A/N: Staying within T rating. (My bossy inner parent tells me I write too much M rated fic.)

Several minutes pass during which they both do no more than breathe into the phone, and wonder how to continue. Harry is relieved when Ruth speaks.

"Are you in bed?" she asks, and Harry detects the nervousness beneath the gentle tone of her voice.

"I'm lying on top of my duvet," he replies, equally as carefully.

"Are you dressed?"

So, now he knows what she has in mind. Does he want this? Of course he does. He's longed for Ruth for more years than he can remember. This could go terribly badly, but he's not thinking about that. His body wants this. It is telling him in its usual way that he wants this. It's just that they haven't yet discussed sex. It's the one subject they've avoided – skirted around – and now they're still not discussing it. Perhaps, he thinks, this may be the best way in, the best and the most fun means of facing it.

"Shirt, trousers, socks and underwear. Nothing more. You?"

"I have a head start on you. I'm wearing a white camisole and knickers, and I'm under the covers."

"What now, Ruth?" Harry has put his whiskey glass next to the bedside lamp, and he opens his shirt buttons, and slides out of his shirt. Next is his trousers, and he'll need two hands for that. "Just a moment while I put down the phone," he says.

Ruth is way ahead of him. Having Harry's voice close to her ear, speaking in hushed tones, his intent clear, her spare hand is caressing her skin under her camisole. With her eyes closed, she can imagine the hand belongs to Harry. She continues to stroke her skin until Harry again has the phone next to his ear.

"We haven't talked about this, Ruth," he says quietly, running his hand down is chest and under the waistband of his trunks. God, I wish she was here with me, he thinks, stroking himself.

"I think that we talk too much, Harry. Sometimes, just doing what feels right is the best strategy."

"Is this my Ruth I'm talking to? What have you done with her?"

Ruth's laugh is light-hearted and gentle. "If you're touching yourself, Harry, just imagine it's my mouth taking you in …... all of you."

That's it. He can hold back no longer. He strokes himself a few more times, and then lets go, his climax surging from deep within him. Harry gasps into the phone, and to the ears of the woman at the other end, it is clear what has happened.

"My darling Harry," she says quietly, glad she had suggested they take this step.

Once he has recovered sufficiently to speak, he talks Ruth through her arousal, his voice close to the phone, and intimate. He enjoys himself immensely, and before long he hears her gasping into the phone.

"I'm really tired now, Harry," she says after a while, and so they end the phone call.

Privately, Harry hopes that Ruth will choose to live with him. He's sure their intimate life will benefit from them being under the same roof.

Ruth enters the British Airways arrivals lounge at Heathrow, her heart beating rapidly as she looks around for Harry amongst the people waiting to greet the passengers. After a minute or two it is clear to her that he's not there, and she feels more disappointed than she'd believed possible. Of course, now he's back at work, he's sure to be busy.

"Ruth!"

She turns to see Catherine, her face relaxed and smiling as she pushes between two couples greeting one another hungrily. Ruth smiles at Harry's daughter, but feels envious of the two couples who are still lip-locked, despite them blocking Catherine's way through.

"I'm sorry, but you have to settle for me," Catherine explains, when she reaches Ruth, and helps with her luggage. "Dad is busy, and apparently the amazing Malcolm retired two days ago. Who'd have thought?"

"I was hoping it might be the other way round," Ruth says.

"Dad retire? Fat chance. He's a workaholic and an adrenalin junkie, but we wouldn't have him any other way …... right?"

"I'd love it if I could tie him to his office chair," Ruth replies, "but I know how much he'd hate that."

"He wouldn't last a full day stuck in his office. You've worked with him, Ruth, so you must know that."

"How is Michael?" Ruth asks, once they are in a taxi, and on the way out of the airport, heading towards the M4.

"Don't ask. He's talking about marriage. Marriage! I've told him about my parents' marriage, and how to chain myself to another is not my idea of a way to spend the rest of my life. He says we'll work it out, but I'm not so sure."

When Ruth is silent, Catherine continues, but with less passion. "I'm sorry, Ruth. You had no need to hear that. My parents were unsuited, or too young when they married – maybe both. I have no desire to repeat their mistakes."

They spend the rest of the journey talking about Catherine's latest film project, and so time passes quickly. Catherine is passionate about her work, and enjoys talking about it.

After a while, it is clear they are headed towards Harry's house. When they arrive, Catherine asks the taxi driver to wait while she helps Ruth carry her luggage through the front door, and into the house. Catherine leaves Ruth with the spare key, and then excuses herself, and returns to the taxi.

Ruth stands inside the front door, her luggage around her, wondering what she should do next. She waits and listens, but the house is quiet. Ruth carries her luggage upstairs, and after opening several doors, she finds Harry's room at the end of the upstairs corridor. Not sure what she should do next, she leaves her bags on the bedroom floor, and goes back downstairs. When she reaches the bottom stair, she sits down, and rests her head on her hands.

Suddenly it hits her that she is back home. In England, where she belongs. She is at once relieved, and saddened that Harry is not here to greet her. She'd rather he were here, but she also knows that were he free, nothing would prevent him being here. Ruth feels tears filling her eyes, and for once she lets them fall freely. She drops her head on to her knees and sobs her heart out. This is one of the most joyful moments of her life, and she is having to experience it alone. She hopes this is not an omen of things to come. Since that freezing cold morning when she and Harry had kissed goodbye beside the Thames, loneliness had dogged her. She had hoped that by returning to London and to Harry, she need never be lonely again.

Ruth cries for herself and for Harry, for the time they'd wasted by being afraid, for the time they'd spent apart when they could have been together.

She cries for Adam and for the missing Zaf, men whom she'd loved like family.

And she cries for herself, for the many nights she'd spent alone, wondering whether she'd ever see England again, whether she and Harry would ever set eyes on one another again.

She cries until she has no tears left, and then she stretches out on the bottom three stairs, and closes her eyes. Just for a minute.

When she wakes, she has no sense of time having passed, so she climbs back up the stairs to Harry's room, slips off her shoes and her jacket, and gets under the duvet, curling into a ball, and sleeps some more.

Harry arrives home late after a JIC meeting ran four hours overtime. He'd tried ringing Catherine, but the call had gone to voicemail, meaning she was back at work. When he'd tried ringing Ruth, the phone had kept ringing, so he'd hung up. The house is dark and quiet, and apart from Ruth's clutch bag on the hall table just inside the front door, there is no sign that she has arrived home safely. He is not especially worried – just surprised she's not here to greet him. It's likely she had to go shopping. If she is, he's a little miffed that she hasn't rung him to let him know.

He climbs the stairs, and it is only when he steps through his bedroom door that he sees her luggage, and then the shape of her body under the duvet. His Ruth is asleep in his bed, and he couldn't be happier. Harry takes off his jacket and shoes, and climbs under the duvet to nestle next to her. He lies on his side, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dimness in the room. It is twilight outside, and so the house is almost in darkness.

Ruth wakes slowly, and smiles even before her eyes are open.

"How did you know I'm not a kidnapper?" he asks, smiling back at her.

"How many kidnappers do you know who get into bed with their kidnappee?"

"Good point," he concedes, before he leans across to kiss her fully awake.

Ruth leans into Harry's body as he kisses her. He is warm and soft and he smells wonderful – a mix of his cologne, his clothing, the Grid, and just a tinge of perspiration. She shuffles closer, and slides her arms around his waist, pulling him against her.

"Mmm," he says, "nice," and he slowly pulls away from her. "You taste like tears, Ruth. Is anything wrong?"

"I had a bit of a cry, and so I came up here to rest, and I must have fallen asleep."

"What is it? Anything I should know about?"

She hesitates for a moment before answering. "Not really. I was just feeling a bit lonely."

"Not any more, Ruth. I'm here now, and I'm not letting you go."

She nods, and he kisses her again. The kisses are soft, and without passion, but they are both aware of the passion they are holding back.

"The dinner won't cook itself. I left you a note in the kitchen to ring me when you arrived home."

"I didn't get as far as the kitchen. I was exhausted. I think it was the tension from wondering whether I'd manage to get here in one piece."

"No surveillance? No tails on you?"

"None. I checked, too."

"I imagine you did." He smiles at her, running his fingers across her cheek. "I need a shower, and then I'll throw together some dinner for us. If you want a shower, you can have one after me."

"Why don't I hop in the shower with you?"

Harry is already out of bed, and removing his clothes. He lifts his eyebrows in her direction. "If we shower together, we won't make it to dinner, and I'm starving."

Ruth lies back against the pillow and watches Harry undress. He strips as far as his trunks, and then he takes his bathrobe off the hook on the back of the door, and puts it on.

"Spoil sport," she says, appreciating the quick view of him dressed in only his trunks.

"All in good time, Ruth. After dinner …... then ….." He smiles before he leaves the bedroom, and enters the en suite.

Ruth lies against the pillow, listening to the water running, imagining Harry naked in the shower. She thinks of how she was living her life only ten weeks ago, struggling to make the relationship with George work, knowing all along that it was hopeless, but trying harder because she didn't want to spend the rest of her life alone. Nothing could have prepared her for this outcome, and even had she known, she wouldn't have believed it. She and Harry are lucky. They must never forget that. Ruth will not allow them to forget that.

Ruth hears Harry turn off the shower, and so she gets out of bed and opens one of her bags, looking for her bathroom things and her bathrobe. Harry enters the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. She looks up at him and smiles, resisting the urge to tear the towel from him. There will be time for that later.

Next morning – Harry's house:

Ruth wakes slowly, savouring the aches in her body, letting her know which muscles have not been used in a while. She smiles to herself, remembering the night before, and how surprised she'd been by how well she and Harry fitted together. She'd considered the risks in committing herself to a man with whom she'd not yet had sex, but she needn't have worried. Harry is a sensitive and gentle lover.

Ruth turns to find the bed beside her empty. She frowns as she remembers he'd told her he had taken the whole weekend off. So where is he? Suddenly, Harry walks through the door from the en suite into the bedroom, and behind him she hears the toilet cistern filling after being flushed. He strides towards the bed, and she smiles again. He is completely naked. For just that moment, she wishes the en suite were twenty yards from the bed, just so she could watch him walking towards her, with all his flaws, his age lines, and his beauty on display.

"Seen enough?" he asks, smiling at her, as he climbs into bed beside her.

"You're really lovely, you know that?"

"You need your eyes tested, Ruth."

He rolls over to face her, and kisses her deeply, so that their limbs again become entangled, like one giant octopus. Ruth smiles against her lover's mouth, feeling him growing against her stomach.

She knows that at times life with Harry will be difficult, and it will often be frustrating and confusing, but she's sure the good times will make the challenges worth it.

An hour later – The Grid:

"Jo? I've found the Russians. They're gathered in a café in -"

"That's good, Tariq, but all you have to do is plot their movements, and decide where they'll strike."

"I think I should ring Harry and tell him."

"Harry?"

"Yes. The boss."

Behind them, Ros is at her desk, faking making a phone call. She is listening to her two colleagues, leaving it to Jo to tell the new boy how things are around here. She smiles, one eyebrow raised.

"Harry has the weekend off, Tariq," Jo persists.

"But shouldn't he know about this?"

"There's Lucas and Connie, and there's me …... and Ros."

"But shouldn't Harry know about it? It could be big."

Ros stifles a laugh. "Will you tell him, or shall I?" she says at last.

Jo ignores Ros. "Tariq," she says carefully, "when Harry is having time off, it is our business to respect that. He so rarely takes time off from work."

"But wasn't he recently away from work for nearly a month?"

"He was in hospital, recovering from injuries he sustained at work."

"Oh. I hadn't known that. So where is he now?"

Jo flashes a quick look at Ros, who is being no help at all, smirking behind her monitor. "He's home, resting," she says. "He has a …... a friend …... staying."

"Man or woman?"

"Err …... woman …..."

"Harry has a girlfriend?"

"Yes, I guess you could call her that."

"Cool," and Tariq is happy, and once again concentrates on the task he has been given.

Jo turns away from the new techie, and as she passes Ros's desk, she passes her fingers across her forehead in a `phew' gesture. Jo sometimes thinks that dealing with the terrorists is the easy part of her job.

Fin