Scarlet was generally the beneficiary of Harry's bad moods and that evening was no exception. By the time he snapped back to the present and turned for home they'd been on the heath for over an hour and it was beginning to get dark. Still, Harry reasoned, as he unlocked the front door, he had one content dog and a bit of fresh air and exercise was much better for him than what he'd initially considered the best cure - several large single malts. Following Scarlet into the kitchen he spooned Naturediet into her bowl and gave her fresh water, then bent down to scratch behind her ear as she wolfed down her meal. 'Sorry it's late, old girl. Hope it doesn't give you indigestion. Night night.'

Unbuttoning his shirt he trudged upstairs and into the ensuite bathroom. Glancing in the mirror he groaned. 'Must do something about that lighting, Harry Pearce,' he muttered, 'you look like death deep frozen.' Washed and stripped to grey briefs and a white tshirt he climbed into bed. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

Scarlet hadn't barked. He hadn't heard anything. All he knew was, he was suddenly wide awake. He lay there for a few moments allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, then he reached into the bedside cabinet and pulled out his gun. Taking off the safety catch he went to the bedroom door and listened. Nothing. Gun poised, he eased the door open and edged out onto the landing. The other doors were still closed. Downstairs he went through the rooms one by one. There was no sign of anyone, or of anything having been disturbed. Even Scarlet yelped and twitched, sound asleep in her basket, oblivious. Quietly closing the kitchen door behind him he headed back upstairs. As he opened the bedroom door he tensed. At the far side of the room the shadows shifted. For some reason his hand reached for the light switch rather than the trigger.

'Hello Harry. Sorry about the subterfuge.'

'Dear god. What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?'

'Sorry.'

He strode to the bedside cabinet and shut the gun away. 'How the hell did you get in here?'

'I know I'm a desk spook, but I have picked up one or two tricks of the trade along the way.'

'Do I need to call a glazier, a locksmith?'

'Your faith in my abilities is touching.'

Harry stood, hands on hips. 'What do you want?' he asked levelly. 'As far as I'm concerned, you and I have said everything we need to say.'

'You have, maybe. I didn't get a word in edgeways.'

His eyes widened. 'You...? I bared my bloody soul, made a total fool of myself. All you had to do was say yes!'

'Ha! It was a bloody ultimatum, Harry. Marry you or lose my job!'

'What? It wasn't like that, and you know it.'

'It was exactly like that. Right up there in the romance stakes with proposing to me at a funeral.'

Despairing, he laced his fingers together at the back of his head. 'I. Can't. Do. This. Anymore!' he gritted. Dragging his eyes from the ceiling he took in her downcast face. 'Jesus, he whispered. 'You can't even look at me.' He clasped his palms to his chest. 'I'm sorry,' he yelled, 'that this ageing, overweight body is so obviously sooo bloody repellent!'

'N-no, Harry, please.' Her mouth was suddenly dry. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the pain in his face, willing herself for once in her life to say the right thing. 'You're wrong. It's just...those shorts don't leave much to the imagination.'

A pause, then an incredulous snort of laughter. 'Well, I'm sure it's not something you've not seen plenty of times before...'

Muttered. 'Not quite that...big.'

Harry was aware he was blushing. 'And...and if you will break into a man's house at,' he checked his watch, 'a quarter past midnight, I don't know quite what else you could expect, frankly! Should I have remained suited and booted in my armchair, waiting for you to clamber down the chimney?'

He watched her as she crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed. All of a sudden she looked desperately tired and utterly miserable and he longed to take her in his arms and kiss the top of that forlorn head and tell her that everything was going to be alright. Instead he folded his arms and turned to the window.

'If you think we can continue to successfully work together, that's fine; you can stay on the Grid. I'm not one to bear grudges, you know that.' He dipped his head, as if awaiting her response. There was none.

'Well, if that's all,' he said stiffly, 'I'm due back at work tomorrow and after the events of the past few days I'd rather get some sleep first. If you wouldn't mind leaving via the orthodox route?'

'I'd rather stay, if it's all the same to you.'

His stomach flipped, briefly, then reality dawned. 'Ah. Right. Yes, I'd imagine the last bus has long gone. I'll give you money for a taxi. You can wait downstairs.' He reached for his wallet on the chest of drawers.

'Harry, please!' The despair in her voice made him pause. 'I know I'm as much to blame in all this as you are...and given what just happened to Catherine it's unforgiveable that I should be...that I should be...'

His tone was gentle. 'That you should be what?'

She took a deep breath. 'After you left I realised that I spend too much time dwelling on the past and envisioning worst case scenarios in the future. What I should be thinking about is the here and now, and I knew that if I didn't take a chance for once in my life that I risked not having you in my life at all. And that I couldn't bear. And I thought about what happened to Catherine and...oh god, Harry, all the old cliches about life being too short, and you never know what's round the corner...they're cliches for a reason and...' she realised she was rambling, and then Harry was taking her hands and pulling her to her feet and kissing her...oh so gently...

At 5.30am Harry's internal alarm clock fluttered his eyelids open. For a second he was disorientated by the long-unfamiliar feeling of a warm body pressed against his, the faintest trace of Chanel No5. As the memories of the early hours registered he gave an tremulous gasp, scarcely able to believe that what he'd dreamed of for so long might be about to become a reality. But the evidence lay there, wrapped in his arms. Hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking her, he considered that arriving at work after 7am might just be acceptable for once. As if he'd spoken these thoughts aloud, he felt Ruth stir.

'Mmm,' she muttered, sleepily. 'Is that a gun in your pocket Mr Pearce, or are you just pleased to see me?'

He nuzzled the crook of her neck. 'Oi. It's Sir Harry to the likes of you. And yes, it's a gun.'

Ruth intercepted a hand snaking over her hip and linked her fingers with his. 'Well, if that's the case, don't you think you should put it somewhere safe before it goes off?'

He grinned. 'Funnily enough, I know just the place.'

Thanks for reading, guys - and thanks for the comments, much appreciated!