Today, 23rd December, 7:30 am
How did she get herself in this position? In bed with Harry of all people. Sodding Lucas and his bloody cider. How much had she had to drink anyway? She'd started with half a pint of cider and then Lucas had bought her two pints. Then Max from C section had joined them and bought her another - one? two? more than that? - She can't remember. Fuck, she thinks. They'd been dancing and singing – karaoke? - with Max and Lucas... and Harry? She'd been dancing with Harry, right? This is the part where the evening gets very blurry. The inside of a cab with... who? Harry?... no, Ros. She's pretty confident that Ros had offered to take her home. So how did she get here, in Harry's bed? And what had happened? Surely, if they'd both been that drunk, nothing could have happened. A stab of disappointment surprises her. The thought of finally spending a night in Harry's bed and nothing happening between them hurts in a way she hadn't expected.
The door of the bathroom opens, interrupting her analysis of that particular feeling. He stands in the doorway a little uncertainly. "Sorry, Ruth," he murmurs. "I forgot to grab some clean clothes."
"It's okay, Harry," she replies quietly and averts her eyes when she realises she's been staring at his towel clad body.
He clears his throat. "The bathroom's free if you'd like a shower. I put out a clean towel."
"Thank you. That would be nice."
"Right then."
There's a pause.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think you could... you know... turn around?"
"Oh, yes, sorry."
He moves over to the wardrobe and opens it to find a clean shirt and suit, turning his back towards her.
Yesterday, 11 pm
"Hi, Ruth," he smiles.
"Hello. Max, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's right," he grins, pleased that she's remembered his name. "Can I get you a drink?"
"I haven't finished this one yet."
"Oh, right. Silly of me," he murmurs and pauses, feeling a little awkward. Then he asks, "Would you like to dance?"
"Um... okay."
"Great."
On the other side of the room, Harry asks Ros, "Who's that?"
"Max Whitmore, new analyst to section C, transferred from GCHQ about a month ago."
"I see."
Ros watches as Harry takes another large gulp of his whisky. She still can't work out what it is about Ruth that inspires such devotion in him. He's very clearly in love with her; it can't be a mere physical thing if it's lasted this long, and even though Harry never likes to lose, she can't imagine that he's still interested in her just for the triumph of possessing her, the one that got away.
"Another drink, Harry?"
"Yes... Make it a double."
She walks over to the bar and orders the drinks.
"Hi, Ros. How's it going?" Lucas grins.
"I can't stand it any more," Ros declares.
"Can't stand what?" Lucas replies, turning to her in surprise.
"Those two," she nods at Ruth and Harry. "I've had enough."
"Enough?" Lucas smirks. "You've had enough? Imagine how they feel!"
"Exactly!" Ros smiles triumphantly. "Right. It's Christmas and I'm going to give them a present they'll never forget."
"Oh, no, Ros," Lucas shakes his head. "Don't meddle in other people's lives. It's not a good plan."
"Are you serious?" Ros hisses. "Lucas, we're spooks. That's what we do. Besides, if I hadn't meddled before, perhaps they would have sorted this out by themselves already."
"What do you mean?" Lucas frowns.
Ros shakes her head. "Never mind that. I've got a plan and you're going to help me."
"I don't like the sound of that," Lucas mumbles, but raises his hands up in surrender when Ros glares at him. He listens to her plan and his eyes widen in horror and fear. He tries to talk her out of it and refuse to help, but in the end he gives in. Perhaps he's had a little too much to drink at this stage. Perhaps they all have.
Today, 23rd December, 7:50 am
She comes out of the bathroom cautiously, afraid that Harry might still be in the room. Luckily it's empty. Another stab of disappointment catches her off guard. Shaking her head at her unexpected reaction, she moves into the room and looks around for the first time, taking in the sparse furnishings, plain, masculine décor, and neatness and order that prevails. It's exactly what she'd expected his bedroom to look like, she thinks as her gaze sweeps over the room. The bed has been made, she notes, and her clothes are neatly folded on top of it. She swallows as she spies her underwear and bra on top of the pile, unable to get past the fact that Harry has put them there. Harry has touched them and... She feels dizzy all of a sudden, and taking two steps over to the bed, she sits down heavily on the edge. She closes her eyes to fight off the nausea and is assaulted by a vivid feeling of his large, warm hands gliding over her skin, up under her top, her bra loosening as they approach her aching breasts, a moan of desire and anticipation escaping her throat as they moved ever closer to where she wants them, squeezing, stroking, caressing-
"Ruth, are you okay?"
Her eyes snap open and she swears as the room begins to spin.
"Ruth?"
He's at her side now, concern etched on his features as he looms over her, and as she opens her eyes again, she realises that she must have fallen back onto the bed at some point in the last few seconds.
"Fine," she croaks. "A little dizzy, that's all, but it's passed now."
"Oh, good," he murmurs, but he doesn't pull back.
She stares up at his familiar, hazel eyes, so full of concern and love for her. Since she'd got back, they're always full of love when he looks at her. And sadness. A sadness which mostly distracts her from the love, but right at this moment in time, she can see it clearly and it takes her breath away. She's unable to stop her hands from reaching up to stroke his cheeks, nor is she able to stop them from sliding behind his neck, tangling themselves in his short, blond curls, and pulling him down towards her. His lips are soft and warm and wet, and all she's even dreamt of and wanted.
