.

Up on the roof, the wind was blowing with icy ferocity. Despite being wrapped up in a scarf, several jumpers and a thick woollen coat, Ruth shivered as she stepped out into it. Harry followed her, closing the door quietly behind them. The walk to their destination had been more than slightly awkward. They had barely said two words to each other after they had left the pods and made their way up the stairs. Ruth had broken their silence only when she needed help with the door. As they stepped out into the night, however, all the awkwardness seemed to fade away, on the wind.

The sky was beautiful and astoundingly clear, for London in midwinter. The usual haze of orange street light hung in the air, but Ruth could see the stars quite clearly beyond it. Pushing her hands deeper inside her pockets, she moved further out onto the roof. Harry followed her. Ruth did not realise how close he was until he spoke quietly, just behind her left shoulder.

"Good night for it." His voice was soft and beautifully smooth.

"It's so clear," Ruth craned her neck back, admiring the stars once more.

Harry seemed more interested in watching her than the stars.

"How long do we have, until the fireworks?" she asked him, without turning.

"Five minutes." He reached out and Ruth jumped a little, as his hand touched her back, directing her attention towards the Thames-facing side of the building. "You'll see better from over there."

They walked together to the edge and Ruth leant forwards, against the railing. Harry stood beside her, not leaning. His hands were in his pockets, his face pensive.

"I have to ask, Ruth, why now?" he looked over to her, his gaze soft.

"Now?" Ruth blustered, refusing to fully meet his gaze. She knew fine well what he meant, but she needed to buy time, to sort out the mess of thoughts in her head.

"Why do you want to talk now? We've had time, before. Plenty of it."

Ruth swallowed.

"I know. Tonight felt..." she sighed, heavily. Was there really any good explanation for why she wanted to talk tonight? No, not really. She had had an epiphany, watching him across the Grid. She had just suddenly known. At a loss for how to sell an epiphany to Harry, she settled on. "I just realised how tired I was, off all of this."

Harry frowned.

"Of us?"

It was Ruth's turn to frown.

Harry saying 'Us' sounded strange. She had never really considered there being an 'us', with the two of them. 'Us' implied that there had been some mutual agreement, like they had chosen to be bound together, like they were.

Ruth did not think they had chosen, not really. Their relationship had spawned in the mix of emotion and adrenaline of the Grid. Sure enough, Ruth had chosen to go to take things further. She had said 'yes' to dinner with him. They had made that step by choice but, afterwards, things had seemed to carry on rather without their permission. They were parted, by events, then pulled back together by different ones. They were forced, again and again, to choose the good of other people over each other. Though they had tried to keep themselves separate, fate or destiny or the sadistic nature of the world would not let them forget the bond formed between them. And, possibly because of the constant reminders, the bond between them only grew stronger with time.

There was an 'us' – though maybe not an 'us' in the way that Harry had meant it. They were tied together by what they had shared. Maybe it had not been through choice, but they were irrevocably Ruth and Harry, now. And Ruth didn't think they could stop being that, even if they had a hundred years to do try.

So "yes," she sighed, not quite able to look him in the eye. "This is about us."

"If this you, drawing a line in the sand?" Harry asked her.

Ruth's head whipped around, eyes fixing on Harry's, with an indignant glare. "This is me trying to fix us, Harry!"

His face did not change. If her admission had surprised him, then he hid it well below the surface.

Exhaling heavily, Ruth turned back towards the railing, cursing the fact that she had had to fall in love with a spy.

"Damn it, Harry," she shook her head, staring out over the sparkling city. "Were we ever not broken? Is there even any point in trying to fix this?"

Harry turned and leant against the railing, beside her. He looked torn, by her question. Ruth knew she should probably look away, to give him time to think, but she could not bring herself to remove her gaze from his face. Her eyes were rooted on the rise of his cheekbone, sharp in the darkness, and the shadow falling to the edge of his lips. His jaw was slightly tightened, holding all his emotion back, as always. So very Harry.

Ruth sighed. She wanted to reach out and end this conversation, kiss him and forget about everything else. She wanted this painful rendition of inner thoughts to be over but, she also knew, that could not happen. It would not solve anything. They needed to thrash this out. They needed to talk.

"Adam told me something, once." Harry spoke, eventually. The creases across his forehead deepened into a frown. "We were having a drink in my office, after an operation. He'd had a few glasses and he told me something that Ros had said to him." Harry shook his head. "I don't think he meant to tell me, it just slipped out..."

Ruth held her quiet. Though she and Ros might not have always got on, she did miss the sarcastic spook. She knew that Harry missed her infinitely more. When Adam had died – with Ruth gone and Jo on the brink of self-destruction – it had been the two of them against the world. Ros had been his second in command, his confidant and his back-up. They had grown closer than anyone would have guessed, knowing the pair of them individually. After her death, Harry rarely spoke of her. Ruth suspected it was too painful.

He faltered for a good half a minute, before continuing.

"Ros told him that they were broken," Harry eventually continued, "and that they never had enough time, to fix themselves."

"Time can be difficult to come by, when you're busy saving the country." Ruth told him, choosing not to comment on the similarity between what Ros had said and what she had told Harry. It had thrown her a little off-balance.

"I think that Adam believed, if he had a little more time, he could have fixed them."

A siren wailed and a police car passed, on the street below, cutting the conversation short, for a moment. The police car stopped and two officers stepped out, trotting up the front steps of Thames House and disappearing inside. Harry hand reflexively moved to his coat pocket, where Ruth knew his phone was stowed. Apparently the policemen were some other section's problem, however. His phone did not vibrate or ring. After a moment or so, Harry leant back against the railing and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And do you think Adam was right?" Ruth asked him. "Do you think people like us can be fixed?"

He did not reply immediately.

"Come on, Harry, you were angling to make a point, just there." Ruth gave a wry smile. "I know you, I can tell."

He gave a tiny smile. "Okay." Turning, he squinted at her, against the wind. "My point is, we're not Ros and Adam." His eyes were glittering with reflections of the city lights. Ruth found herself sinking into them.

"We are broken, Harry." She told him, voice unintentionally sorrowful.

"But we can make time."

Harry's hand slipped a little closer across the railing, stopping just short of hers. Ruth swallowed.

"I know we live..." he paused, searching for an appropriate word, "busy lives." Ruth gave a half-laugh of agreement. "And I understand what Ros meant by not having time, to forge something meaningful with another person," Harry continued, "but I think this is one of those mythical situations in which age gives me an advantage." He tilted his head to catch Ruth's eye. She moved to meet him, hooked as ever. "We can make time. We can prioritise. And yes, in response to your question, I think we were once 'not broken'."

"And when was that?" Ruth asked, breathlessly. She wanted to believe him.

"Well," Harry looked about them, around the rooftop. "I was standing over there," he pointed to the other side of the railing, "and you were standing beside me and I was making a really terrible job of asking you to dinner."

Warmth welled up, within Ruth's chest.

"It wasn't terrible," she laughed softly, looking down to hide the sudden pinking of her cheeks, "and it wouldn't have mattered, even if it was. I would still have said yes."

"Well you could have told me that, at the time. I was really quite nervous, over the whole thing."

Ruth looked up again, meeting his eyes, and felt herself melt a little. His eyes were gentle and so full of love.

How many times in your life did you get an opportunity like this, she asked herself. How many times did a person find themselves standing, with the man who loved them enough to lay down his life for them, alone on a rooftop, at midnight on New Years' Eve? There would never be another moment like this, between them. Enough moments had been missed in the past for her to know that. So, balling her hands into fists inside her pockets and praying for courage, she told him what she wanted to tell him.

"I love you."

It came out as an almost-whisper, barely sounding over the wind that rushed between them.

Harry swallowed audibly, but did not say anything. He remained still, watching her.

"And I know that's not enough, Harry," Ruth pushed herself to continue. "I'm not pretending that saying it aloud makes the problems between us instantly disappear, I'm not naive."

His mouth twitched, but he did not say anything, or move towards her.

"I wanted to talk to you tonight because I wanted to apologise." Ruth forced herself to continue, despite the rising panic. "I was so angry, before. Angry at you, at myself..."

"Yourself?"

"I always forgive you." Ruth explained. "It is not something I chose to do – it is something I have no power over, actually. God knows, I've tried hard enough to stop." She paused, looking out across the city to avoid his piercing gaze. "Anyway, I was furious at myself for it, because I did not want to forgive you. I could not see a future for us, because I was so angry, and it was easier to blame how I was feeling on you..." Ruth pulled her eyes away from the skyline and took a shaky breath.

Harry watched her, his eyes dark, under the midnight sky.

"I did not mean to make this harder than it had to be." She whispered. Her voice had become a little shaky, tears threatening to spring from her eyes. "I know we should have talked, long before now. I should have told you that I'm so glad that you didn't lose your job and that I am so grateful, for what you did." One of the tears fell, hot, against her cold cheek. Ruth swallowed back the harsh breaths that came with it. "I am, you know. And I am so sorry for what I said, before you went off to meet Lucas. I didn't mean it, not really."

Harry shifted. The wind howled through the gap between them.

"Ruth..." he looked down, away, back up again. She had never seen him look so unsure. "Ruth, you have nothing to apologise for."

"I feel like I do."

"Ruth-,"

"Please, Harry, just... just accept what I'm saying." She reached out one hand, from the warmth of her pocket, and curled it into the arm of his jacket. She could feel the hardness of him, beneath the soft of the fabric. Her fingers shook. "I'm just so tired. I don't want to be angry anymore and I don't want you to hate me."

Stepping forwards, Harry slipped his arm around her. His movements were quick. Ruth could not have moved away even if she had wanted to. She did not want to, however. She did not struggle, or protest, or put up a fight. She just turned her head so that he could draw her closer. Forehead brushing the underside of his jaw, she slowly – painstakingly slowly – let Harry pull her close to his chest. His gloved hand found the small of her back and flattened across it, fingertips pressing into her, through her coat, steadying her.

"Ruth," He whispered her name against her head. "I don't think I could ever hate you."

His breath was warm against her skin, but quickly lost in the cold air. Ruth pressed herself closer. His hand locked them together, bodies as flush as they could be, through the layers of winter clothing. She stumbled a little, nudging her head into him, gripping his jacket with her bare hands, her skin stinging slightly, from the cold. The wind, which had blow between the gaps between them, was now forced to flow around them, instead. Ruth thought it a beautiful metaphor, of some kind – what kind, she was not entirely sure of, yet. Perhaps, it would come to her, if they stood here long enough. She was okay with that. She did not want to let go.

"I'm sorry," She whispered again, pressing her face into his shoulder.

He did not reply, just shook his head and hushed her softly, pressing a kiss into her hair.

They stood together a little while longer. Ruth's hands slid up against his sides and Harry moved her closer, lifting one arm to protect her from the wind. As his hand found the back of her head, brushing through her hair, the sound of Big Ben chiming filled the distant night air.

Both of them startled a little and looked around. The static noise, which filled the London air at night, had crescendo significantly. In time to the ringing of the bells, there came a series of screaming whines, then the explosions of fireworks – bursting out like fiery ribbons, into the sky. The colour of the pyrotechnic display was ten times more vivid than Ruth could remember. She tilted her head against Harry's chest, lifting her cheek off of him so that she watch it better.

Red and white streamers snaked through the sky. Great bursts of silver and gold made iridescent globes, before falling, like confetti to the ground. There would be a bang, then a flash and sparkle, and then the crack of more being let off. There were wild, spinning ones which cart wheeled through the air and others, which spread out like the branches of a weeping willow, trailing down towards the rooftops. Ruth's personal favourite was one which formed circles in the sky, like luminescent smoke rings. They faded more slowly than the others, into the black night.

They stood, quite still, watching colour explode into the sky. The display lasted about five minutes, then the popping and cracking vanished into wisps of smoke and all they could hear was the distant 'thump' of the street parties and the voices of the revellers' cheers.

Ruth sighed. Her companion's fingers traced slow circles on her back. His arm was still looped around her, protectively. She was acutely aware that this was the moment that she would normally pull away, make some excuse and dry her tears, before running off. Surprisingly enough, now that she had resolved herself to facing this problem head-on, it did not take much internal coaxing to stay put. Leaning against Harry felt good. He was warm and solid and made her feel safe. Staying here, wrapped up in his arms, felt like the logical thing to do.

"I missed you," she thought, so she told him. It was strangely liberating, being so open. "You were right, we should make time for this. We should have made time years ago."

He held her a little tighter.

They stood for another minute or so, before he spoke.

"Ruth?"

She lifted her head, feeling a rush of nerves. Was this the part where he changed his mind? She knew it was an illogical progression, from him just saying her name, but she could not help thinking it. Her body was hypersensitive, from the adrenaline. Her thoughts were moving through her head at a million miles a minute. She had stopped shivering, despite still being cold, out of sheer anticipation. Eyes flickering between Harry's gaze and his lips, Ruth waited for him to speak. When he did not, for more than ten seconds, she prompted him.

"Harry, what is it?"

"Is this..." he started and then halted, after only two words, shaking his head.

"What?"

Ruth's fingers dug into the material of his jacket, lest he tried to move away.

"Is this you giving me another chance?" he asked, eventually. His dark and very cautious, his voice quiet, but steady.

Vulnerable was a side to Harry that Ruth rarely saw. He was the most traditional sort of spy; keeping emotion buried deep within and he kept vulnerability hidden, beneath that emotion. Tonight, however, he was not trying to hide it. His eyes were pleading. Ruth knew that, if she asked, he would probably get down on his knees and beg for her. She had imagined making him do that, once or twice, during the past few weeks of anger. But now, seeing that helplessness in his eyes, she just wanted it to go away. There was no gratification to see him hurting for her.

"Harry," she lifted one hand to brush against his cheek. She wasn't entirely sure what to do with it, once it was there, so she just ran her fingers gently across his skin, following the line of one thin scar. There was no particular purpose to her movements. She just wanted to touch him. "Yes." She whispered, leaning in a little. They were not so very far apart. She could kiss him now, if she tilted her head just right.

"I need to know that you mean it."

"I mean it," she reassured him, quietly.

He gave a strange half-sigh and tilted his eyes skyward, staring up at the sky. Overhead, the smoke from the fireworks was drifting, like blackish cloud, towards the horizon.

Ruth's hand fell from his cheek. She leant away.

"I'm so tired, Ruth," He sighed softly. "I don't think I can take this almost-happening, again. I have lost you so many times..." His voice trailed off, replaced by the siren of the police car starting up, beneath them, and trailing off into the night. They stood and watched each other carefully for a few seconds, before Harry spoke again. "I don't think I can do this, if you are going to change your mind in a couple of days, or a week's time." He told her, eventually. His voice was so quiet, so unlike how he usually spoke.

"I am not going to change my mind-," she tried to reassure him, but he interrupted, gently.

"-It's what you do, though. When I get too close, you pull away. It's what you have always done."

"And you don't?" Ruth asked, incredulous. "How many times did I come to you and say I was there, if you needed to talk? How many times did I try to comfort you, only to have you push me away?"

"You were offering friendship, which I could not accept," Harry guided Ruth away from him, looking down into her face. "It was too painful to be close to you, with those limitations. I wanted more."

"More?" she asked him.

Harry had leant forwards. Their faces were thrillingly close.

"I have always wanted more. I wanted everything, I want everything." He rephrased, lifting one hand to cup her face. His palm was warm, even through the leather. Thumb lying against her cheekbone, he gripped her skin gently. "I want this, Ruth. I want us, together. I want you in my life and in my home, and in my bed,"

Ruth felt her cheeks flush red.

Harry did not look even the slightest bit embarrassed.

"I want to be close to somebody again, to feel something other than cold, when I'm not filled with adrenaline. I want to kiss you and for it not to mean goodbye. And I want to walk onto the grid together, in the morning, so that everybody in there will know that you are mine."

"That's a tad presumptuous of you," she managed to whisper, through her ever-tightening throat.

Harry's eyes softened slightly as he smiled.

"I suppose it is a little – you are an independent woman, after all – but I thought you might allow me that small indulgence." The smile faded as he leant closer, almost brushing his lips against hers, before turning his head and whispering his next words against her hair. "I am sick of the pretence, Ruth, just like you are sick of the anger. What we are in there," he glanced down at Thames House, below them, "that is the lie. This is what is real." He stroked one finger along her cheek. "You are beautiful and I love you. And I am sick of pretending not to."

If she had been feeling any more argumentative, Ruth would have pointed out that he did pretend very hard not to love her, but she was not feeling argumentative. She was feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous while, at the same time, alive with anticipation. Every hair on her body was standing on end. She was fairly sure that her pupils would be as dilated as Harry's were – and his were incredibly dilated. She had never seen them so dark before. And all for her. He was consumed by want, for her.

The moment felt unreal. She and Harry were clasped together on a rooftop. He was holding her. After everything that had happened, they were finally having a frank conversation, all about them. She had told him she loved him and he had said it back. Ruth licked her lower lip absently. They had both wanted to make this work. So, what did she do now? How did she convince him that she was serious? A kiss was too trite, it felt like distraction. She could bury herself back in his arms, of course. That would feel good, but Ruth was almost sure that Harry wanted her to say something. The problem was, his dark, dark eyes were driving all cognisant thought from her mind.

She stood, for a good minute or so, her lips parting and then her vocal chords failing to cooperate. Her companion did not seem too bothered, by the passage of time. He busied himself in stroking her back and fixing the strands of hair that had fallen about her face. Every now and then, his gaze would fall down to capture her own again and Ruth would fall even deeper into mind-numbing want.

"You don't have to pretend." She eventually stumbled out with. They were not quite the right words, but they were not wrong either. And it was Harry. Harry would understand. "I do want this. And I am not going to change my mind. I've given it rather a lot of thought, actually."

"Really?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "I rather got the feeling that us even talking tonight was a spur of the moment thing." It was not quite a rebuke.

Ruth's cheeks flushed slightly pinker.

"Okay, that is true." She admitted. "But what I said still stands. We've been dancing around this long enough to know what it will entail. I have no illusions that this will be easy."

"It'll be harder than you think."

"We do 'hard' almost every day, in here."

"Yes, but have you thought about the pragmatics of the situation, Ruth?" Harry asked her. "We will have to see each other, ever day, not just when you feel like it. We will not ever have the luxury of avoiding one another, when things go wrong."

"I think we have plenty experience of working under hostile conditions." Ruth told him. "We always got the job done." Even when we felt like strangling one another, she thought.

"And how would you cope with being talked about?" Harry tilted his head, catching her eye. "Because, I assure you, Ruth, there will be talk. Plenty of it."

Ruth felt compelled to point out, at this point, that she had objected to being talked about nearly five years ago, now.

"I am not the same woman I was then," she continued. "You're not the same man. We have history and issues but who doesn't. The more I've seen of this world, the more I understand that their talk is a small price to pay, for us both to be a little less lonely. I know what I'm asking for, Harry." She fixed him with the most solid gaze she could summon. "I want you. That's all."

He stared at her for a very long time.

"Okay." He said eventually, pulling back from her and placing his hands firmly inside his pockets.

Ruth felt slightly disappointed, to be denied contact, after such a speech, but she saw the wisdom in his actions. She had almost fallen into him several times over the past few minutes. If they were going to make a serious decision, on their future together, then they should probably be thinking about pragmatics and not on how each others' lips might taste – however pleasant that thought might be.

"If you want me," Harry told her, calmly, "then you have to take everything. I am not half as good at compartmentalising as people think."

"That I know," she told him, and was rewarded with a small smile.

"We work well together, I can't have that change. On the Grid, you are my employee. You have to respect my authority in the field and always obey the chain of command."

Ruth forced herself not to smirk as she put her own hands in her pockets. As they stood facing each other, Harry's speech sounded ever so much like a briefing.

"Yes sir," she joked, softly.

"I'm serious, Ruth. We come through those doors and we have to put the work first, always," he warned her, his smile fading to be replaced by a worried expression, as if he thought she might bring up Albany.

Ruth wouldn't. She just wouldn't. Albany had been a product of circumstance. At first, she had torn herself up over those circumstances; lying awake at night, wondering what Harry would have done if the technology had been real. Now, she knew. There was no way he would have handed it over, not with thousands of lives at stake. He was Harry Pearce, one still point in her rapidly turning world. He would do what was right, every time. It was why she had fallen in love with him.

"I know, Harry," she reassured him, softly. "Work is work."

"And you won't get special treatment."

"Bugger." She rolled her eyes. "You've seen through my cunning ruse. This was all just a very long game, to get a pay rise."

Harry gave a tiny laugh.

"If we find our relationship changes things," he nodded, almost to himself, "then one of us has to move to a different department."

"The Home Secretary's been trying to poach me ever since you fed them that report, during your tribunal." Ruth admitted. "I have plenty of places to go, when you have to fire me."

Harry looked vaguely uneasy.

"We'll cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it."

"We won't come to it." She assured him, gently. "It was a joke, Harry."

He smiled again and a moment passed in comfortable silence. Ruth breathed in the cold air, marvelling at how, for once, everything tonight had gone so incredibly right. So many conversations between them had faltered and failed, or turned down alleys too dark for them to continue. Tonight, they had had an open, honest discussion, like two adults. Perhaps that was it, Ruth thought, with a smile. Perhaps, at forty-two years old, she had finally grown up.

Casting her eyes over to Harry, she noticed that he was shifting his feet slightly, hands still tucked into his pockets. It was a stance she recognised, another of his little nervous tics, which she had learnt off by over the years. This one told her that he was about to say something he was not entirely comfortable with. Interest piqued, she focussed her attention back in on him. Sure enough, he spoke within ten seconds.

"Ruth?"

"Yes?" she asked a little too quickly, eager to find out what had been plaguing his thoughts so.

"How fast do we move, with this?" he asked, quietly.

Ruth swallowed, hard. Suddenly, the playful sureness of the last few minutes was gone and she felt crippling uncertainty gnawing at the back of her mind. This was where the conversation was leading. They had set out terms for their work relationship, now they had to discuss their personal relationship. As this was an adult conversation, that was definitely going to involve talking about sex. Ruth bit the inside of her lip, in what she hoped was a subtle manner. Adult or not, she wasn't even sure she could talk about that with Harry. It felt strange, after so long blatantly ignoring the sexual tension that always brewed between them.

"I, uh," she cleared her throat and frowned. "You mean...?"

"Can I kiss you now, for instance, without you running away?" he asked, gently.

Her body was screaming 'yes', her brain was less sure.

This had all come upon her rather suddenly. Just an hour ago, she was just settling down to a game of New Years' Eve Scrabble with Tariq, Calum and Dimitri. Now, she was standing on a roof, discussing – with a man she had only just started talking to again – how quickly they could start acting like a normal couple and not the socially retarded, broken spooks that they were. And all because of a silly flirtation, with a five letter word!

By all the gods, Ruth wanted to kiss him. She was even almost sure she would not freak out, afterwards. But she needed to say something first.

"I need time," she blurted out, wincing at the disappointment on his face. "Not the kiss. I'd quite like the kiss, I mean..." she swore quietly, looking away as her cheeks went from pink to scarlet. This is even more embarrassing than she had imagined. Not that she had really imagined this. In all of her sordid Harry-related fantasies, she had been only too eager to get into his bed. "The whole sex thing."

And apparently, she could say sex on front of him now. Great.

Her cheeks went redder.

Harry, much to her annoyance, looked slightly amused. Ruth glared at him.

"I need time to adjust to the idea of this," she blurted, hoping it did not sound as ridiculous as it sounded in her head. After all, they had known each other for nearly nine years. Surely, they had had enough time. Every time she had imagined this, she had not needed time. Yet, the reality was a thousand times more confusing. "It's all a bit..."

"Sudden." He finished, for her, with a small nod. His eyes were gentle.

Ruth felt rush of gratitude and relief.

"Yes, sudden." She bit at her lip again. "I honestly don't think I can handle it, right now, after everything. I don't know about you but I have ten thousand different emotions rushing through me right now and I need some time to calm down a little, before" before letting you make me entirely un-calm again, Ruth finished, inside her head. "Before anything else." She finished, out loud.

Harry gave her another tiny nod.

"Ten thousand emotions." He echoed.

Ruth got the feeling she was being, albeit very gently, teased.

"Yes."

"Most people would have said a million."

"A million seemed a little exaggerative." Ruth explained, knowing that she shouldn't, that he was just teasing. She couldn't help herself, though. He was watching her in that way only Harry watched her and she was squirming under his gaze. Talking gave her something to do apart from think of what his skin would feel like against hers. "I'm not a biologist, obviously, but I don't think the human brain can have a million thoughts happening, at one time. Not conscious thoughts." She continued to ramble. "I thought ten thousand was probably a more appropriate estimate."

"I see." His lips twitched upwards.

"So I said ten thousand," she finished, breathlessly.

"Ruth, may I kiss you?"

"I, um," Ruth swallowed and tried to appear in control of herself.

She was in no way in control of herself. Her heart was thundering in her chest. Her ribs felt like they might break, under the pressure. Her body felt alive in ways that nobody had made her feel alive in, in years. It had been years, she realised, with a sinking feeling, years since she had kissed another human being. Two years, in fact, and even longer since she had let a man fold himself inside of her.

After George, there had only been one, who meant nothing, knew nothing about her, and reaffirmed everything Ruth had assumed about one-night stands. They were not for her. The whole thing had been hard and fast and completely fulfilling – and it had had left her feeling emptier than she had ever felt before. Since then, her sex life had been a sad, sorry, solo affair that she really did not want to think about, much less explain to Harry. Mostly because it involved him, indirectly.

He probably knew that, of course.

Did he think of her?

Ruth cringed inwardly.

"I don't," she began again, then her voice faltered away. "Oh God..." she whispered, to herself.

It had been such a long time.

"I won't lie and say it's all I want, Ruth," Harry said gently, stepping closer, "but it's all I want, right now."

She shivered, her chin lifting as he approached, so that she could hold his gaze.

"Okay, then." Her voice was small, almost trembling. She reached out one hand and laying it against his arm as he approached.

He let her guide him to her.

Their limbs found one another, without too much hesitance. Her hands slipped against him, one of his game to rest gently on her hip, pulling her body forwards into him. Dipping his head down, Harry gave her a moment to adjust to their new proximity. His eyes draw elaborate patterns across her face, following the rise and fall of her cheek, dipping into the shadow of her lips and back up again, along the line of her nose to her eyes. Ruth only hoped that, under his scrutiny, she did not look as terrified as she felt.

There was huge difference between wanting something and feeling brave about doing it, and Ruth was utterly failing at the latter. Her shoulders were tense, arms shaking against his stronger body. Her breathing was fast, two breaths for every one of his. She wanted this, she wanted it desperately and had done for more than six years. She had been wanting to kiss Harry for more than half a decade and now, finally, she could.

"How can you be so calm, after all this time?" she asked him, quietly.

"Calm?"

She slipped her hand over his chest, pressing against the solidness of him.

"I'm shaking," she whispered, quietly. "You're so steady."

Harry regarded her with an expression that was not entirely gentlemanly.

"The only reason I'm not shaking," he lifted one gloveless hand, placing it gently against Ruth's cheek, "is that I have imagined you, quivering to meet my touch, every night, for the last five years."

Ruth gave a noise which more closely approximated a whimper than anything else.

Harry leant closer.

"I know every breath of how I will kiss you." His nose brushed against hers, his lips close enough to taste his breath. He tasted sweet, of whiskey and something else, which Ruth could not place. Chocolate? Mint? "I know exactly where I will touch you." He ran his fingers down her neck. Ruth closed her eyes, swallowing back harsh breaths. "And I know, when you are ready, exactly what I will whisper to you as I make you mine."

There were no words, nothing she could say or do which would slow the racing of her heart and she did not much care to. His chest and belly were pressed against hers. His hand held her waist, tight. Her quivering fingers dug into his coat, holding onto him as tightly as she could. Her body was burning, skin tight and hot and alive with the implication of his words and the anticipation of his touch.

His fingers danced across her jaw, gently nudging her up towards him.

"I am not shaking because I want this more than anything." He rested his cheek momentarily against hers, brushing a chaste kiss against the corner of her mouth. "And love can make a man brave."

There was nothing in the world she wanted more and no place that she would rather be. In the split moment that preceded his kiss, Ruth realised that some decisions in life were completely and undeniably black and white. She would be with Harry because being with Harry was infinitely better than being alone. Damn the rest of it.

He whispered his love and kissed her cheek.

She whispered his name. It was all she managed to say, before he lowered his mouth to hers and she lost herself in the feel of him.

.