Beth feigns diligence at her keyboard as Ruth storms from Harry's office and stomps across to her own workspace. She sits down heavily, and begins typing – heavily – the keys receiving the kind of punishment she'd no doubt prefer to be handing out to Harry. Harry is not even in his office, so Beth is bewildered as to how it's possible for Ruth to be this upset. It normally takes at least for Harry to be present for her to react in this way.

Beth knows there is `something' between Ruth and Harry, some mysterious history which binds them in a push-me-pull-you, never-ending cycle of love and …. well ….. love. In Beth's mind, they should just shag one another senseless, and then move on. She has found that generally sorts out the men from the boys, the stayers from the guys-just-in-it-for-the-sex. She finds watching them exhausting, so as much as she admires their commitment to whatever it is they have - or would like to have - together, she wishes they'd move on from where they are, because where they are is basically nowhere at all.

Ruth knows Beth is watching her. She can feel it. She wants to utter a long string of expletives, but then she'd have to explain herself, and that is the last thing she wishes to be doing. She has never, in the seven years they have known one another, been this angry with Harry. He has deceived her, lied to her, taken her for a massive ride, and yet …... No, there can be no `and yet'. Harry has been a tosser, and she hates him! Which is very strange, because only this morning when she awoke, in that delightful twilight world between sleeping and waking, she admitted to herself how much she loves him. The distance between love and hate can often be the thinnest of lines; literature throughout the ages alludes to this.

Two hours later, Ruth is still bashing her keyboard, silently fuming, when Harry enters the Grid, and goes straight to his office. He opens the top file of the pile left on his desk, to see Ruth's signature at the bottom of the first page. Next to this pile of files, open for all the world to see, is a permission to socialise form, and the names on the form are Harry Pearce and Cynthia Worthington. Oh, shit! He had hoped to avoid her knowing. He watches her through the glass wall of his office, and knows immediately that she has seen the form. Her mouth is set in a hard line, and she is typing like she's hell bent on killing her keyboard. He'd hoped to avoid the need for explaining it all to her, after all, it was only seven weeks ago that he'd asked her to marry him, and her answer had been a definitive no. That surely means that he owes her no such explanation …... still ….. He sends her a quick text message.

Ruth opens her phone to read Harry's text. Roof in 5 min. H She considers ignoring it, but knows that this would be the kind of churlish behaviour he'd no doubt exhibit were the boot on the other foot. She considers herself to be better than that.

The sun is still shining, but the air is cold, so both she and Harry have worn their coats. She stands beside him at the wall, but keeps some distance between them. He is gazing at London below them. She knows he enjoys the view as much as she. London from the roof of Thames House reminds them of why it is they work so hard to defend the country against all manner of threats, known and unknown.

"I take it you saw the form on my desk," he begins. "It's not what you think it is. It's not what it looks like."

Ruth lets out a small laugh, not a laugh born of humour, but of `No, Harry, I didn't come down in the last shower'. Then she senses he is looking at her, so she meets his gaze with her own.

What she hadn't expected to see in his eyes is hurt, but there it is, plain as day. "I want to explain this to you," he says. "It's not how it looks."

"What's to explain?" she throws back at him.

"Ruth, you're the last person in the world I want be hurting. You know that I lo-"

"Please don't say it, Harry."

"You know I do." He looks back at the skyline, and sighs heavily. When he speaks again, his voice is a monotone, all emotion suppressed. "I've been asked by the Home Secretary to see this woman. Cynthia Worthington. She's suspected of being connected to JAMA – Jewish Arab Military Alliance – and I'm to …... court her in an effort to find out if she's the connection between weapons leaving Britain, and Israel's weapons build-up. JAMA supports conflict in the Middle East – any conflict."

"You're to be a honey trap?"

"Sort of."

"Why can't Dimitri do it? At least he's single."

Harry is visibly startled by her words. "Am I not single also?" he asks.

Their eyes meet, and this time they are Harry and Ruth, a couple of people who love one another deeply, and with an enduring connection which even long separations cannot fracture, but who seem destined never to find their way free to being together. "What I mean …..." Ruth stumbles over her words. When he looks at her like that she can never think clearly, let alone speak. She's no longer mad at him. She's in love with him again, and she wishes it were as easy as the movies, where couples simply kiss, and then all the obstacles to their being together instantly disappear. "What I mean is …... you have ….. you're …..."

"What you mean is I'm in love with you, which renders me not exactly single and available. Is that what you were trying to say, Ruth?"

Despite the cold air on the roof, she feels her face burning as a flush moves up from her neck, and she manages to nod in answer to his question. He is still watching her, his eyes boring into hers.

"If you don't want me to do it, then I won't. All you have to say is `Harry, please don't do this', and I'll tell Towers to get someone else."

"I have no right to ….. ask that of you."

"You do, Ruth. You do have that right."

"Do you want to do it?"

"Christ, no."

"Why did Towers choose you in the first place?"

"I'm around the right age, I'm – officially, at least – single and unencumbered emotionally, and this woman has taken a shine to me after I met her at a meeting at the Israeli Embassy a fortnight ago. She asked me out, and I declined. Towers noticed, and he suggested I be the one to take her out, wine her and dine her, and anything else which may be required."

"Will you have to sleep with her?"

"What you're asking me is will I have to have sex with her?"

Ruth nods, feeling the build-up of tears pricking behind her eyes. The very last thing she wants to be doing right now is crying.

"That may be called for. In fact, it almost certainly will be called for. I'm not happy about that. I'd thought I could perhaps get out of it by feigning impotence, but then, that might be difficult to ….. er …."

"To fake?"

"Yes." Harry looks back at the skyline, willing himself to find the right words to say to her. The very last thing he wishes to be doing is hurting her. "Towers has asked me to give it some thought before I say yes. She's currently out of the country, and not due back for a couple of days, so I have some time to decide. He did …... ask me how you would feel about it were I to ….. do it."

"Me? Why would he say that?"

"He has eyes, Ruth. He's seen us together. Everyone thinks we're an item, you know."

"That's such an old-fashioned term."

"Being an item? We are an item, Ruth. It's just that we can't see us as others see us."

Ruth can see the tension in his body, and his hands are gripping the railing so that his knuckles have turned white. Ruth is suddenly totally focussed on his hands, on those tense, white knuckles. Harry has such beautiful hands. Those same hands that had held his children when they were tiny babies, and touched her almost unconsciously, so that she can barely breathe …... those hands have also killed people. She has little idea how many people he has killed, and nor does she wish to know. Without thinking, without considering the consequences, she reaches out and places her hand over those white knuckles. Slowly she moves her hand over his, until the tips of her fingers are moving along his fingers, from the nails to his knuckles, and back again. When she looks up at him, he is as mesmerised by their hands as is she. Suddenly he turns his hand under hers, and links their fingers so that their hands are entwined. They stay that way for some minutes.

"I know that you love me, Ruth, even if you don't acknowledge it to yourself. If you didn't love me, you wouldn't be so upset about this assignment I've been given."

"I'm not upset, I'm …... enraged."

"At what? At whom?"

"I don't know. At Towers. At you."

"Why are you mad at me?"

She lifts her shoulders in a sigh, and clings tightly to his hand. Almost against her will, she takes a step closer to him, to their linked fingers resting on the handrail. "Because …... because you know me better than I know myself. Because, despite your loving me, you're prepared to …... to ….. sleep with this woman for the good of the country. And I'm also afraid."

"Afraid of what, Ruth?"

She takes a deep breath, and watches their hands, their fingers entwined, like two gnarled old vines that have grown together, so that despite themselves, each depends upon the other. "I'm afraid you'll …... fall in love with her."

"Christ, Ruth, the chances of that happening are way to the left of zero. This woman may be someone who sells arms to people who don't care whether the people they kill are kids and babies or the elderly, so long as people are killed. How could I love someone like that?"

"And if she's not responsible for selling arms?"

"I can't possibly fall in love with someone when …... I'm so much in love with you."

By the time he has finished speaking, his voice is almost a whisper. Ruth looks up at him, and she knows that what he says is true. With their hands still entwined, she steps closer to him, and leans against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She feels his head dip towards hers, and he kisses her hair. They stand that way for a long time. Neither notice the sun setting, or the air temperature dropping. Neither notice Beth open the door to the roof to check that they haven't killed one another, or jumped off the roof together in a suicide pact. Nor do they notice her smile, and then promptly leave, quietly closing the door behind her. They are Harry and Ruth, and they are together again. All's right with the world.

When Ruth shivers, Harry removes his hand from within hers, and slides his arm around her, pulling her close to his side, where she can benefit from the warmth of his body.

"I have a suggestion," Ruth says after a long while. "This …... assignment is really Six's territory."

"It's ours also, but you're right. Did you have anyone in mind?"

"I do. What about Gerard Knowles? He's a section chief in Six, and he's the right age …..."

"He's married with kids."

"Harry, we are more married than he is. He has girlfriends everywhere, in every major city in UK and the world. I don't know how his wife puts up with him, and his two sons have left home, and no longer talk to him."

"How do you know all this?"

"He asked me out a long time ago, when I was at GCHQ. I wasn't interested, but plenty of people told me about his reputation. Men like that don't change. He'd probably enjoy this assignment."

Harry smiles and draws her even closer, this time turning so that he can wrap both arms around her. Ruth lifts her face to look at him.

"As much as I don't want you doing this for my own selfish reasons, there is a better reason than that why you shouldn't."

Harry lifts his eyebrows in a question.

"You're section head of this section, and I think that were it to get out that you are doing this as an assignment, your ….. your staff may lose respect for you. I can imagine what Dimitri and Beth would do with this were they to find out …... and they would find out."

"I've decided to tell Towers I won't do it," he says quietly, gently kissing her forehead.

"When did you decide that?"

"When I put my arms around you and you didn't pull away."

Ruth smiles to herself, and slips her arms around him under his coat. His body is warm and soft, and she suddenly wants to know what it would feel like to fall asleep next to him.

"I don't want to go home tonight," she says against his chest.

"By that, I'm supposing you're not planning to spend the night on the Grid."

Ruth laughs gently against his chest, and he smiles at the feel of her. He doesn't want to go inside, but knows they must.

"Come home with me tonight?" he asks.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Hand-in-hand, they leave the roof, and collect their things from the Grid before they leave to go home. Together.

Fin

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this small offering. I decided to pursue the idea further, and have written another story – entitled "Jealousy" - a 5-parter, in which Harry goes ahead with the operation. That story is up next.