AN: Thanks to HR Always Lives On for giving this a read through and listening to my ideas on this. Hopefully this clears a bit up from the last chapter while still sticking with the theme I'm trying for this.

It's Monday afternoon when Harry next sees Ruth. After she had thrown him out of their house, he had spent the weekend enclosed in his hotel room, a bottle of whisky his only company, as he tried to make sense of what had occurred between them.

Flashback

The door snaps shut with a solid thud as Harry stands in his hotel room, sports jacket hanging limply from his hands as he gazes around. It seems impossible that three hours before he had left with the intention of speaking with Ruth, of finding a way to make her understand that though he has strayed to someone else for sex, he has not come close to giving anyone else his heart. That unlike his first marriage, he loves her dearly and fully.

That will never change.

His dalliance with Bridgette had been nothing more than scratching an itch sexually that he would never expect her too. Ruth was too much an innocent to engage in the various acts that he found stimulating at times. Of course, it hadn't come out as that when she'd found out. Instead, her anger and what he'd wrongly perceived as nagging had led to him lashing out, of saying things he never meant to say to her.

And so he'd gone to see her.

What he hadn't expected was to find her curled on the sofa, obviously still in her pajamas, with a book in her hands, so deeply engrossed in it that she hadn't heard him come in. After locking the door and resetting the alarm, he had turn to just watch her. It was obvious she had been crying; something he had known she had been striving to hide from the team these past few days; and an ache had settled deep in his chest.

Still unaware that she was being watched, Ruth had shifted on the sofa, turning a page with a sigh and a swipe at a tear, leaving him feeling even more guilt. Removing his shoes and jacket, he had crossed into the room, softly calling her name.

"Ruth."

Head whipping up, Ruth stares at him, her eyes stormy as she quickly closes the book. "What the hell are you doing here Harry?"

Glancing at the title of the book, he feels a sense of relief flood him.

'How Can I Ever Trust You Again?: Infidelity: From Discovery to Recovery in Seven Steps'

"Ruth," he says again, stepping closer as he temporarily ignores her question. "How are you?"

"Wonderful," her voice has an edge of sarcasm to it as she sets the book on the arm and stands, drawing her dressing gown closed. "I've had a lovely lie in this morning followed by breakfast in bed. Not a worry to be had." Stepping towards him, she stops a few feet away and glares at him. "How do you think I am Harry?"

"I'm sorry," he says, lifting a hand to reach out to her until he thinks better of it. Leaving his hand fall to his side, he sighs. "I never wanted this Ruth, never meant to hurt you."

"It's a little late for sorry Harry, it's not going to make it better or go away," she says, folding her arms around her middle.

"You can't think that Ruth. We've overcome so much to be together, I know we can do it again." This time, he does reach out to her, wraps his hand around her wrist and squeezes gently. "Right now it doesn't seem like it, but we will."

"We won't," she says with confidence, pulling away from him. "I want a divorce." She stares at the man standing across from her, the top button of his shirt undone, a pleading to his eyes as he realizes she's serious.

"Please Ruth, just..." there's an edge to his voice, one she is not used to heading, and yet, it does little more than annoy her. Three days have passed since she threw him from their home, since they'd done nothing more than grudgingly functioned together on the Grid, and yet her anger and hurt is even greater.

"Ger whatever you need and get out."

He's unsure at this point how that had lead to them having the greatest sex of his life on their living room floor; unsure who moved first - Ruth or himself. But as he stripped from his clothes and stepped into the single shower stall, Harry had relived those tense moments.

No matter what Ruth said or thought, it had been so much more then fucking. They'd made love on that floor. Intense, soul shattering love that had gripped him tightly and taken him to a place he'd never been in orgasm.

Just thinking of it had made him hard again, his groin tightening as images of Ruth moving over him filled his mind. Hating himself a bit more, Harry had stood in the shower, water pouring over his head, jerking himself off. As he'd stroked and pulled at his erection, it had taken little energy to imagine being buried in his wife again, her muscles milking him as he came instead of his right hand.

After, he had cleaned himself, dried himself, and sat in loose trousers and a shirt thinking.

Plotting.

And now he's seeing her again. She looks the same; long flowing skirt wrapped around her legs, bottom brushing the top of a pair of leather heeled boots, a wine coloured blouse loosely wrapped around her succulent curves, brown hair curling around her shoulders as she follows him into his office, a file folder in her hand. She's professional; even a bit curt; as she relays the information of their latest case to him.

He's been to see the Director General, had seen Bridgette, and found himself feeling nothing but disgust and self loathing as he'd discussed the latest threat assessment with the blonde haired woman. All through the hours of being sequestered away in that office, he'd found himself wanting his wife.

Wanting her to stay as his wife as well as wanting to pin her to a wall and bury his throbbing erection inside of her.

Or perhaps to smell her musk as he kneels in front of her, head buried between her legs as he spreads her with his fingers to lap at her wet sex. Knickers on the floor, skirt flowing over his shoulders as his tongue and lips suck her clitoris, three fingers from his free hand thrusting inside of her.

He'd left the meeting with his long coat covering his erection.

And now that he has her alone and in his office, he's unsure what he wants or how to act. As she talks, he pulls off his gloves to drop them on the desk. Long coat following, he drops it before crossing to the door and closing it, snapping the lock set with a flick of the wrist. Whatever happens in the here and now, he does not want to be interrupted.

As he crosses to close the blinds, she turns to look at him, his name slipping from her lips in confusion. "Harry?"

AN: Thank you for reading.