians."

"I still don't see the problem, Ruth."

"Well, after we had dinner – a day or so later – one of the other people I work with mentioned to me that he was happy about Harry and me, and that we had been out together. I found his interest intrusive. We just had dinner. I then told Harry that we can't go out again. That I can't stand being talked about."

"And you've been miserable ever since …... so miserable that you even shagged Zanzibar's resident sleaze."

"Paul?"

"Yes, Paul."

"I didn't, but I almost did. By the time we got to the kissing stage, I felt like throwing up, so I left in a bit of a hurry."

"Did you give Paul your real name, or your number?"

"He knows that my name is Ruth, but nothing else about me."

"Good. It's best you steer clear of him."

"Why?"

"For a start, he's married, and secondly, he comes in here two nights a week, hones in on the loneliest looking woman in the bar, and sweet talks them into bed. He keeps a flat for that purpose. He's best avoided."

"Thank you, Harry Too. I'll remember that."

"Why is being talked about such an issue with you? Everyone talks about everyone else. It's what humans do. It mostly doesn't mean anything …... and stop me if I'm speaking out of turn, but I think that you really want to be seeing this Harry away from work, and that you want to have a relationship with him. Am I right?"

Harry looked at her the whole time he spoke, and noticed her discomfort at his clear observation. He'd seen a lot of people go through this bar, and that had left him with a good instinct about the species. She was the least comfortable woman he had seen in some time. It was as though she wasn't quite sure how to be, as if she believed that were others to know who she really was, she would crumble under the weight of their disapproval. This man, this Harry, had seen who she was, and had not disapproved; quite the opposite. This older Harry had shown Ruth what she could be, how her life could be were she to open herself to him, and in the light of day this had frightened her. So she'd grabbed the nearest excuse she could think of, and thrown it at him, as a reason to not see him again outside work.

"Do you know what kids called me in high school?" he asked.

"I can imagine."

"Bum boy. Turd burglar. Dick sucker. Cock wrangler. Need I go on?"

Ruth shook her head, her eyes looking at him with a mix of compassion and shame – compassion for him, and shame that she'd been so wrapped up in her own petty concerns.

"All I can say is that when others talk about you – either to your face, or behind your back – they're saying something about themselves. What they say is never about you. The other thing is that you won't be able to escape gossip. Ask yourself this, Ruth, then I'd better get back to my shift, or else Lainie will skin me alive …..."

"Lainie?"

"My business partner. She's manages this place, and that includes me. It works. What you need to ask yourself is whether it is in your best interests to allow yourself to be bullied by the office gossip, and so give up on this chance at happiness. From where I'm sitting, if you let this man go before you've even tried being with him, then the gossips will have won. Look …... they'll gossip for a week, and then they'll pick on someone else."

"It won't be easy, knowing they're talking about us, saying things -"

"No it won't, but is this man worth a few days of discomfort?"

"I think he might be."

"Where is he right now – tonight?"

"He's at a pub near the river, with the rest of our office. We have a conference coming up where we all have to be, and we're supposed to be discussing it."

"And you're not there because …..?"

"Harry will be there."

"How long will it take you to get there?"

"A half hour if I walk, or around five minutes by taxi."

"There's a taxi rank two doors down, outside the hotel."

"I don't know how to thank you, Harry Too."

"Give this guy a chance. That will make me happy, and making me happy is thanks enough."

Ruth stood, Harry Too stood, and she quickly kissed his cheek before she hurried past him to the door.

Harry Too sighed. He must stop doing this. He was losing potential customers.

The George – same night – 7.46 pm:

"Why isn't Ruth here? She needs to be here," Adam grumbled. "Jo? Do you know where she is?"

Jo shrugged. "Harry might know," she added.

"What might I know?" Harry had just rejoined them with a tray of drinks.

"There she is," said Malcolm, shifting from his seat next to Harry, leaving the only spare seat at the table the one beside Harry. Malcolm felt a certain obligation towards putting things right with Ruth, hoping she won't notice his quick move from one seat to the next. Leaving a seat for her next to Harry was the least he could do.

Ruth walked up to the table, trying to avoid eye contact with Harry. Were she to have met his eyes with her own, she was not sure she could have gone through with this …... this attempt at reconciliation. She looked around the table quickly, searching for spare seats. The only empty seat was next to Malcolm …... and Harry. The others saw her looking, and Adam pointed towards the spare seat.

"We left a seat for you, Ruth."

She let out a breath, and as quietly as she could, she took herself past where Harry was handing out drinks, and sat down in the empty chair. His scent caught in her nostrils as she walked behind him. She had always hated these first few minutes in a new environment, and especially a social gathering. Everything was a blur to her – faces, words spoken, the décor – it was all a patchwork of colour and movement, and she felt temporarily nauseous. She knew the nausea would quickly pass. All she needed was for others to ignore her, and let her regain her composure. She heard her name being spoken by a familiar voice, but she couldn't answer. Not yet.

"Ruth." She heard it again, and could place it by her right shoulder. The voice was close to her ear, and it was a voice she loved.

"Yes, Harry."

"I'm so glad you came. What kept you? We all missed you." I missed you was implied.

"I had to meet a friend from uni, but she stood me up at the last minute. I tried ringing her, and all the time she was trying my home number, but I wasn't home -"

"Ruth -"

"- and I waited and waited, and then rang her again, but she was home sick, so -"

"Ruth."

"Yes, Harry?"

"It's alright. At least now you're here, and that's all that matters."

She looked up at him, into his eyes, and it was almost too much for her. Then she remembered what Harry Too had said about people who gossip. She took her eyes from Harry's, and looked around the table. Zaf and Jo were deep in conversation with Adam, and Ros was saying something that was causing Malcolm's mouth to turn up at the edges, and his eyes to sparkle with the beginnings of a smile. They seemed to not care at all that she was so very conscious of the man beside her, and that he was gazing at her with open adoration.

She took her eyes back to Harry, and looked at him …... really looked at him this time. His jacket hung over the back of his chair, and he had loosened his tie, and opened the top button of his shirt. She had once overheard him calling his tie the noose with which the JIC would like to hang him. She smiled when she noticed his bare forearms, and a small triangle of skin exposed by his opened top shirt button. He was rather delicious, really, and if others continued to gossip about them, then she was sure he'd be willing to sort them out for her.

"I bought you a white wine," Harry murmured, close to her ear. "I hope that's alright."

He put the glass of wine in front of her, and as he did, his bare forearm glanced across her hand, creating a frisson which travelled through her whole body. Unconsciously, she lifted the index finger of her hand, and gently glanced her fingertip across the skin of his forearm. She turned her head towards him to find his face very close to hers, and his pupils dilated as he watched her, both of them barely breathing. That one brief touch of her finger on his skin was if she had spoken a thousand words.

"After we finish here, I'd like to take you to dinner," he whispered, so that only she could hear him. Ruth felt his breath, warm and sweet, on her skin, and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. Under the table, she put her hands on her lap, where no-one could observe her fingers wringing. She took a breath, and placed her hands, palms down, on her thighs – to steady herself. She'd already had three glasses of wine at Zanzibar, and so she was about to quaff her fourth – not a skinful by any stretch. She'd heard what he said, and she knew what she wanted to say in reply.

Could she say it? Was she brave enough?

"It won't be anywhere flash. Just some place which serves good food, and the ambiance is -"

"Yes," Ruth said.

"What?" His eyes widened, showing how shocked he was, how he'd not expected the answer she gave.

"I said yes. I'd love to have dinner with you."

"Good. That's …... good."

Harry turned away from her, but she saw the smile on his lips, and she felt his hand grasp hers under the table, and his thumb brush across her knuckles in a gesture of reassurance. She gave his hand a quick squeeze before he disengaged, and once again both his hands encircled his whiskey glass on the table top. No-one else sitting at the table had noticed the exchange.

She was giving them another chance. He was accepting that chance. They were beginning again.