A/N: There was a brief scene between H & R – while sitting on a bench by the Thames - early in 8.04 re Jo's death in which Harry had wanted to talk to Ruth about Jo. This hidden scene occurs the evening before.

~ Jo ~

(between 8.03 & 8.04)

Harry had tried several times to ring Ros, but each time his call had gone to voicemail. He was concerned about Ros, but knowing her, she'd have her own coping mechanisms …... no doubt involving alcohol. At this moment, he was more concerned for Ruth. She had not taken the news of Jo's death at all well, but nor had he expected her to. Apart from himself, Jo had been the only real connection to her time before she'd had to leave after Cotterdam. What was worse, he had not handled her response well. He had treated her like an employee, and had allowed her to leave his office, and to cry alone against the wall outside the door. He had heard her, and to his shame, had done nothing to comfort her. Welcome back to MI-5, Ruth. He'd kept telling himself that he wasn't good at dealing with women's emotions, but what he'd really meant was that he wasn't good at dealing with his own. And it was too soon after George's death, and Ruth had only recently learned of the deaths of Adam and Zaf. He imagined Ruth frantically questioning the wisdom of her coming back to work at Section D.

Come on, Harry, act!

He got up from his chair, where he'd sat for the past fifteen minutes since Ruth had left his office, shocked and stunned and empty, and he stepped outside his office door. Ruth was no longer there, and looking across the Grid, she was not there either, and although her bag was still beside her desk, her coat had gone. That meant she had left the Grid, but had not left the building.

Harry climbed the stairs to the roof door, and silently stepped on to the roof. Ruth stood huddled in a corner, close to the balustrade. For a moment he thought of leaving her there to work it out on her own, but then he remembered that this woman had been having to work things out on her own for several years now, and the death of her partner only weeks before had left her alone again. She needed someone, and whilst she may not have wanted him to be her `someone', in spite of his earlier behaviour, he still cared deeply for her. While he was alone in his house late at night, he admitted to himself that he still loved her, and perhaps always would. When, in his private moments, he imagined himself with someone, living with her, loving her, it was always Ruth. To give up his solitude for anyone else was unthinkable.

Harry quietly crossed the space to stand beside her – close, but not too close. It took all of his considerable self-control for him to not put his arm around her, and pull her against him. He glanced quickly at her profile, and was surprised to see that she was smiling.

"I was just thinking of something Jo once said to me about Adam. She had been recruited by Adam on the strength of his personality and his charm. She said that all the best men were already taken, but in Adam's case, only a woman like Fiona could tame him. Jo described him as a wild animal trapped inside the skin of a kitten."

Harry sighed, with relief, as much as anything. He'd expected her to be angry; he'd expected her to be crying; he'd expected her to be shut down. What he hadn't expected was for her to be in the mood for reminiscing.

"You know, Harry, during these past few years I've seen enough death to be almost immune to the loss of another."

"How did you know it was me …... here, beside you?"

She turned to look at him then, and he could see the redness in her eyes, and the end of her nose was raw from her having blown it over and over. She looked away from him before she spoke. "Your footfall is unique, and besides, I could smell you. You have a particular scent. Everyone does."

"Not unpleasant, I hope."

"No, not at all. I'd know you anywhere. Even in the dark." Her last sentence was spoken so quietly he'd wondered whether she'd said it at all.

Harry felt his pulse rate increase, but this was not the time nor the place for intimacies.

"Ruth, I'm sorry about -"

"I know you are, Harry."

"I sent her in there. I told her – ordered her – to go down into the panic room. Her death is on my conscience. I'm so sorry this happened on your first day back …... especially with it being Jo."

"I know you are, Harry. And I know you find this difficult."

"This?"

"Apologising. Owning up. Talking to me in this way."

"Not at all, Ruth. This is part of what I do. What I can't do, however, is turn back the clock."

"No, you can't. No-one can."

Harry looked across at her, but she was staring out at the city, as though taking it in, breathing it in, getting her fill of it after having been away for so long. Perhaps she was also wondering how far back he wished to be able to turn the clock …... 24 hours? 4 weeks? 3 years?

"You were magnificent today, Ruth. Without you we wouldn't have made the connection with the Russian. I don't know how we ever coped for so long -"

"Harry, please don't. I know I'm good at what I do, and I know you and I work well together. We have before …... and we did today. But today was …..."

"Today was horrific, but it could have been far worse."

"It was only Jo we lost is what you're saying."

"That's not what I'm saying."

For the first time in the minutes since he'd stepped next to her, Ruth look up at him. What she saw was Harry weary, drained, and holding in his grief.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm just upset. About a lot of things, really."

"Do you want to talk about that?"

"No. I don't see the point. Talking won't bring George back to life. It won't get me back my life in Cyprus. It won't bring my step-son back to me... and it won't bring back Jo from the dead."

Harry could hear the wavering in Ruth's voice. Put like that, she had lost so much, and all too soon. He wanted to make it better. He swallowed his own pain, having to do so without the aid of single malt.

"I'm so, so sorry you've had to live through these past few weeks, Ruth. I can't imagine -"

"Harry," she interrupted, "can we stop apologising to one another? I've spent far too long blaming you for far too many things. I've not been fair to you."

He waited, because he could tell from her expression that she had more to say. She let out a long breath, and her whole body seemed to diminish in size.

"I was wondering," she began, "who comforts you, Harry. You've sought me out after every death -"

"Other than George's."

"His wasn't your responsibility to appease. He wasn't one of us."

"No, but -"

"I no longer blame you for George. Let's leave it at that. I realise now that you had no choice."

Harry sighed heavily, hoping that Ruth truly meant what she had just said.

"Who comforts the comforter?"

Harry sighed again. He had no idea how to answer her question. Mrs Glenfiddich sounded trite, despite it being true.

"Apart from alcohol, I mean."

"I don't require comforting, Ruth."

"Everyone does." She turned to face him, her eyes blazing – with unshed tears, with anger, with pain. "You're not above raw human emotion, Harry. I've done little else other than cry these past weeks, but you …... you're always the same. You never waver."

Harry sighed heavily, and swallowed audibly. He found that he was biting his bottom lip as a way of holding himself together.

"Have you cried since Danny died?"

Christ, she knows me too well.

"Yes."

"Fiona, right? And Adam and Zaf."

"For Adam and Zaf, yes, and there was one other time …. before that. That was when I cried for a long time, for someone I thought I'd lost forever."

Ruth took a few moments to absorb what he had said. "When I left?" she whispered.

"Yes. The night you left, I …..."

Without thinking about it, Ruth reached towards Harry, and placed her hand on his. She slid her fingers between his, and he so wanted to turn his hand the other way, so that their fingers could interlock …... but he didn't. Their hands rested together on the hand rail. It felt natural, and it felt right. Just for now, for this evening, they both required the comfort of the touch of another's skin. They had lost one another for too long, and given the events of the past few weeks, perhaps they were lost to one another forever.

Suddenly Ruth smiled.

"What?" he asked.

"If you can believe in life after death, I'll bet Jo's here right now, egging us on, trying to get us to …... well, you know what Jo would have wanted."

"Yes." Harry's smile could be heard in the one word. Jo had been a romantic, and she had been overly invested in he and Ruth being together …... in every way possible. And she had been overly interested in every little look, every touch, every nuanced interaction between them.

"She meant well, Harry."

"I know she did. She hadn't a nasty bone in her body."

"How is Ros doing?"

"I …... she's not answering her phone. I thought of visiting her, to check up on her, but I doubt she'd appreciate that."

"I agree. She'll want to be alone, I think."

"Yes."

They stood like that, her hand over his, her fingers resting between his, their forearms lightly touching, for a long time. It was cold out, but not uncomfortably so. The natural light had dimmed, and then faded completely, and the city lights took over, their glare softened by distance. Harry still longed to turn to her and hold her, but he knew she wouldn't want that, even though every cell in his body screamed for closer contact with her.

"Jo missed you while you were gone," Harry said quietly, realising how transparent was his statement.

"I know she did, Harry, and I know you did as well. I missed you all. More than you can possibly know."

He wanted to ask her how, if she had missed them so much, she could have so easily joined her life with another. He also knew it was too soon for that particular conversation.

"Ruth …... would you like to …... to come for a drink with me? Now? It doesn't have to be a drink drink ….. it can be coffee, or …..."

The words were out before he knew he had spoken too soon. Through the connection of her hand on his, he felt her body stiffen, and then she removed her hand from his, and stepped slightly away from him. His hand suddenly felt cold, and he felt his heart drop – again – and he steeled himself for her rejection – again.

"Harry, I …... I think it's too soon for …... for that -"

"I thought we could talk about Jo …... somewhere it's not so cold. I have no ulterior motive."

"I know you don't, but …... Harry, I need time before …... before anything changes. I've had to deal with so much change these past few weeks. I'm not myself yet. I wouldn't be terribly good company."

"Well, tomorrow then. Can we talk about Jo tomorrow, when we've both had a chance to sleep on it?"

"Tomorrow then. Goodnight, Harry," she said, and without looking at him again, she turned away from him, and quickly left the roof through the door to the stairs.

Harry watched her until she was out of sight, and then he turned towards the city and took a deep breath, followed by an equally long exhale. It had been a shitty day, and now it was even shittier. Had he not asked Ruth for a drink, and then received her rejection, the day may have been slightly less shitty …... and he still had a report to write on the day's events.

"You know Ruth and I as well as anyone, Jo," he said aloud, but quietly. "Is there any hope? For us?"

He stood still for a long time, but the air around him remained the same. There was no unexplained breeze, or pocket of cold air. Jo wasn't there on the roof with him. She was lying cold and still and pale in a city morgue, another young life wasted, sacrificed to queen and country.

Harry sighed again, and took a few minutes to bring his shattered emotions under control. He still had to write that report. He waited another ten minutes, feeling cold and alone, and then went inside. When he reached the Grid, Ruth had already left.