Fiona saw the message prompt in the lower corner of her computer monitor. She reluctantly opened it.

"He wants to infiltrate her safe house! "

She stifled a laugh and typed a message back and hit "reply."

"She's gonna drop a dirty bomb on him."

She couldn't see Adam's face but she heard him snort and then pretend it was a sneeze, followed by clack of his fingers on the keyboard . A few seconds later the message prompt lit up again.

"He's all up in her realm. Defending it."

She was just taking a sip of tea. She started to choke and began coughing uncontrollably.

"No making me laugh when I'm drinking tea!" she typed when she'd gotten ahold of herself.

The pods hissed open and Harry walked in, soaked to the bone. He headed to his office and shut the door as unceremoniously as possible. A few moments later he shut his blinds.

"Where's his umbrella?" came the message from Adam.

"Ruth must have it. He bloody loves that umbrella." She replied.

Danny returned from Interrogation One.

"Any luck?" Adam asked.

"Nothing. I've offered the most I possibly can and even a bit, I'd probably have to take out of the coffee fund, but he's not budging. It's weird."

"I would have thought an Eastend Face would have taken the money about five hours back," Adam said.

"Something about this doesn't add up," Danny said. "I'm going to ask Harry if he had any luck with Mace."

"Good luck with that," Adam said with a wink in Fiona's direction.

###

The interior of the train smelled of damp and sweat. Ruth flopped herself heavily into a seat. She still felt flushed from her encounter with Harry. She looked at her watch. If everything went to plan and she made her connection she would get into GCHQ about four, which was enough time to get to the crypt. She prepared an excuse in case she did run into someone from her old job. She wanted to go over the finer points of it, but her mind kept flitting backing to Harry, the way he leaned toward her, the warmth on her back from his arm.

She was really in deep now. It was one thing to have a crush on her boss, another to sit and moon about him, counting the hours till she saw him again. She touched his umbrella, smiling. She knew she'd have to give it back to him, but it was nice to have it with her on this little mission. She could face almost anything carrying Harry's umbrella. Maybe she wouldn't say lost it and keep it secretly. No, that was creepy. She'd have to give it back. She held it up like a pool cue and made a little practice shot with it. You could really do some damage with this, she thought and she wondered if that's why Harry carried it. She mused that perhaps the handle pulled out into a sword. That would be awesome. She examined it carefully and gave the handle a sharp tug. Nope, it was just a regular old umbrella. Still, you could really do some damage with it.

###

Harry pulled the blinds shut in his office. He removed his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. He always kept a freshly laundered shirt in his drawer for emergencies. A pretentious thing he'd read in an inflight magazine, but it had saved him on many occasions. As he removed his cufflinks, he thought of the way he'd felt when Ruth had touch his hand and admitted she hadn't gone on out to meet a man the other night. He had played that one just perfectly: the wounded look. It helped that he actually felt it. The line between spook and man was always blurred, even with Ruth.

His wet shirt was lying on the desk and he was half-way into the clean one, when the knock came at the door. Bloody hell, he thought. If someone was going to walk in on him half-dressed, he wanted it to be Ruth, but she was half-way to Cheltenham by now. "Five minutes!" he shouted and whoever it was went away.

###

The train swayed. The windows were streaked with rain. The damp countryside blurred passed. Ruth's eyelids grew heavier. She opened the window hoping the fresh air would revive her. She bought a cup of tea and sipped it, hoping caffeine and sugar would counter-act the heavy lunch, the wine and let's face it, the narcotic effect of Harry Pearce. In desperation she set an alarm on her watch for 3:45, just in case she did drift off. If she gave herself permission to fall asleep, maybe she wouldn't actually feel so sleepy.

###

Harry glanced at his watch as he pulled open his blinds. She'd be back about 7:30 or 8:00. He willed the hours to go faster for his own sanity. He began to strategize who he would ask her. He saw Danny approaching his door. The expression on the young agents face told the whole story. No joy. He must have been the one who'd knocked. Well, by 8:00 they would either have something out of Callas or they wouldn't. Thoughts of asking Ruth on a date would have to wait for another time.

###

There was a bright unpleasant light in Ruth's eyes. She struggled to focus. A figure loomed over her, in the shadows, but she couldn't see who it was. She squinted and turned away. She recognized the room as Interrogation One. He grabbed her chin, hard moved her face so that it was pointing toward the light.

"I'll repeat the question, Ruth, in case you didn't hear me the first five times," The voice was unmistakable, but she still couldn't see his face.

"Harry? What are you doing? You're hurting me?"

"I simply want to know, what you think you're playing at?" He said calmly, leaning forward.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I was playing at anything," she said defiantly raising her eyes to his. Harry held her transfixed in his gaze and for a long moment, neither of them breathed. His face was so full of desire and something, else, fear, perhaps.

"Why don't you just kiss me, already?" she said.

"I'm doing the interrogation here."

"Yeah? Well, I think I have a right to know what's going on in that brain of yours. Do you fancy me or not?"

"Yes."

"Then what's the hold up?"

"The hold-up is, Miss Evershed, I need to know how you feel about me?"

"I fancy you rotten, sir." she said. He smiled and released her chin. She sighed.

"What is it now?" he asked.

"I was really sure you were going to kiss me, just then."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes!" she said with somewhat more force than she'd planned.

He reached out and grabbed her chin again, less brutally, but still firmly enough that Ruth couldn't move her face if she wanted to. She didn't want to.

He leaned toward her. It was finally going to happen. Their lips connected, Ruth kept her eyes open, half sure this apparition would disappear if she closed them.

Love in dreams is often maddeningly indistinct, just an impression of desire, a pleasant sensation somewhere in the genitals. Things became very specific for Ruth as she slept with her head curled against her jacket, her hand still gripping Harry's umbrella.

Harry grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, leaning her against the cool cement wall. It was all a bit like being frisked except she was turned the wrong way round as his hand moved over her blouse, pulling up the fabric and exploring around under her top. Her nipples burned with pleasure.

She kissed Harry harder, biting his lip a little, tasting blood. She resisted the powerful urge to tear his clothes off. She wanted to play the helpless prisoner a little longer. He dropped to his knees. That was a surprise. Ruth gripped his ears and gently mashed his face against her pelvis. She could feel his breath through the thin fabric of her skirt. He reached up, tickling the soft flesh of inner thigh, tracing the edge of the elastic of her panties. He briefly plunged his fingers in, feeling the moisture there and the pulsing of her clitoris. He pulled away and she groaned.

"Harry, please. I want you so much."

"No more games, then, darling."

"Just one more, please."

"Alright then," he said and stood up leaning the full weight of his body against hers. There was the warmth she'd felt in the rain, moving pleasantly though her whole body, transferring between them. The warmth built to a fiery intensity as Ruth's hands moved down Harry's back, feeling the curve of muscles through his coat. She reached her hands up under the collar of his jacket and pushed upward. He wriggled out of it and it fell to the floor. So many buttons, she thought as she considered his waistcoat, and his shirt. She began undoing them, but they were small and tightly fitted in their button holes.

"Damn your excellent tailor," she said as she pushed his waistcoat to the floor at last. She undid the cufflinks quickly and then paused when she got to the shirt. Where were the buttons? They just weren't there and yet the shirt was closed, fast.

"A hidden placket" he said apologetically.

"What century are you living in, Harry Pearce, that site of your buttons might offend me?" she rasped. She reached up under his shirt and teased the buttons from their button holes. There was a Saville Row shirtmaker that was going to get an angry letter her from her, she thought as undid the last one. She made short work of the belt, the trouser button and the zip. He sort of sprang out at her, a pup tent in his boxers. Another pleasant surprise she thought as she took him in her hand.

Ruth became aware of a shrill noise in her ears. The wall of Interrogation One melted away to the interior of a British Rail car, shabby, and empty save Ruth and her beeping wrist watch.

"Damn you and your buttons, Harry Pearce." she said aloud. She blushed and laughed when she realized she still had a death grip on that blasted umbrella.