A/N: This is a one-shot which got away from me. Rated M for some adult concepts and conversation. Chapter 2 will be up in around 48 hours

He knew once he'd climbed the stairs to his bedroom that the shower he'd planned wouldn't be nearly enough to wash him clean, so he ran a bath, pouring bath gel under the running tap. Once in the bath he leaned back, with only his head and knees above the surface of the water. Soon the whole upper story of his house would be smelling of green tea …... `With mild antiseptic properties, this body wash will revitalise your soul and body', the label had read. He'd need a bucket of the stuff were his soul to survive what had happened that evening.

With his eyes closed, he contemplated his more recent decisions. Perhaps the one to replace Lucas as a honey trap for the wife of an elusive smuggler of arms into Britain was not his best. When Tariq had uncovered Cleo Clement's preference for older men, Lucas had deemed himself unsuitable as the man to meet her in the bar of her hotel, and charm his way into her bed. Harry hadn't wanted this assignment either, and had begged Lucas to reconsider …... stating that, given his age, his ability to perform on cue could not be relied upon, to which Lucas had replied with one word, softly spoken for his ears only - `bullshit'. From that moment on, short of falling sick, or being badly injured, he'd had no way of wriggling his way out of it.

"Come on, Harry," Lucas had said, grinning, his voice low so as to not draw attention to them. "It's not as though you've not done this before. It'll be like riding a bicycle – once you begin, it will come back to you. I have faith in you."

Of course, there had been another largely unspoken reason why Harry had been reluctant to go ahead with the honey trap. No-one had been prepared to mention it, and especially not Harry, but everyone knew that he was not totally unencumbered emotionally, and worse, the object of his emotional attachment would be anything but pleased.

"It's not as though you'll even have to like her," Lucas had explained.

"I know that."

"Well, just remember to keep your emotions in a box, and take them out once it's all over. Easy."

And it had been easier than expected, and he had performed like clockwork, as he knew he would. He found that he quite liked Cleo Clement, and while they'd lain together in post-coital quiet, she had freely disclosed her husband's whereabouts, and so the assignment had been a success. So why did he feel so bad, so unclean?

Without thinking about it, Harry knew why, and perhaps so did the whole of Section D. He poured more of the green tea gel onto the surface of a sponge, and scrubbed his skin – his face, his neck, his arms, thighs, and especially his inner thighs and genital area. Once again he could hear Cleo's cries as she'd climaxed beneath him, and he quickly stood up in the bath, and scrubbed between his legs. Her mouth had been there, and there was not enough bath gel in the world to wash away the memory of that. He pulled back his foreskin and carefully cleaned himself there. He wanted nothing of this woman to remain on him. If only it were that easy to clean his mind, to wash away forever the memory of his evening with her.

I'm just too old for this shit, he thought, as he stepped out of the bath, and wrapped a towel around his waist, and headed through the doorway to his bedroom. Normally he'd be elated after sex, but not this time. He just felt world weary …... and unclean.

Harry had a need to speak with Ruth, but back on the Grid it was clear she was avoiding him. Three days later, on the Friday morning, he sent her a text asking her to meet him on the roof. He watched while she read the text, and then went back to her monitor, not even looking his way. He waited on the roof for twenty minutes, but she failed to appear. He headed back to his office via her desk, but she wasn't there.

"She went to the loo," Tariq said, noting his confusion. "Women do that when they don't want to talk to you. I think she might be mad about -"

"Thank you, Tariq," and Harry had quickly turned and headed back to the sanctuary of his office.

He spent most of Saturday at the Home Office, conferring with various members of government. By the time he pulled his car into his driveway it was late, and dark, and the air was nippy. As he approached his front door, key card at the ready, a shadow appeared in front of him, from behind some bushes.

"Hello Harry."

"Ruth?" he answered. "This had better be important. It's late."

"Of course it's important. I need to talk to you." Clearly.

Suppressing a sigh, he led her down the hallway to the kitchen. "Tea?" he asked, as he turned to face her across the table. Ruth nodded, and he indicated she should sit down. He turned from her as he removed his jacket and his tie, and he opened the two top buttons of his shirt. He draped the jacket and tie over the back of a chair.

Harry was relieved to have the excuse to turn his back on Ruth while he filled the kettle, put teabags in the teapot, and gathered together two mugs, sugar and milk. By the time he turned to place the teapot and the mugs on the table, Ruth was sitting in a chair opposite him, her eyes on her hands which were folded primly on the table in front of her.

In those few moments, Harry took the opportunity to examine her. She was dressed casually in blue jeans, and a bulky blue jumper with a wide cowl neck, her coat now hanging on a hook just inside his front door, next to his own. To his eyes she looked vulnerable, young, frightened, and perhaps more than a little bit angry.

"I suppose you know why I'm here," she said at last, carefully sipping her tea, her eyes momentarily darting upwards to meet his.

"I imagine it's about what I …... had to do …. earlier this week."

Ruth placed her mug on the table, and stared down at it. "So …... you did it," she said quietly, her eyes now clearly avoiding his.

"I phoned through the information, Ruth. The operation was a success, and yes, I …... I had to go through with it. She told me nothing until afterwards."

While he was talking, Ruth lifted her eyes, but she quickly dropped them again, examining the surface of her tea.

"I wish I hadn't had to …... do that," he added.

"Why? You got the information you were after, and besides, I'm sure you …... enjoyed it." Ruth's words were like knives, directed at him; her intention was to hurt.

"Ruth …... it was work. It was hardly enjoyable. It wasn't ….. like you think."

"And what is it I think?"

"I think that you're angry …... and hurt." When she said nothing, he continued. "I think …... that you think …... that I offered …... myself …... to hurt you …... to get back at you."

"And did you?"

"Of course not. Only Lucas and I were in the right age group, and given she prefers older men, and loathes tattoos, that left …... me. I didn't have a choice. It wasn't …... enjoyable."

"I thought men always enjoyed sex."

"Not when it's work. And honey trapping is about so much more than the sex. It's about pretense. I had to pretend, Ruth. I was playing a role."

This time, when he looked at her, she was watching him. "I find that hard to believe. I mean …... how is it possible to pretend sexual excitement? A woman can get away with that, but a man has to …..."

"A man has to have an erection. Is that what you mean, Ruth?"

She nodded, still watching him, her eyes fiery, her expression belligerent. Harry wished he hadn't had to hurt her. Since her return from Cyprus, things with her had been difficult enough without this. "And a woman can fake an …... orgasm, but a man can't."

This time Harry nodded, still watching her, still aware of her unspoken judgement of him. Before he spoke again, he sighed. Ruth has always been such hard work. He loves her, of course, but at times like this she can be …... difficult.

"Becoming sexually excited is not hard for most men." He gazed across the table at her, but she remained impassive. "We …... even men of my age become …... excited at the sight of a naked woman …. at the prospect of a sexual encounter. We don't need to care for the woman. It's how we're made. It's how the species replicates itself."

"What you're saying is you had no trouble …... with her?"

"That's what I'm saying, yes. Ruth …... what is this about? I've told you it was work, and that I didn't especially enjoy it. Sex on command is not my preference."

What followed was a long silence which Harry knew better than to break. He watched Ruth while she struggled to find the right words.

"So ….." she said after some time, "what is your preference?"

Jesus! How could he tell her that his preference would be to be with a woman he cares for …... a woman he loves and cherishes? How could he say that his preference would be to make love to her?

"I …..." Harry stumbled at the start, not wanting to be giving too much away. "I …. prefer to make love, Ruth, rather than just having sex. Making love is wonderful, but just sex can be draining …. diminishing."

"Did you feel diminished …... the other night?"

This time it was he who nodded, and he was sure he noticed a slight curving at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes softening as she observed his discomfort. They watched each other, with so much still being left unsaid. Harry waited a few minutes before he spoke.

"Why the interest, Ruth? It's not as though you and I are ….."

"No. We're not. That's what annoys me."

"You'll have to explain that."

"Well," and she took a deep breath, "I'm annoyed because I care this much about …... what happened Tuesday night, and yet we're not …..."

"We're not in a relationship. That is, we're in a relationship …... just not a relationship of intimacy."

Ruth nodded, and for the first time that night she smiled across the table at him. "I'd quite like a proper drink, Harry. I'm sure you must have alcohol somewhere in the house."

This time he smiled briefly as he nodded, and then stood to leave the kitchen. He came back with two small glasses, and a half bottle of whiskey. "Would you like one?" he asked, pouring one for himself.

"Just a small one," she replied.

They each sipped their whiskey slowly, watching the other from across the table. Harry was relieved that she seemed calmer, almost relaxed. Perhaps this was a good time for him to be pushing the envelope.

"Ruth …... would you like it if we …... you and I …... were in a relationship …... one of intimacy?"