Thank you for all the reviews! And thanks too, to Howard Brenton, who helped out with some of it! ;)

Apologies, this a long one, but hope you enjoy it.


Harry slept fitfully, the late meal lying heavy in his stomach, the pills merely taking the edge off the pain. Yet for the first time since the shooting he wasn't tormented with images of Tom raising the gun, he didn't dream of slowly suffocating as his own blood filled his lungs. He dreamed of Ruth; fractured, unsatisfying dreams which he wouldn't recall on waking, but which embedded themselves deep in his subconscious, vignettes of possibilities that his conscious self was yet to imagine.

Old habits die hard, though, and when she entered his room he sensed the change in the atmosphere, a creaking floorboard sending him swimming reluctantly towards wakefulness.

'Ruth,' he muttered.

'Ruth,' he repeated, stupidly, the blood that should have been in his brain having been diverted elsewhere.

He felt a sudden coolness on his forehead; as his eyelids fluttered open she lifted her hand away.

'Sorry, I thought you might be burning up; you look quite flushed. I - I brought you a cup of tea.'

He heard the dull thunk as she placed the mug on his bedside table.

'How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay?'

'Like a baby.' He struggled upright and regarded her blearily. She was already dressed, in a different top to that of the day before. Her capacious handbags were beginning to make sense. 'Time is it?'

'Just gone eight.'

He stared at her. 'Shit, I must've slept through...'

'I switched it off last night. Well, this morning, while you were in the bathroom. I thought that for once the Grid could do without you at 7am.'

'Ruth, have you any idea what Mace...' he reached to throw back the duvet then thought the better of it. 'The future of the service is at stake, Ruth. This isn't the time to be...'

'It's exactly the time to be.' Reaching across she lifted up his mug and held it towards him. 'It's fine. I phoned in. Adam has everything under control. You have an early meeting and I'm going to see one of Tom's assets.'

He took the mug. 'Right,' he said drily.

'Drink your tea, I'll get your bath started.'

His eyes followed her to the door, a bemused smile playing on his lips. He was beginning to think he should get shot more often.


She stood by the window, silhouetted against the light, gazing out over the rooftops. Suddenly self-conscious, he clutched his dressing gown closed. Turning, she smiled at him. 'Y'know, for a man who keeps getting shot, your medicine cabinet is pretty woeful. Out-of-date TCP and half a box of plasters?'

'In fairness, I do tend to get shot at work. At home I'm more in danger of giving myself food poisoning and tripping over the dog.'

'Food poisoning? To get that you have to actually cook, Harry.'

'Ha, bloody ha.' He glanced down at the box in her hand. 'What on earth are you doing with the clingfilm?'

'It's to keep your wound dry. I'll attach it with the plasters, assuming they've still got some sticky left.'

Harry glanced into the bath tub. Barely half full. 'Ruth, it's okay, I'll just be careful..'

'Sorry, I'm under strict instructions.'

'What instructions?'

'You're going to have to take your dressing gown off. Are you decent?'

'Depends what you mean by decent. Ruth, what instructions?'

Stalling for time, she divested him of his dressing gown and hung it on the door hook. As she turned back towards him the surreality of the situation suddenly struck her. She had just spent the night in her boss's house and here she was in his bathroom clutching a roll of clingfilm while he stood a few feet away, clad in a sling, several feet of bandage and a pair of trunks that left precious little to the imagination.

'Oh, thanks Ruth, that does wonders for a man's ego.' Yet in the same heartbeat he realised that she could trample his ego into oblivion if she wanted, just so long as she smiled at him like that all day.

'Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking what a bonkers situation this is, you and me here, like this.'

'Bonkers it may be, but I'm glad you're here.'

She didn't respond, and he stood patiently as she removed the sling and began to unravel the bandage round his chest. 'Ruth, what instructions?' he persisted.

'Oh. I, er, phoned the hospital and asked about your post-op care and the dos and don'ts.'

'Ah. And there was me thinking you'd hacked into my laptop for a google.'

'I would say "As if", but that was Plan B.'

His lips twitched. 'So what did you have to threaten them with to get them to talk to you?'

Ruth's hand faltered. 'I didn't threaten them with anything. I said I was your wife. Sorry.'

'Needs must, Ruth. Nothing to apologise for.'

'Yes, but they now think you're married and have got one of your colleagues pregnant.'

He laughed. 'Right enough. Well, next time I get shot you'd better make sure you have a good alibi.'

'Don't.'

'Hmm?'

'Can you hold the pad for a minute...'

With rather more force than was strictly necessary she tore a sheet of clingfilm from the roll.

'Ruth? What...' he stared at her, perplexed.

'Don't joke about it, Harry.'

'Sorry, I...'

'Zoe phoned me. She said that Tom had shot you and Danny was using towels to try to stem the blood loss. She said you were unconscious.' She lifted Harry's hand from the pad and laid the clingfilm over it, gently smoothing it down. 'Hold that.'

Harry looked up at her. Brow furrowed, blinking rapidly, her lips were clamped into a thin line. 'I thought you were crying for Tom,' he said quietly.

Her fingers, busy ripping open a plaster wrapping, stilled. ' How did you...?'

'I watched the CCTV footage. I had to see if anyone was in cahoots with him.'

'Oh.' Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, Ruth ducked her head. 'And was there?'

'No, I don't think so.' Gently he reached under her chin and tilted her head upwards. Reluctantly her eyes met his. 'Thank you,' he whispered. 'For giving a damn.'

At that moment they both felt the atmosphere in the room shift. Heart hammering, Harry bent his head to hers. Their lips brushed and he felt her hesitate for a moment, then her hand reached to the back of his neck, her fingers twining into his soft curls. Initially soft and slow, their kisses soon intensified, and parting her lips she felt his tongue tease hers. She felt a surge of longing so powerful it was overwhelming, and dazed, she stepped back.

Misunderstanding, Harry's hand reached for hers. 'Your room or mine?'

She glanced up. The bashful smile and the desire in his eyes almost weakened her resolve.

'Harry, we can't.'

''Course we can. We're both consenting adults, footloose and fancy free. Come on.'

She didn't move, and her eyes remained resolutely trained on the floor. Harry felt his heart sink.

Tentatively, his left hand reached up and cupped her face. As she leaned into him he felt a brief flicker of hope. 'I want you, Ruth.'

'I can see that.'

'And don't try to tell me you don't feel the same.' Shifting her hair back he bent to nuzzle at her neck, and as one hand worked its way inside her top the other curved round her bottom, pulling her against him.

'Harry, your shoulder,' she muttered, her breathing now erratic.

If using his arm had been painful, it hadn't even registered.

'Harry! Oh god. Harry, you're bleeding!' She pulled out of his arms, gazing at his shoulder in dismay. The gauze lay on the floor between them and the raw, ragged mess of his shoulder had begun bleeding anew.

She bent to retrieve the bloodied pad. 'Look, let me just do a temporary patch up then after your bath I'll change it all.'

'Ruth, sod my fucking shoulder, all I want right now is to take you to bed.'

But the moment had gone, and with a groan of frustration he slumped down onto the edge of the bath and let Ruth minister to his heaving, battered chest.


She looked up as he entered the kitchen. He was dressed, apart from his shirt, and he held his arm awkwardly against his chest.

'My bodge-it job held, then.'

His smile was tentative. 'Pretty much. Look Ruth, I..'

'Toast? I'm assuming you won't want much after our late night feast.'

'Er, yes, that's fine, thanks. Ruth, I...'

'What would you like on it?'

'Butter and marmite, please. Not too thick. I...'

'Orange juice? Coffee?'

He dragged his fingertips across his forehead. 'Ruth, I would like to get a word in edgeways if I may.'

She stood with her back to him, feeding bread into the toaster. 'It's okay, you don't need to say anything. It's forgotten.'

'What?'

'There's no need to apologise. For what happened in the bathroom.'

He stared at her. 'Apologise? Right, right. Well, that's good to know.'

If the sarcasm registered, she didn't show it.

Retrieving the box of painkillers from the bag, he fumbled two out of the strip and tossed them into his mouth. He washed them down with a glass of water, his eyes on her the whole time. Oblivious, Ruth was busy pouring out orange juice and measuring coffee grounds for the cafetière. He sat down at the table, not trusting himself to speak as his emotions wheeled between confusion, irritation, dismay and desire. As she leaned over him to lay his plate of toast and marmite on the table he took a deep breath.

'May I say something?'

The hand hesitating in mid-air belied her cheery 'Of course!'

'I-I'm not in the habit of trying to seduce my staff and if you felt I was abusing my position earlier then I can only apologise.'

'I told you, you don't need to apologise.'

'Frankly, it never crossed my mind that an apology might be required,' he said quietly. 'I felt something, I thought you did too. And like I said, we're both grown ups. That's all there was to it.'

'Harry, it's fine.' The kettle clicked off, and glad of the distraction Ruth crossed the kitchen to make the coffee.'We'll say no more about it.'

'What am I,' he thought peevishly, 'some naughty bloody schoolboy?' His face determinedly neutral, he turned his attention to his toast.

At the other side of the room as Ruth poured his coffee the familiar refrain began cycling round inside her head. 'You bloody fool. You stupid, bloody fool.'


'Harry?'

'Mm?' Through gritted teeth.

'You've been at boarding school, you've played rugby and you spent two years in the army. You're meant to be built of sterner stuff than this.'

'You're swabbing neat and, as you so kindly informed me, out-of-date TCP onto fresh bullet wounds. I'm sorry, but it bloody hurts!'

'Shot.'

'Yes, funnily enough I hadn't forgotten.'

'No, I mean it was shot in Tom's gun, not bullets.'

'Is this you giving me a lecture on ballistics, Ruth?'

She was smiling. 'Sounds like you need one.'

'Dramatic licence, that's what it's called.'

'Ah, is that right?' She went over to the counter and rummaged in her bag, emerging with a small tube of cream. Harry groaned.

'What fresh hell is this?'

'Arnica. To help with the bruising. It's probably too late but it won't do any harm.' And with deft but firm strokes she began to massage it into the lurid panoply of bruises on his chest. His lesson well and truly learned, Harry eased his mobile phone out of his trouser pocket.

'Best phone for a taxi,' he said. 'Half an hour, do you reckon?'

'Yeah,' said Ruth absently, her hand gliding towards his stomach. 'Should be fine.'

Harry hit speed dial, and girded himself for the longest half an hour of his life.


He got out of the taxi ten minutes' walk from Thames House, partly because his head was fuzzy from the painkillers and lack of sleep and he needed some fresh air, partly because he didn't want to hear Ruth saying that she didn't want to arrive with him. By the time he got on to the Grid there was no sign of her. He did, however, find the rest of the team in the forgery suite; Malcolm in full Mad Scientist gear, complete with headband magnifier and white lab coat, clutching what appeared to be the innards of a mobile phone.

'I've analysed the circuits in Joyce's phone. He had a coding device for sending texts. Very natty.'

Adam leaned over. 'What did they say?'

'Well, there's a lot of sex. Sorry,' he added, with a glance at Zoe and Harry.

Harry, his mind half on the events of earlier that morning, didn't respond.

'Use the mobile to text the wife. A message that seems to have come from Joyce, something to get her to come to London at once.'

Zoe regarded him sceptically. 'And then what? We pick her up?'

'Yep. We squeeze the whole story out of her, the whole plot against Tom. On the record, cut and dried, wham, bam, thank you very much.'

Harry pondered. 'So we lure a United States citizen to this country and force a confession out of her? That is a totally illegal, madcap scheme. I like it. Great idea, Adam.'

'It's not mine, it's Tom's. We'll tail her from the airport.'

Danny looked unconvinced. 'She's ex-CIA. She'll spot a tail.'

'So we'll go to the movies. Use CCTV all the way. Wait til she gets to the hotel then lift her.'

'Will she come?' asked Zoe.

Adam grinned. 'I've got a feeling Carmen Joyce is like her old man.'

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'In what way?'

'She's addicted to danger.'

'Okay. Well, let me know when you have her. I'll be in my office if anyone needs me.'


He signed off the last of the overnight reports and glanced at his watch. Nearly 2pm. Time for a late lunch. As he turned the corner towards the lifts he saw Ruth coming towards him, clutching a bundle of files.

'Ruth. Busy morning?'

'Well, it was short. Having a fun afternoon though. Something's brewing about red mercury. Lots of internet chatter.'

He tilted his head. 'I thought red mercury didn't exist.'

She smiled. 'It doesn't.'

'Ah. Well, I'll leave you to it.'

As he moved past her she reached out and rested her hand on his arm. 'Harry, are you okay?'

'Thank you Ruth, I'm fine.'

'No, I – I mean this morning; I...' her hand fell away.

'Least said, soonest mended, hm? We move on from this.' He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and carried on down the corridor.

Ruth stood looking after him, the words dying on her lips, then with a sigh she turned and headed back onto the Grid.


Really not sure about this one. Amongst other things I did swither about a different outcome to the bathroom scene! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading.