A/N: Hello, everyone. Happy New Year. Thank you for reading and for your marvellous reviews. They really make my day. Cheers, S.C.


"Let me buy you dinner, Ruth," he says softly once they're seated in the car, ready to set off. "As a thank you for all your help tonight."

The truth is that she'd love to have dinner with him again, but not tonight. She's too drained to really enjoy it, and she suspects Harry is too. "Can I take a rain check, Harry?" she replies, turning to look at him. "As much as I would like that, I'm a little tired tonight."

"Of course," he agrees. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Harry." She reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "It was a lovely thought."

He purses his lips in that wonderful way he has when he's feeling pleased but not sure if he's allowed to show it and clears his throat. "Right. Good. We'd best set off then."

She withdraws her hand and snuggles into her coat, contentedly, watching the Christmas lights through the window as Harry pulls out of the parking spot and drives off. She doubts she'll ever see this place again, unless perhaps she and Harry marry one day and move in here some time in the future when they're both old and in need of care. She smiles at the thought of them having survived everything to live a happy life together and finds herself crossing her fingers and hoping for some peace and joy for them together soon.

"Everything alright?" Harry asks after a moment, perhaps concerned by her silence.

"Everything's fine." She turns to smile at him, letting her eyes dart all over his beloved face, taking him in, wondering what he'll look like when he's in his eighties and deciding it doesn't matter because she'll love him anyway.

"What?" he frowns, pursing his lips again.

"Nothing," she shakes her head.

"Hmmm," he hums, clearly unconvinced.

"It's just... I know this probably sounds... wrong after... but..." She pauses, looking for the right words.

"But what?" he prompts, ever impatient.

"I enjoyed this evening. I enjoyed getting to know you a little better, meeting your son. Thanks you for letting me tag along."

He purses his lips again, clearly unsure of what to say to that, or perhaps knowing exactly what he wants to say but scared of how she'll take it. It seems to her that they've wasted so much time hiding their thoughts and feelings, fearing rejection. She remembers how surprised she'd been by George's directness, his openness and honesty about his intentions towards her, and how refreshing she'd found it. Not that she'd want that from Harry. She's rather fond of him just the way he is and has become rather adept at reading him now anyway. She knows he still loves her. He tells her so in a thousand different ways each day. She suspects though that he's not as confident of her regard as she is of his. She's the one who hides her love from him too effectively and she's sure he's not certain of its depth and nature. She supposes it's less easy to mistake his affection because he's so closed off with everyone else. She can see how her own warmth towards others – friends, colleagues – might muddy the waters for him, how he'd be hard pressed to tell if she loves him as a friend or more. And given all that's happened with her return, with George, she knows that she's going to have to be the one to make it clear first that she does want more – so, so much more than what they have right now.

Not tonight though, she thinks. Tonight she's knackered. But tomorrow... A small smile spreads across her lips as she leans against the headrest and closes her eyes, the warmth of the car and its gentle motion relaxing her, the knowledge that she's with Harry soothing and comforting her. She might have lost everyone else, but she still has Harry, and that makes her feel safe and loved and protected. She doesn't dare contemplate what a life without him would be like. She's sure it would break her, losing Harry on top of everything else.

She wakes to the feel of his knuckles softly stroking her cheek and his voice gently calling her name. She sighs with pleasure, turning her head and body towards him only to discover that she's not actually lying down in bed as she thought she was. She opens her eyes and blinks at him, his gaze warm, a fond smile on his lips. "We're here," he says.

She sighs again and turns in the seat, stretching her arms out in front of her, then stifling a yawn. "And I was having such a nice dream," she complains.

His smile broadens. "You did look peaceful, but the car's going to get cold quickly with the engine off, so I thought I'd best wake you. Sorry to spoil your dream."

She sighs, rubbing her face with her hands, then pulling her coat tighter around her. "We were at the beach. My favourite beach. In Cyprus. It was so warm and peaceful. So far away from everything," she confesses wistfully, hoping to recapture the feeling.

"Sounds idyllic," he murmurs softly, but when she turns to look at him, some of the warmth has left his gaze and he looks more guarded.

"It was. We were dancing." She frowns, trying to remember. "Strangely you were wearing a suit."

"Me?!" He looks so surprised, it's almost funny.

"Yes. You. Who did you think I meant when I said, we were at the beach?" She knows the answer, of course, but she wants to see if he'll admit it.

"Well, you said Cyprus, so I assumed..." he tails off, looking a little embarrassed, then frowning as the rest of her words sink in. "Why would I wear a suit to the beach?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"It's your dream, Ruth, your subconscious at work."

He grins at her, knowing he's caught her out, and it's that, more than anything, that flusters her and causes her to blurt out, "Well, I've never seen you in anything but a suit. Maybe that's why." The moment the words are out of her mouth, she knows she's thrown the conversation wide open, and she can't help the twinge of panic that makes her breath catch and her heart beat wildly in her chest. He could take this anywhere he chooses now, and for a moment, he does look like he wants to suggest that they should remedy that, that he'd be happy to have her strip him down to his birthday suit any time she chooses.

In the end though, caution seems to win out and he says, "Tell me, at least, that I'd removed my tie. Hopefully my shoes and socks too?"

"No tie," she confirms, smiling in relief though part of her's feeling a little disappointed. "No jacket either. You'd rolled your sleeves up." She frowns, trying to remember. "I don't know if you were wearing shoes. You seemed about the same height as usual, which can't be right because I was barefoot." She frowns trying to puzzle it out, vaguely registering the fond look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips.

"And what, pray, were you wearing, Ruth?"

"My favourite summer dress," she replies, blushing at the way he's looking at her now and hastily adding, "The sun had just set – my favourite time of day, just when the colours begin to fade and the stars come out. The sand was soft, still warm from the sun. It wasn't far from the house. I used to go down before breakfast for a swim, and in the evening, at sunset. It was practically empty then and so peaceful. It was so beautiful, Harry. I wish you could have seen it."

"I can imagine," he murmurs softly, watching her with barely disguised longing, and she doesn't know if he's picturing the beach or her, swimming in the moonlight. She shivers at the thought, her body awakening under her gaze, longing to sink into him, kiss those soft, pouty lips, see if they're as gentle, as wonderful as she remembers.

Instead of drawing closer, however, he frowns and pulls back, stating, "You're cold. Best get inside. Come on." And with that, he pulls open the door and gets out.

She sighs in disappointment before following his example and leading the way to the block of flats, unlocking and holding the door for him as he steps through with her box in his arms. Normally, she takes the stairs as she's only on the second floor, but with the box, she leads the way to the lift, which is thankfully waiting for them, so they make it to her flat quickly.

"Here we are," she says a little self-consciously as they step through the doorway and she flicks on the lights. "It's not much, but..." she tails off, realising that calling it home would be a lie. It doesn't feel like home yet, and some days, she doubts it ever will do. "You can put the box down there." She indicates a spot in the corner of the sparsely decorated living room. It's just a one bedroom flat and it doesn't have much of a hallway really, just a little alcove that leads straight into the sitting room. The kitchen is off to the left and the bedroom and bathroom straight ahead.

"Thanks," she says as he straightens. He smiles and looks around him quickly before turning back to her. She tries not to think about what he reads into the state of her place and instead adds, "I'd offer you a cup of tea, but I'm not sure how wise it is to leave your car out there long. I suspect the boxes might prove too great a temptation for some people around here."

She watches him hesitate, and for a moment, she thinks he might dismiss his car and its contents for the promise of a little more time with her, but caution wins out again, it seems, and instead he nods his agreement. "You might be right. I'd best let you rest anyway. It's been a long day." Then he surprises her by reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently. "Thank you, Ruth. I would never have accomplished so much today without you and..." He pauses, then sighs, admitting softly, "To be honest, I'm not sure I'd have accomplished anything at all."

She smiles fondly at him, her heart warming at his gentle admission. "It was my pleasure, Harry," she replies, squeezing his hand, then releasing it to impulsively reach up and kiss his cheek. She wants to tell him that she thinks he's lovely, but it doesn't feel like the right moment for such an admission, so she says instead, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes. Tomorrow," he agrees, looking surprised yet pleased. He looks like he wants to say something more, perhaps change his mind and invite himself in for tea, but then he abruptly turns away again, reaching for the door handle. "Is Friday night good?" he asks, pausing with his back towards her, his hand still on the handle of her front door. "For dinner?"

"Sounds lovely," she replies and watches as he turns his head to look at her, his eyes smiling softly.

"That's good," he says.

She opens her mouth to tease him, ask him if he's already booked a table by any chance, but she catches herself in time. Slowly does it, she tells herself. There's no need to raise their expectations, or remind him of what happened after the last time they had dinner together, when she'd found out people at work were talking about it. Things are different now and not just because of George and Nico. She's older and wiser, more cautious and fragile in many ways, though in others she is stronger. She's confident of Harry's love, knows her value to him personally and professionally, and is no longer scared of the gossip. She knows now how valuable and rare what they have is. She knows that she needs Harry now as much as he does her, and she's determined to make it work this time by not rushing, but taking things one step at a time.

Dinner on Friday is a good first step.