Ok, so these are so not drabbles anymore. Whoops guys. I don't own the characters or the scripted dialouge. The really great heart breaking conversational bits are the Spooks script from 9.1. The poem is the last stanza of Shake Hands by A. E Houseman. And now for some series nine Harry angst :P

Past: In stasis

He has been sitting at the bench for bare minutes that feel like the agony of hours. She has still not come. Has she finally decided never again? His breath catches. She is walking towards him, perfect in her inadequacies and that at least will never change. He feels past and present overlap, spirits or ghosts reach out to easier, less intimate and yet somehow more hopeful times and give him the courage to say what he needs to say.

We sit at the bench and it hurts to remember once upon a time we were here before. (Though were we really? Was that not an entire lifetime ago? Is the fluffy white coat you still own an indication of a long ago You gently slumbering. Can I find what's shattered and put it back together?) But you are still Ruth and I will still love and we/you/I can never get away from that. God damn it woman! I. won't let you. We never come to physical blows. Sometimes I wish we would/wish we could.

"There'll always be something between us Ruth." He gets up. He walks away.

It had seemed that Ruth was recovering. "Harry. Would you like to go out for a drink." But then Ros had happened and the drink had sat untouched and the ground she had made was fragile and with Ros gone the emotions boiled under, and the ice sealed over and no one could get in. Not even him.

He made a belated effort to make a declaration. Ros' funeral was just another dot, another marker of how far he had come with this job in keeping on keeping on. He wondered if with Ruth it were different? He worshipped her for her compassion and her humanity, but he also knew it cost her. She read poetry and said she wanted to grieve but in this job Ruth you can't ever. Not too much.

"Harry, I need to talk to you."

He set his shoulders and tried not to look quite so melancholy, quite so defeated. "A turn about the grounds." Had Ruth ever liked 19th century fiction, or had he just made that up in an effort to force another connection?

They stood at the church fence, looking out over meadows and it was nothing like Ros at all and Ruth wondered, even as he wondered, why had she picked this place. "An Enigma to the last."

"I feel like she was trying to tell us something," Ruth said, looking out over that vast expanse of green, her thoughts flying off someplace Harry could never, ever follow.

He wasn't concentrating on her words. Not anymore. He leaned in intimately, his mouth against her ear. "Ruth. Marry me."

"This is neither the time nor the place."

"This is exactly the time and the place."

"It.. .it's the funeral. It's made you emotional."

He sighed because he knew the cause was already lost. "No. It's made me see clearly. Six people came to Ros' funeral Ruth. Six people. I don't want that for me and I don't want that for you."

"You're timing is all wrong."

"Timing is nothing."

"Timing is everything."

And she's right. All of the signals are wrong. His hand is on her arm but the warmth doesn't radiate through beyond the skin. He doesn't tingle. Not anymore. Ros is dead but part of the Ice Queen lives on in Ruth, until the exterior cracks/glass shatters and she is broken. He suddenly shudders remembering Tom. The gun shot and the lick of the ocean waves against the shore. Danny and Zoe standing in solidarity (they had told him that later). The skyline reaching out, snatching and taking Tom somewhere Harry couldn't follow, stuck as he was in a speeding ambulance and a different head space. Calm, steadfast, thoughtful Tom Quinn; where had that gotten him in the end but decommissioned? He held it in and Ruth had known and Harry had done nothing and then it had been too late.

Oh blame game, why don't you keep this guilt coming, this guilt of knowing I see this happen time and time again and keep going anyway and stop insisting, please stop insisting, I will let it happen to Ruth too.

I change the subject and you give me that folder and I am at last defeated because there is nothing more I can do or say.

"Is it all just Maths Ruth?"

"You know sometimes I think it is."

So I do the mental arithmetic. Tom left, Zoe left (I couldn't save her and do you blame me for that too?), Danny died and there was not enough time, for us, for you, for anyone because another bomb went off (was it counting down to zero for our relationship even then?), Sam couldn't take it (why did I never ask you about that/ why did I leave this unsaid?), Colin died (Did you take up Malcolm's pain? Did you take it upon yourself to feel his guilt? Passive, I let another death go), Zaf died, Jo died, Adam blew up in spectacular Adam fashion, George died (Why didn't you wait Ruth/should you have waited/it was your life Ruth so then why do I resent him still?), and now Ros... well Ruth, you and Ros were complicated and that... that stagnated too. Another damn thing left unsaid. Another entanglement we never even tried to untie.

"I think we've forfeited that chance Harry. You and me. The things we've seen together, the things we've done...we couldn't be more together than we are right now." Wrong Ruth. He breathes in and out heavily. He's a grown man trying not to cry. He doesn't understand, can't ever understand because all he can see, all he wants is that house with them both in it. It's possible. So why can't she see that.

But he changes the subject as her voice catches. They have exhausted all conversational avenues. He knows this thing between them is finished.

Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all's over;
I only vex you the more I try.
All's wrong that ever I've done or said,
And nought to help it in this dull head:
Shake hands, here's luck, good-bye.

And now I have managed to convince myself there is no hope left for Ruth and Harry, which means next chapter is dealing with 9.7 and 9.8 and is HOPEFUL so I can cheer myself up.