Harry and Ruth developed a rhythm of working by day and being together in the evenings. Some evenings it was impossible due to the requirements of work, but they managed to be together – either in person or on the phone – every evening they were not required to be working. Sometimes they met at Harry's house, but mostly it was at Ruth's that they ate, talked, and snogged like teenagers. Most of all, they were learning how to have fun when they were together. Sometimes they talked for hours, while at other times, all they needed was to be with one another, and the words spoken were not important. They were learning to create and then interpret their own unique language of love.

Harry knew that the rest of their colleagues on the Grid knew about he and Ruth. Malcolm certainly did, and if he knew, then eventually the others would also. Malcolm was no snitch, but sometimes it was what he didn't say – as well as the way in which he didn't say it - that gave the game away. It appeared their colleagues had backed off and were giving them the space they needed to move through their own personal uncharted territory. On the following Friday evening, everyone was preparing to leave at the same time. It had been a stressful and busy week, but when wasn't it?

"I'm going to the pub," said Zaf. "Anyone else? Jo?"

"I'll join you." offered Jo.

"Me too," volunteered Ros.

"I have time for one or two," added Malcolm. "Harry? How about you and Ruth – will you join us?"

Harry looked up from where he was putting his desk in order. He had heard Malcolm's question, but most of all, he had noticed the inference that he and Ruth went together – like hand and glove, peaches and cream, Romeo and Juliet. Hopefully not quite like Romeo and Juliet.

"Ruth and I have other plans," Harry answered.

There was no reaction of an untoward nature. They seemed to accept his statement without covert looks or discomfort of any kind.

"Just remember, Harry," quipped Jo, one eyebrow raised, "whatever you do, keep one foot on the ground while you're doing it."

Cheeky bloody monkey! Harry wasn't sure whether to share this conversation with Ruth. She probably wouldn't appreciate being talked about in this way.

Harry and Ruth took it in turns to provide the evening meal on the nights they spent together. Tonight was Ruth's turn, and she had decided to prepare a home-cooked meal – Chinese chicken wings with rice. She didn't especially enjoy cooking, but she felt she needed to make an effort for Harry. She was enjoying their developing relationship, despite her own inner litany of questioning and misgivings. For Ruth, self doubt had become a destructive companion which she was finding hard to leave behind; it had been with her for too long.

"That was lovely, Ruth," Harry commented as he scooped up the last of the rice from his plate.

"I overcooked the chicken. It was meant to be more moist than that."

"Ruth – honey – you have to accept that some things you do will be less than perfect, and that this is fine as it is. I loved it. Isn't that enough?"

"Thank you, Harry. You're too kind. You don't have to say nice things all the time."

"But I want to. I want you to see yourself as I see you."

"I'm not sure that's possible. You're biased."

"Love will do that."

They gazed across the table at one another, neither fully believing that this was happening between them. They had taken so long to reach this place. Each had secretly dreamed of sharing intimate meals such as they were sharing on this evening. Each had believed such dreams would never be realised.

Harry washed while Ruth dried. It was the everyday and the mundane activities they shared which were cementing them in their own minds as a couple.

Once the kitchen was tidy, Ruth made a pot of coffee which they drank at the table. They normally did not share any level of physical intimacy until just before it was time for Harry to go home. This was his idea. For a few days, Ruth had wondered if in fact he had found her attractive, but the memory of their first ever kiss soon drowned out that particular niggling doubt.

"Ruth," Harry began, breaking a long silence. "Do you ever get lonely?"

"Oh, Harry," she said, "lonely used to be my second name."

"That sounds like it should be the title of a country and western song," Harry looked directly at her from across the table. "Are you still lonely?"

"Not any more," she said. "You've seen to that. As much as I've resisted getting this close to anyone, and especially to you...I wouldn't have it any other way now. Being with you...has been...life changing."

"I have always buried myself in my work to keep loneliness at bay. And then not long after you began working in Section D, I found myself staying back longer, just to be near you. There was the added benefit that I got more work done, but loneliness can eat away at you. It did me. It made me dead inside." And then, almost to himself, he added "I have so much to be thankful for."

Harry looked right into her eyes, as only Harry could. Ruth felt the fire in his eyes burn her, and her body became noticeably warmer all over. She longed for him, and was beginning to find their continued celibacy almost unendurable. Being alone with him for hours at a time was delicious, but tempting. Harry had been the epitome of self-control. As difficult as it was to remain hands-off around him, she was beginning to recognise the value of spending time in getting to know one another away from work.

Despite that recognition, what she was now ready to get-to-know about Harry was what he was like with his clothes off! She was aching to see him naked, feel his body against her own, feel him moving inside her, smell his skin during the heat of passion, hear him cry out her name...

"Ruth – did you hear what I said?"

"Er – no – sorry. I was miles away."

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You look so sad."

"Oh, Harry, I really, really want to take you to bed with me."

Harry was stunned by Ruth's admission. Here he'd been, acting the gentleman around her, not wanting her to feel like she was being treated as an object of his lust, and all along, she'd been as horny as he was! He stood up, intending to march around the table and lift her into his arms, when his phone rang.

Harry leaned down to the pocket of his jacket, having draped it over his chair when he'd arrived.

"Pearce," he barked into the phone. He listened, and Ruth saw his face cloud over.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," Harry said as he closed his phone after the call. "It's Adam. He's been arrested. I have to go. He's Wes's only parent now. I can't leave him there, even overnight."

"Do you need me to come with you?"

"No, Ruth. Stay here where it's warm. This shouldn't take long."

Harry kissed her – a gentle, but hurried kiss – and then left.

Ruth began to wonder if it were possible for she and Harry to have been cursed, or at the very least, to have attempted to build their relationship under a dark star. She didn't believe in curses or dark stars, but something seemed to always come between them, and she just needed to know that whatever it was, it didn't possess any kind of mystical hold over them.

When, by midnight, she hadn't heard from Harry, she went to bed – alone. This was not how she'd imagined how their perfect Friday night together should end. Secretly, she hoped Harry could perform a miracle and get Adam out of gaol. That way Adam could go home to his son, and Harry could come home to her to be kissed and licked all over. With that luscious image in her mind, Ruth closed her eyes.