A/N: Thanks to Sparky75 who (ages ago) provided me some one shot prompts. This was meant be be a one shot, but as usual, it got out of hand.

He is not about to give up on her. To do so would not be in his nature. He is a fighter not a quitter, and that also applies to his personal dealings with women ….. not that there have been many of late. None, in fact. Since Ruth had entered his peripheral vision and very gradually drawn closer, he has not been interested in chasing any woman other than her. And in his past he has chased them …... relentlessly. First it would be the heat – the lust, the urge - then what normally came next was the sex. If he still desired the woman, the next step would be dinner. A liaison which began with sex would normally last no more than a month. Most had barely made it to the second week. Conquering them, plundering them, pushing into them, placing part of himself inside them and then watching them while they lost control, because he'd been skilled at withholding his own pleasure while he led them through theirs ….. that was what it was all about ….. had once been about, because now, since Ruth, the order of things has changed. She is a different kind of woman, and to gain and then maintain her interest he has had to become a different kind of man.

The change in him had occurred slowly over time. He began to notice a change in his own inner dialogue at the time Danny Hunter had been brutally murdered, sacrificing his own life for that of a woman with a child, a family. He had expected nothing less from Danny, but nor had he demanded that level of sacrifice. Danny had made a split second decision which had saved Fiona's life. In that instant Danny had become a hero; he had died a hero, and Ruth had mourned him ….. deeply. As he had stood watching Ruth as she stroked Danny's lifeless face, Harry had made a split second decision of his own. It was at that moment while he watched Ruth from a distance that he decided he would become the kind of man Ruth Evershed might be able to love. If he achieved nothing else between that moment and his last, to have her love him would be his own personal triumph.

It had been quite easy in the end. He soon learned to let go of any semblance of bluster, and any inkling of being the overbearing boss, for fear she'd see him as controlling. She had called him a number of times about the way he had spoken either to her or to one of the other members of his team. It became apparent that being treated as an equal was important to Ruth. In her quiet and unassuming way, she commanded respect. It was clear to him that she respected him as a boss and rather liked him as a person. As he saw it, that represented a good start, but he still had a long way to go. All he had to do was to not try too hard (which would arouse Ruth's suspicions) and to not come across as a sleazy older man lusting after a much younger woman. All he had to do was to walk the thinnest of tightropes until …... until Ruth noticed him, and hopefully grew to love him. As unlikely as that outcome appeared to him, Harry had maintained his optimism.

In the end he had relaxed and allowed himself to be who he really was, and this seemed to have done the trick. They had grown closer, becoming friends, developing trust, flirting occasionally, frequently holding one another's gaze for much longer than necessary. He lived for the moments when Ruth had watched him as he was watching her. He had felt the heat rising in his body, and by the flush on Ruth's face, she had been similarly affected. It was at these times that he had again felt like a teenager, lusting after a girl who was always going to be just out of his reach.

He had chosen his moment well – the moment when he'd asked her to have dinner with him. He'd been nervous about asking her; after all, it had been a long time since he'd asked a woman about whom he cared so much to go out with him. Smiling into his eyes she had said yes, as he'd hoped she would. He'd been sure she would. It's just that when she'd assured him she would meet him at the restaurant, he'd had to look away for fear she'd glimpse his joyful smile.

It had been his first real victory with her. The next was when she – as promised – turned up at the restaurant only a minute late. He had been clock-watching since 7.18 pm. Of course he had arrived early, nervously sitting over a drink at the bar, his eyes on the front door. As soon as she'd entered the restaurant he had seen her. She'd looked around the room, and when their eyes had met her face had visibly relaxed into a smile, and he had smiled back. Using a baseball analogy, he was already at first base.

It had been a wonderful night, even better than he'd hoped. Afterwards he had driven her home, their conversation quiet, dripping out in a sentence here, an observation there. He'd walked her to her front door, his hand under her elbow. He'd stood next to her while she'd dipped a hand into her clutch bag for her keys, and then he'd taken the keys from her fingers and opened her front door for her. When he'd dipped his head to kiss her cheek, she'd turned her face slightly so that their lips had met. It was their first kiss, and as his lips brushed hers he vowed to remember it forever. Perhaps the touch of their lips had lasted less than a second, and as he had opened his eyes he had seen the light shining in hers. That moment was carved into his memory, where it would remain always. He had asked her to again join him for dinner. She'd hesitated then, and he'd felt that small clench of his stomach muscles as his level of anxiety rose.

"I'll get back to you about that," she'd said, her eyes wide and dark in the dim light of her doorway.

Harry had again bid her goodnight, turning to walk back to his car. There had been something slightly off kilter about her answer, but he'd not examined it too closely. This was Ruth, and she was not like other women, which was one of the (many) reasons he loved her.

And love her he did. It had been a slow burn attraction which had become love, creeping up on him while his attention had been elsewhere, worrying about how his team would regroup after the latest tragic death. There at the centre of each of his days had been Ruth ….. steady, optimistic, wise, engaging Ruth, and he had no idea how he'd managed to live the first fifty years of his life without her.

Two days later his hopes had come crashing down.

She'd turned down his invitation to a second dinner. To him her reasons sounded …... unreasonable. It was not like Ruth to be irrational, and yet that was the word which kept hurtling around inside his head as she explained why it was she couldn't have dinner with him again.

And then she had turned and left his office. There was nothing more to be said. Her intention was clear. They were over before they had even begun. And yet …... somewhere deep within his gut, Harry knew that he and Ruth had not yet finished with one another. He knew there was still something there …... something exciting and delicate and tangible, something worth nurturing. He knew … that she knew …. that while they had sat opposite one another at the table over dinner, talking of Grand Tours and thermobaric bombs and Harry's ideal travelling companion …... they both knew he'd been describing her, and she'd been interested ….. and rather pleased. Despite her response to the contrary, he had been certain she'd want to do it again. He just had to find the right way of convincing her.

It was late in the afternoon when he at last found some free time to head to the roof for some air. He needed thinking time, and for that he needed to be alone and away from the Grid. He needed to be able to make sense of Ruth's reply. Despite it being mid July, the sky was overcast and some time during the day a wind had whipped up. Harry felt the little hair he had on his scalp lifted by the breeze as he stared ahead, seeing nothing. Her words whirled around in his head. `People are laughing'; `It undermines you'; `I can't stand it …. sorry.' Being laughed about is hardly a reason they shouldn't be spending time together outside work, and if he's undermined by the gossiping of a few members of his team, then he's not the leader he's meant to be. There has to be another reason – a deeper reason, but Ruth had turned and left his office before he could properly question her. His phone rings and reluctantly he retreives it from his jacket pocket, grimacing as he looks at the screen.

"Foreign Secretary," he says, once again moving with ease from the personal to the professional.

There are only two days until the Africa Summit talks at Havensworth Hotel, and every member of Section D has a job to do. Harry is relieved that Ruth will not be going to the hotel for the talks. Perhaps they need time away from one another, rather than bubbling around together in the cauldron of the Grid. Forward planning seems to be going smoothly with Ros and Adam in charge of the organising, so again Harry takes himself up to the roof balcony to get some air. As he stands at the balustrade, hands in his pockets as he gazes across the roof tops, he remembers the day, less than a week earlier, when standing here with Ruth, he'd asked her to have dinner with him and she had said yes. It had been only five days ago, and yet already it feels like a lifetime. He lifts his eyes to the sky above and sighs heavily. It is a very long time since he's been this disturbed by a woman, and he doesn't enjoy the sense of no longer being in control of his life and his emotions. He has allowed Ruth Evershed to get under his skin, when he should have nipped it in the bud before it had had a chance to develop.

But should he? Everyone needs someone. People need to love and to be loved. It has taken him almost 53 years of life to reach that conclusion. Remarkably it had been an unassuming but unique intelligence analyst who had crawled under his impenetrable defences and stayed there …... and now she's there, he doesn't want her to leave.

Harry doesn't hear the opening of the door to the roof, but he senses someone moving closer. He knows that it is neither Adam nor Ros, either of whom would have announced themselves as soon as they had stepped onto the roof. He knows who it is and he's surprised. For the past few days they've been avoiding one another. She stands beside him at the balustrade, some distance between them. He can feel her eyes on him, so he turns his head to look into those eyes. To his surprise she is smiling.

"I thought I'd find you here," she says.

Harry nods and returns her smile. "I needed some air."

Ruth looks away, gazing ahead of her. Harry is still watching her and he can sense her discomfort. His instinct is to move closer to her, to grasp her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. He stays where he is. "You have something to tell me?" he says, to which Ruth nods.

A few minutes pass before Ruth speaks. "I know that I've …... hurt you -"

"Ruth -"

"No, let me speak ….. Harry."

"I was under the impression you already had." As soon as the words are spoken he regrets them. Of course he's hurt. He just hadn't wanted her to know how much.

"I'm here to explain, Harry. You didn't take my explanation terribly well."

"That's because I don't believe it."

Harry has turned to face her, one elbow resting on the balustrade. Ruth has moved a little closer to him, close enough for him to touch her should he reach out towards her. He expects her to be angry with him. He wants her to be angry with him. Anything is better than her intellectual coolness, holding him at arm's length, watching him, assessing him, waiting for him to continue.

"I don't believe that you – an intelligent woman – can be so upset by others' …. laughing, gossiping …. that you would turn down ….. something I believe you want."

He'd expected her to scoff, laugh, be angry, storm off in disgust – anything. Ruth watches him closely, and Harry can see that her mind is working overtime, searching for an answer.

"We were ….. good together, Ruth, and I believe that …... that scared you. Perhaps I scare you …... but …... I think you are more scared by your own …... attraction to me. I know how you feel. It ….. petrifies me, too."

"Petrifies?"

"I'm afraid, Ruth, but ….. only because I can think of little else other than ….. you, and how much I want to see you again."

Ruth sighs heavily, turns and goes back to looking out over London. Harry takes another small step closer to her, but not too close.

"Tell me you don't have a similar reaction. Tell me you're not afraid."

The noise from the street below is just enough to drown out the sound of the roof door opening. There, Ros Myers stands, still not having stepped onto the roof, contemplating the scene in front of her. The words `awkward situation' spring to mind. She has heard the gossip, and she doesn't much care. Other people's private lives hold no interest for her, although were she being honest, she believes Harry could do with some down time. If Ruth is the woman Harry has chosen, and if they have a thing happening, then she's fine with that, although she'd rather they conducted whatever-it-is away from work. Still, she's not about to be the one to interrupt it. She'll tell the Home Secretary that Harry is temporarily indisposed. She turns and quietly closes the door. Nicholas Blake will have to wait.

Harry watches Ruth, noticing that she is not absolutely still. Her hands are now on the balustrade, and her fingers wind around a tissue she'd been holding in one hand. Busy hands mean a busy mind. Ruth is thinking.

"Tell me, Ruth," he repeats. "I don't buy that about others laughing at us. They all have their own lives. Why should they care about what we do?"

Suddenly, Ruth turns to look at him, her eyes wide. "Malcolm said …... he said he was happy for us. He thought it was …. wonderful that we had ….."

"That's not laughing, Ruth," he says gently. "That's ….. what he said it was."

"But they know. They'll gossip."

"For about five minutes. By the time we go on our third date, they will have moved on to something else."

"Third date? You still want us to …..?"

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

What follows is around the longest three minutes of Harry's life. Ruth turns away again, staring out over the grey skyline, her fingers still busily shredding the tissue. He wants to step closer to her and take those hands between his own, stilling her fingers, settling her visible anxiety. Then he wants to take her in his arms and hold her until she is calm. He stays standing by the balustrade, watching her, hoping for a different outcome. All he wants is for her to be truthful with him, truthful with herself. His instincts tell him that she wants to see him again almost as much as he wants to see her.

When she begins speaking, she is still staring ahead of her, her eyes gazing over the rooftops. "I …. I hoped that after we had dinner, you'd …... not ask me again."

"Why, Ruth? Wasn't the dinner …. lovely? Did you not enjoy it?"

Ruth turns briefly to nod in his direction. "It was lovely, yes." She turns back to staring over the rooftops. "I know you're …. interested in me -"

"I'm more than interested, Ruth."

"As I am in you. I haven't been as …. invested in an outcome in a very long time, but it's ….. we can''t do it again." She turns to look at him again, and this time he can see the distress in her eyes, and how close she is to tears. "We can't, Harry. It won't happen. Please don't ask me again."

"But you just said -"

"I know I did. I've given you false hope … and I shouldn't have."

"Is there someone else, Ruth?" His voice is gentle, and he works hard to not plead. Ruth will not respond well to his pleading. "Did you go to dinner with me to get over someone else, or to …. make someone else jealous?"

"No. Of course not. That would have been cruel."

"But ….. this is cruel. Saying no to us ….. to what we could be ….. that's cruel."

"It won't work, Harry. It can't. You mustn't think about it."

"Jesus, Ruth. For the past few months I've thought of little else. Haven't you? Why can't you just ….. trust me?"

This time he has said too much. Ruth turns from the balustrade, and before he can step towards her and stop her, she has crossed to the door, opened it, and gone inside. By the time he reaches the top of the stairwell, he can hear her footsteps rapidly descending the stairs. He sighs heavily and follows her, but slowly. How could something so promising so suddenly turn to dust? How can he switch off his mind so that he no longer thinks of her with fondness …... with love? Well, he can't …... and he won't.